I had to get fingerprinted yesterday so I can volunteer to teach Spanish at my daughter's preschool. Do not be lulled into a false sense of security thinking that your children are safe from predators because all potential employees or volunteers have to go through a fingerprinting process. The system is only as good as least common denominator. I'm here to tell you that there are many weak or missing links in the operation. I don't even know where to begin...These fingerprinting agencies are set up in spare rooms of low budget businesses. If you have an extra bedroom, you can set up shop. I felt like I was on the set of some bad BBC comedy. I was fingerprinted in a real estate school which was inside a standard office building. The actual real estate school didn't look very credible. Having been inside a 'real estate school' I am much more likely to check any future real estate agents' credentials. This place was essentially The Sally Struthers School of Home Selling. The whole premise of selling a home is based on first impressions and curb appeal. The place could be in shambles structurally, but if looks pretty, then you are more likely to get a bite. It reminded me of the doctor's office where my cousin had her sinus surgery. One walk into the waiting room and I knew that she should have walked right back out and found another doctor. The ripped plastic covers on the seats, the bad flourescent lighting and the dingy sea foam blue painted walls in the waiting room told you everything you needed to know about how much time was spent giving attention to detail. You want your surgeon to pay attention to detail. I felt like I was walking into the waiting room of a sketchy plastic surgeon on the other side of the border in Mexico. The kind that you see as expose's on the 6 o'clock news. This particular real estate school/fingerprinting office gave off this vibe.
The first person to greet me was a doughy faced boy with glassy eyes and unfortunate pock marks and an expressionless stare. "May I help you?" "No, but maybe I can help you", I thought to myself. He was able to hand me an application and I sat down on the cleanest looking piece of furniture I could find, a dining room chair with a plastic cover. All of the furniture appeared as though it had been purchased at the Holiday Inn on the axis road. You know the one, the one that has the commericals on TV saying "everything must go; all artwork, all desks, all lamps. Final Liquidation". Nothing was a matched set and it all had dings on it. There were fingerprints and smudge marks all over the glass top of the dining room table (the set had an Asian motif). I'm sure that if you ran a blue light (the kind used in crime scene investigations to find blood or semen) over the sofa the whole thing would have lit up flourescent blue. One doesn't normally come across window treatments inside an office building. Maybe mini-blinds, but certainly not antebellum era curtains and valences, the kind you might expect to see on a plantation down south, like Tara (these probably wouldn't have passed the blue light test either). So, I sat there, with my daughter (home from school due to illness) trying not to touch anything till my name was called.
As I waited, the proprieter of the school came out into the lobby. She was tall and really skinny and the kind of person who flirted with everyone, man or woman; the kind who talks to loud, winks at you inappropriately, glances at you for approval when she's not even talking to you, half laughs after every statement that she makes-as though everyone is interested in what she is saying or doing. All I could think was, "Why don't you stop talking, put down the Starbucks cup that you are clutching with both hands and get a vacuum cleaner and some Windex." Everything was inappropriate in this place, the furniture, her decorum and her dress. Though she was late 40's to early 50's, she wore skin tight jeans (the kind that are worn by metal band groupies) with a patch of an angel on her left cheek tucked into high heel boots, a sleeveless cowl neck sweater with a cleavage revealing tank top underneath and a big silver ring on her left index finger. You could tell she had a membership to a tanning salon and she had not seen her natural hair color in decades. The current overly treated blond that she wore was so brittle that it probably snapped off every time she brushed her hair. It was probably her idea to run the fingerprinting operation out of the extra room. This would allow her to be subsidized for all the time she spent doing nothing. Maybe she had an ex boyfriend who had been a cop who told her about the scam. "Listen, you don't have to do anything and you get paid $XXX for it a month. They just send you checks. You hang a sign in your window, have a spare room with some low budget computer system and you are listed on the registry of state sponsored fingerprinters." She probably broke up with him after he came home drunk too many times, but at least he got her set up with her little cash cow.
