Bigger or Better: Life outside of Texas

Mark and I have decided we don't want to do another cross-country move. Or, if that's not possible, we'd prefer to have less stuff. Penguin supervision Right now we are in Packing Box Gridlock: we can't move thing A because thing B is in the way, and we can't move thing B because thing A is taking up the space. Also, I think moving presents a hazard to my health. So far, I have given myself a blood blister, a paper cut, various bruises, nasty scratches, a swollen nail-finger junction (more scientifically known as a nail fold), and low back pain; all of which are directly due to dealing with boxes. It's not all stress and pain, though. We have experienced major blessings in the moving process.  +Mark's parents flew down to help us move.  +We had safety in our long drive up, despite discovering that one of the tires had dry rot and needed to be replaced.  +My plants survived the trip, and didn't get the cars dirty.  +The timing of things seemed...

Big news: I'm transitioning to my new job as nurse practitioner, which also happens to mean that Mark and I are transitioning from Houston to Washington