I was escorted back to an room about 5' x 8' to get fingerprinted. There was a sign on the door that said "Secure Room. Enter only with authorized personnel. Everything beyond this door is recorded." It was supposed to make it look official, but the scotch tape holding it up and the poor grade computer paper that was crumpled on one edge made it loose effect. If you have ever seen the show "To Catch a Predator" you could imagine what this 'secure' room looked like. It was the room behind the 2 way mirror that the guy with the headphones, tape recorder, video camera and computer with voice matching capabilities was hiding out in while the bad guy sat on the other side not knowing he was about to get caught. ("I really thought she was 19. That's what she told me in the chatroom. I know I'm not a 15 year old choir boy, but I was gonna tell her that when I met her in person"). No one had bothered to wire this room appropriately. I guess if they needed to quickly close up shop (like when the real estate school accreditors came around) they could pull all the wires down and make it look like just another classroom. The wires poked out of a white tile in the ceiling and hung along the wall. There were 2 computers with a digital camera set up on a tripod attached to them. Along with getting fingerprinted, you had to have your picture taken-a mug shot. The fingerprinting machine was wired directly to the computer and it was like a mini photo copier. I stood in front of the fingerprint copy machine and the junior helper wiped each of my prints with a damp washcloth that had probably been used on the previous 12 fingerprintees and had probably been brought from home by the tall, blond lady. He did each finger on both hands and then all 4 fingers together. I showed my daughter the fingerprints on the computer and told her that no 2 people had the same fingerprints. "And no 2 fingers are the same either" added helper jr. "They are like a snowflake" I explained. To which she responded, "Like Snowflake's (the mouse)." "No" I said, "Animals don't have fingerprints". "What about Star (our dog)". "No, not even dogs" (even though I wasn't not completely sure about that one-maybe they do have dog-prints?).
I paid my $44.20 (which will be deducted from next month's tuition), got my receipt and we left. I guess the fingerprints will be uploaded into some national database to make sure I am not some criminal or creep. All, so I can go into my 4 year old daughter's preschool class and count from uno to diez once a week for 20 minutes. I didn't mind doing it. It's not like I had anything else to do. But, I did learn something. Nothing is probably as secure as you think it is. I have more confidence in my ability to judge a character than the official fingerprinting process. Know your kids' teachers and who they hang out with because this is a far better indicator of what is going on in their lives than some guarentee afforded to you by a beaurocratic institution...
Friday, October 24, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Animal Obituaries
I just finished reading one of the best books I've ever read, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. She received the Pulitzer Prize for this book of short stories, so I guess I'm stating the obvious by saying that it was good; she doesn't really need my endorsement. With my newly reduced work schedule I can do things like read. I've read more books in the past couple of months than in the past 10 years. Anyway, because her prose was so haunting and poetic and touched me so deeply, it's making me want to exercise my literary muscles. Rather than struggle to come up with new material, I'm pulling from my stock pile of old stuff...
September 11, 2005
"I loved him. He was my best friend!" The first time we heard this sentiment it was at the untimely demise of a tick that had been extracted from our eldest son's scalp. His younger brother was mourning the loss of the first family pet. His brother had fed that tick and nurtured it with his own blood. As the tick circled the dark watery tunnel of the commode, we bade him farewell. And then he was gone. Our middle son knew he'd never find another friend quite like this tick, a blood brother in the truest sense of the word. We prayed for the tick, thanked Jesus for the tick's presence in our lives, we told stories of how the tick would be happily reunited with it's mother and father and all of its tick siblings. Nothing could console our middle son. Something special happened that day between that tick and our middle son. A bond was formed and our 2 year old son was forever changed (or, even though he wasn't the one with the blood sucking tick-he was manifesting early symptoms of Lyme's disease).
Recently our middle son found a grub worm in the back yard. This was his new best friend. No matter that he had caused a near fatal crush injury to its dorsal half. His soul mate had been resurrected in the form of the common grub worm. As he rushed to show me his new discovery, I could see the joy in his eyes and his plans for their future together; They would take up residence together. Our middle son in his bed and the grub worm in a plastic cup sitting on his shelf above him. The worm would accompany our son to bath time, ride shotgun next to his carseat in the minivan. They'd be together forever, or at least until his dessicated carcass found its way to the dustpan and out to Monday morning trash pick-up. Our son eagerly waited to show his father his new invertebrate friend. His father was not keen to give free room and board to the grub worm and obviously was oblivious to the complexity of their, middle son and worm's, relationship. Lee had no compassion towards displaced grubworms, but acquiesed and allowed the worm to reside in a non-disposable drinking cup. He even put some water in the cup, at our son's request. As middle son ran across the yard to show his new worm habitat to his brother and sister, the worm was catapulted out of his new home. Just like that, in the flash of a moment, life was forever changed and the grub worm was gone. This time, middle son was able to reach deep within himself and pull through, launching the cup full of water, the former worm abode, into the air and baptizing his brother and sister.
This past Friday the kids and I drove north of town to an orchard. Lee was at home with a bad case of the shits that he had acquired subsequent to helping Hurricane Katrina evacuees. Along with Toby, a yellow lab, and a flock of guineas, we were the only people at the orchard. Before we could pick persimons and jujube's, my oldest son insisted on discussing a dog's life span and the neutrality of Toby's gender based on his lack of testicles. Finally his mind was able to wrap around the concept of involuntary emasculinization and we set out to harvest bounty. After about 15 minutes of intense gathering, it was time to break for lunch. While eating, a hummingbird landed near where we sat for our picnic. The bird was not quick enough to escape Toby and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to instruct the kids on the theory of 'Survival of the Fittest'. In the best Marlon Perkins voice I could muster I began my narration, "Watch children as the dog grips the bird in his teeth. See the bird's fragile bones shatter in the dog's teeth." Just before, "Look at how the bird glides down the dog's throat", in a miraculous twist of fate, the bird hopped out of Toby's mouth and onto a plastic chair. While the oldest son, youngest daughter and I went to go shake more jujubes out of the trees, middle son decided he needed to stand vigil at the bird's side. Daughter was scared to death of the dog. She knew that after all those years on a chain with those guineas just beyond his reach, Toby had finally tasted blood and if you put a few feathers on her, she might well be a guinea in the dog's mind. As middle son stood shiva, he decided to construct an altar for the bird; 2 towels were wrapped around it. But this configuration was not quite sacred enough, a 3rd towel needed to be draped on top of the bird and pressure, ever so slight, needed to be applied to the bird. As the bird entered into its afterlife (with middle son's assistance), daughter, believing the supernatural to be possible, lifted the bird by its bloody wings in the hope that it would take flight. And we all appreciated the moment for bringing new meaning and clarity to the circle of life."
This reminds me of the most recent loss in our household...Dottie...she was a victim of the aftermath of Hurricane Ike. Dottie had been left in the care of my husband while the kids and I headed out of town after the storm. My mother in law offered to house the mouse in our evacuation (and we did have an emergency mouse evacuation plan-she was to be loaded up into a tupperwear container with holes), but since the urgency of the moment had passed and truthfully, because 3 kids, a dog and a mouse for 5 hours in the car was more than I could handle, I opted to leave the mouse in the capable hands of my husband. The day that we are to return home he calls and says, "You're never gonna believe this (when ever anyone starts a statement like this, you know they are lying about something), but when I went to check on Dottie this morning, she was stiff as a board. She was fine just yesterday. I don't know what happened. I fed her and gave her water." Long story short, a replacement mouse was purchased before we returned home. The replacement mouse was a male and smelled like urine and had red eyes (original Dottie had black eyes), but the kids didn't seem to notice. Dottie #2 lasted a day and a half before my daughter assasinated her. If it is possible to be stunned to death, this is how Dottie #2 came to his demise. Either that or it was a crush injury (inside the vise grip of a 4 year old girl's hand). Upon learning that Dottie #2 (which the kids still thought was Dottie #1) was dead and gone, there was a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Misery. That pretty sums up the collective emotion. Or maybe it was heartache. Much time was spent eulogizing Dottie. Sometimes something will happen and all of the sudden Dottie will be remembered, "I remember when Dottie used to eat her food" or "I remember when Dottie used to sleep in her plastic cup" or everyone's favorite memory, "I remember when Dottie used to run on her wheel". Such bittersweet memories...all the more precious now that we have 2 new mice, Piggy and Snowflake.
September 11, 2005
"I loved him. He was my best friend!" The first time we heard this sentiment it was at the untimely demise of a tick that had been extracted from our eldest son's scalp. His younger brother was mourning the loss of the first family pet. His brother had fed that tick and nurtured it with his own blood. As the tick circled the dark watery tunnel of the commode, we bade him farewell. And then he was gone. Our middle son knew he'd never find another friend quite like this tick, a blood brother in the truest sense of the word. We prayed for the tick, thanked Jesus for the tick's presence in our lives, we told stories of how the tick would be happily reunited with it's mother and father and all of its tick siblings. Nothing could console our middle son. Something special happened that day between that tick and our middle son. A bond was formed and our 2 year old son was forever changed (or, even though he wasn't the one with the blood sucking tick-he was manifesting early symptoms of Lyme's disease).
Recently our middle son found a grub worm in the back yard. This was his new best friend. No matter that he had caused a near fatal crush injury to its dorsal half. His soul mate had been resurrected in the form of the common grub worm. As he rushed to show me his new discovery, I could see the joy in his eyes and his plans for their future together; They would take up residence together. Our middle son in his bed and the grub worm in a plastic cup sitting on his shelf above him. The worm would accompany our son to bath time, ride shotgun next to his carseat in the minivan. They'd be together forever, or at least until his dessicated carcass found its way to the dustpan and out to Monday morning trash pick-up. Our son eagerly waited to show his father his new invertebrate friend. His father was not keen to give free room and board to the grub worm and obviously was oblivious to the complexity of their, middle son and worm's, relationship. Lee had no compassion towards displaced grubworms, but acquiesed and allowed the worm to reside in a non-disposable drinking cup. He even put some water in the cup, at our son's request. As middle son ran across the yard to show his new worm habitat to his brother and sister, the worm was catapulted out of his new home. Just like that, in the flash of a moment, life was forever changed and the grub worm was gone. This time, middle son was able to reach deep within himself and pull through, launching the cup full of water, the former worm abode, into the air and baptizing his brother and sister.
This past Friday the kids and I drove north of town to an orchard. Lee was at home with a bad case of the shits that he had acquired subsequent to helping Hurricane Katrina evacuees. Along with Toby, a yellow lab, and a flock of guineas, we were the only people at the orchard. Before we could pick persimons and jujube's, my oldest son insisted on discussing a dog's life span and the neutrality of Toby's gender based on his lack of testicles. Finally his mind was able to wrap around the concept of involuntary emasculinization and we set out to harvest bounty. After about 15 minutes of intense gathering, it was time to break for lunch. While eating, a hummingbird landed near where we sat for our picnic. The bird was not quick enough to escape Toby and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to instruct the kids on the theory of 'Survival of the Fittest'. In the best Marlon Perkins voice I could muster I began my narration, "Watch children as the dog grips the bird in his teeth. See the bird's fragile bones shatter in the dog's teeth." Just before, "Look at how the bird glides down the dog's throat", in a miraculous twist of fate, the bird hopped out of Toby's mouth and onto a plastic chair. While the oldest son, youngest daughter and I went to go shake more jujubes out of the trees, middle son decided he needed to stand vigil at the bird's side. Daughter was scared to death of the dog. She knew that after all those years on a chain with those guineas just beyond his reach, Toby had finally tasted blood and if you put a few feathers on her, she might well be a guinea in the dog's mind. As middle son stood shiva, he decided to construct an altar for the bird; 2 towels were wrapped around it. But this configuration was not quite sacred enough, a 3rd towel needed to be draped on top of the bird and pressure, ever so slight, needed to be applied to the bird. As the bird entered into its afterlife (with middle son's assistance), daughter, believing the supernatural to be possible, lifted the bird by its bloody wings in the hope that it would take flight. And we all appreciated the moment for bringing new meaning and clarity to the circle of life."
This reminds me of the most recent loss in our household...Dottie...she was a victim of the aftermath of Hurricane Ike. Dottie had been left in the care of my husband while the kids and I headed out of town after the storm. My mother in law offered to house the mouse in our evacuation (and we did have an emergency mouse evacuation plan-she was to be loaded up into a tupperwear container with holes), but since the urgency of the moment had passed and truthfully, because 3 kids, a dog and a mouse for 5 hours in the car was more than I could handle, I opted to leave the mouse in the capable hands of my husband. The day that we are to return home he calls and says, "You're never gonna believe this (when ever anyone starts a statement like this, you know they are lying about something), but when I went to check on Dottie this morning, she was stiff as a board. She was fine just yesterday. I don't know what happened. I fed her and gave her water." Long story short, a replacement mouse was purchased before we returned home. The replacement mouse was a male and smelled like urine and had red eyes (original Dottie had black eyes), but the kids didn't seem to notice. Dottie #2 lasted a day and a half before my daughter assasinated her. If it is possible to be stunned to death, this is how Dottie #2 came to his demise. Either that or it was a crush injury (inside the vise grip of a 4 year old girl's hand). Upon learning that Dottie #2 (which the kids still thought was Dottie #1) was dead and gone, there was a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Misery. That pretty sums up the collective emotion. Or maybe it was heartache. Much time was spent eulogizing Dottie. Sometimes something will happen and all of the sudden Dottie will be remembered, "I remember when Dottie used to eat her food" or "I remember when Dottie used to sleep in her plastic cup" or everyone's favorite memory, "I remember when Dottie used to run on her wheel". Such bittersweet memories...all the more precious now that we have 2 new mice, Piggy and Snowflake.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Holiday's Over
I've been on holiday (that's the way the British say it-they leave out the article 'a'. Like, they 'go to hospital', not 'the hospital'). Though it really hasn't been much of a holiday. Unless you've had your head under a rock, then you know that Ike rolled through Galveston and Houston. The actual storm itself wasn't too bad-very noisy and at times a little scary. But, our house remained intact with only a blown-over fence and a couple of broken tree limbs. The aftermath of the storm was fun for about a day and a half while everyone was in their front yards helping each other clean up and grilling all the food from the fridge so it wouldn't spoil. Precisely 36 hours after the power went out, it officially got old. It was not intended for me to be a pioneer. The kids and I loaded up and went to my in-laws' lake house for about 7 days and then came home with the pipe dream that our power would come back on and the kids would get to go back to school, but that didn't happen for another 8 days (15 days after the storm). But, considering the amount of damage that occurred in other places, we came out if it unscathed.
Lee and I took our internal medicine recertification exam today. I flew through 180 questions in about 3 hours. The speed with which I completed the exam is not any indication of my results-my fate hangs in the balance and I won't find out whether I passed or failed for another 2-3 months. Because all of my pride (not to mention my board certification) is riding on this, I really hope that I passed. I hate public humiliation. My mother graciously watched our kids last week so we could study and I crammed as much knowledge as I possibly could into that one week. It was actually fun returning to student life when your biggest concern was how many hours of studying you could get done in one day. Since Lee and I didn't meet till I was in medical school and he was in residency we never had the opportunity to study together and it was a great experience hanging out in different coffee shops and university campuses (Lee quite enjoyed the scenery on campus, though he could have been the father of most of the girls there). I did learn a lot; I really like internal medicine andI really like my husband.
While you are preparing for an exam this big, especially when it is crunch time-the last 2-3 weeks before the test, you have this perception that every waking moment of the day needs to be spent reviewing material. "Sorry kids, I can't make you dinner, I have to study. You've seen me get the gas burners started. Make yourself some mac and cheese." "No, you don't have any clean underwear. Laundry isn't a topic in my review book." So, needless to say, my mom was a lifesaver. Who knows what our kids would have had to resort to (selling plasma for food, maybe) if she hadn't agreed to intervene. I explained to my son that this test was like all of the spelling tests in the whole world multiplied by a thousand. I still don't think he got it.
You don't have to take # 2 pencils and bubble in scan trons during standardized testing these days. The 'modern' process is completely computerized and you go to a testing center where the person next to you might be getting his certification as a radiology technician or taking defensive driving, for all you know. We had to arrive at 7:30 am and we arrived about 10 minutes early. Precisely at 7:30 am the test center proctor opened the door and immediately started barking out orders. She was the drill sargent equivalent of a shopping center rent a cop. You could tell she had aspirations, dreams of someday, somewhere being able to really tell people to do things that really mattered. But, for now she was content to make us stand in a single file line and take a number and sit down till our number was called. Every once in a while she would show us her soft side and be personable or make an attempt at humor, but if you tried to reciprocate, she was all business. During my break, I was standing by my locker eating a granola bar and drinking some bottled water and she says, "I'm sorry mam, but you can't eat or drink in here. I'll have to ask you to step into the hallway." "Okay, no big deal", I think to myself. When I walk back in, she is stuffing a candy bar down her gullet. After she got us all signed in and fingerprinted (literally, we were fingerprinted) she didn't have anything to do except surf the net and enforce protocol when one of us would wander out for a break. "No we don't have any water here. Remember, if you take longer than your ten minute break, you will not get extra time to take the test." I think she might have had a flask under her desk. Either that or she was a rapid cycler.
Yesterday we had 2 insurance adjusters come out to look at our master bathroom which has a water leak (pre storm problem). We learned that these guys were not actual employees of the insurance company, but individual private contractors. They were storm chasers of sorts. They were from Florida and were experts in hurricane damage. These guys could have been a band of traveling minstrels dressed as insurance guys-they had the shirts with the company logo, but that was about it. I mean, they were very convincing in their knowledge of house structure and construction. However, the most impressive thing about these 2 guys was their schtick. They were like the McKenzie Brothers or the Smothers Brothers of the insurance adjuster world.
Guy 1, "Hey, did you say you had a water leak, aye?"
Guy 2 "Yeah, she said she had a water leak. Didn't you hear her, she said she had a water leak."
Guy 1 "We're gonna have to go in your attic to look at your pipes, aye."
Guy 2 "Like he said, we're gonna be looking at the pipes in your attic, aye. Your pipes need looking at."
Guy 1 "It could be coming thru the roof and going thru the eaves and it works like capillary action, the water aye, it wicks you know."
Guy 2 "It sucks the water right up, aye. The wicking and the capillary action. Sometimes it comes through the roof, right through the eaves. The water could be coming from there, aye."
Guy 1 "Now what we have to do here is take out all this sheetrock and then you get your mix of grain alcohol and you spray it on the sheetrock to get rid of the mold, aye. The grain alcohol, that's what you need to get. What's that stuff called, you want to get your 151 Everclear, your moonshine-that stuff is what the professionals use. You want to use it aye"
Guy 2 "Now your moonshine, the 151 Everclear-now you might want to drink it, but just take a sip, aye, you want to save it for your mold, aye. Spray her right on there."
Guy 1 "That pipe up in the attic, right where the joint is, aye. What you have there is copper oxide. You see it in that picture there. That's copper oxide. Now it might be a leak, or it might be your standard pinhole, aye."
Guy 2 "Your pinhole, aye, that's what I'm talking about. The pinhole could be causing all yer problems aye. Ya see that copper oxide. Could be that pinhole."
Guy 1 "Now you got yourself a real good insurance company here, but they aren't gonna pay for this, aye. This'll eat your deductable right up, but won't be anymore than that, aye. Yer standard job here, spraying that Everclear and putting up the sheetrock, aye. You won't get a penny from the insurance company, aye."
Guy 2 "Hell no they're not gonna pay fer this, aye. Ya got yer deductable aye. Damn good insurance company. The best there is, aye. That food yer cooking sher does smell good, aye"
Me, "Thanks, your welcome to have some, but my husband told me it tastes like horse shit, aye".
I couldn't have paid for better entertainment. Lee told me that he thought Guy 2 was sweet on me. I think it was the "my husband thinks my cooking is equivalent to horse crap" statement that charmed him the most. But, if flirting gets my bathroom fixed, then I'm all for it, aye.
Final note, I'm on an "eating clean" kick-barley, oats, kashi, etc...So, my recipe, polenta with salmon, bombed yesterday. I believe that right after Lee told me "this tastes like horseshit" he told me that he was going out to get a double at Wendy's. I paid him back by reading about all of the evils of processed foods, refined sugars and saturated fats while he ate his 2 chimichangas. I ruined it for him so bad that he couldn't even eat his refried beans. This morning he reminded me of why I was so smitten with him from the get-go. We were on our way to the test and he was complimenting me on my choice of apparel, black sweats, white t-shirt, black and white hankerchief tied up, 'Aunt-Jemima' like in my hair, glasses with the black and white frames. "You look kind of cute this morning in your headband and matching glasses. Kind of a dalmation look, like you might be riding on the side of a firetruck." He'd better watch out...someone out there might like me, aye!
Lee and I took our internal medicine recertification exam today. I flew through 180 questions in about 3 hours. The speed with which I completed the exam is not any indication of my results-my fate hangs in the balance and I won't find out whether I passed or failed for another 2-3 months. Because all of my pride (not to mention my board certification) is riding on this, I really hope that I passed. I hate public humiliation. My mother graciously watched our kids last week so we could study and I crammed as much knowledge as I possibly could into that one week. It was actually fun returning to student life when your biggest concern was how many hours of studying you could get done in one day. Since Lee and I didn't meet till I was in medical school and he was in residency we never had the opportunity to study together and it was a great experience hanging out in different coffee shops and university campuses (Lee quite enjoyed the scenery on campus, though he could have been the father of most of the girls there). I did learn a lot; I really like internal medicine andI really like my husband.
While you are preparing for an exam this big, especially when it is crunch time-the last 2-3 weeks before the test, you have this perception that every waking moment of the day needs to be spent reviewing material. "Sorry kids, I can't make you dinner, I have to study. You've seen me get the gas burners started. Make yourself some mac and cheese." "No, you don't have any clean underwear. Laundry isn't a topic in my review book." So, needless to say, my mom was a lifesaver. Who knows what our kids would have had to resort to (selling plasma for food, maybe) if she hadn't agreed to intervene. I explained to my son that this test was like all of the spelling tests in the whole world multiplied by a thousand. I still don't think he got it.
You don't have to take # 2 pencils and bubble in scan trons during standardized testing these days. The 'modern' process is completely computerized and you go to a testing center where the person next to you might be getting his certification as a radiology technician or taking defensive driving, for all you know. We had to arrive at 7:30 am and we arrived about 10 minutes early. Precisely at 7:30 am the test center proctor opened the door and immediately started barking out orders. She was the drill sargent equivalent of a shopping center rent a cop. You could tell she had aspirations, dreams of someday, somewhere being able to really tell people to do things that really mattered. But, for now she was content to make us stand in a single file line and take a number and sit down till our number was called. Every once in a while she would show us her soft side and be personable or make an attempt at humor, but if you tried to reciprocate, she was all business. During my break, I was standing by my locker eating a granola bar and drinking some bottled water and she says, "I'm sorry mam, but you can't eat or drink in here. I'll have to ask you to step into the hallway." "Okay, no big deal", I think to myself. When I walk back in, she is stuffing a candy bar down her gullet. After she got us all signed in and fingerprinted (literally, we were fingerprinted) she didn't have anything to do except surf the net and enforce protocol when one of us would wander out for a break. "No we don't have any water here. Remember, if you take longer than your ten minute break, you will not get extra time to take the test." I think she might have had a flask under her desk. Either that or she was a rapid cycler.
Yesterday we had 2 insurance adjusters come out to look at our master bathroom which has a water leak (pre storm problem). We learned that these guys were not actual employees of the insurance company, but individual private contractors. They were storm chasers of sorts. They were from Florida and were experts in hurricane damage. These guys could have been a band of traveling minstrels dressed as insurance guys-they had the shirts with the company logo, but that was about it. I mean, they were very convincing in their knowledge of house structure and construction. However, the most impressive thing about these 2 guys was their schtick. They were like the McKenzie Brothers or the Smothers Brothers of the insurance adjuster world.
Guy 1, "Hey, did you say you had a water leak, aye?"
Guy 2 "Yeah, she said she had a water leak. Didn't you hear her, she said she had a water leak."
Guy 1 "We're gonna have to go in your attic to look at your pipes, aye."
Guy 2 "Like he said, we're gonna be looking at the pipes in your attic, aye. Your pipes need looking at."
Guy 1 "It could be coming thru the roof and going thru the eaves and it works like capillary action, the water aye, it wicks you know."
Guy 2 "It sucks the water right up, aye. The wicking and the capillary action. Sometimes it comes through the roof, right through the eaves. The water could be coming from there, aye."
Guy 1 "Now what we have to do here is take out all this sheetrock and then you get your mix of grain alcohol and you spray it on the sheetrock to get rid of the mold, aye. The grain alcohol, that's what you need to get. What's that stuff called, you want to get your 151 Everclear, your moonshine-that stuff is what the professionals use. You want to use it aye"
Guy 2 "Now your moonshine, the 151 Everclear-now you might want to drink it, but just take a sip, aye, you want to save it for your mold, aye. Spray her right on there."
Guy 1 "That pipe up in the attic, right where the joint is, aye. What you have there is copper oxide. You see it in that picture there. That's copper oxide. Now it might be a leak, or it might be your standard pinhole, aye."
Guy 2 "Your pinhole, aye, that's what I'm talking about. The pinhole could be causing all yer problems aye. Ya see that copper oxide. Could be that pinhole."
Guy 1 "Now you got yourself a real good insurance company here, but they aren't gonna pay for this, aye. This'll eat your deductable right up, but won't be anymore than that, aye. Yer standard job here, spraying that Everclear and putting up the sheetrock, aye. You won't get a penny from the insurance company, aye."
Guy 2 "Hell no they're not gonna pay fer this, aye. Ya got yer deductable aye. Damn good insurance company. The best there is, aye. That food yer cooking sher does smell good, aye"
Me, "Thanks, your welcome to have some, but my husband told me it tastes like horse shit, aye".
I couldn't have paid for better entertainment. Lee told me that he thought Guy 2 was sweet on me. I think it was the "my husband thinks my cooking is equivalent to horse crap" statement that charmed him the most. But, if flirting gets my bathroom fixed, then I'm all for it, aye.
Final note, I'm on an "eating clean" kick-barley, oats, kashi, etc...So, my recipe, polenta with salmon, bombed yesterday. I believe that right after Lee told me "this tastes like horseshit" he told me that he was going out to get a double at Wendy's. I paid him back by reading about all of the evils of processed foods, refined sugars and saturated fats while he ate his 2 chimichangas. I ruined it for him so bad that he couldn't even eat his refried beans. This morning he reminded me of why I was so smitten with him from the get-go. We were on our way to the test and he was complimenting me on my choice of apparel, black sweats, white t-shirt, black and white hankerchief tied up, 'Aunt-Jemima' like in my hair, glasses with the black and white frames. "You look kind of cute this morning in your headband and matching glasses. Kind of a dalmation look, like you might be riding on the side of a firetruck." He'd better watch out...someone out there might like me, aye!
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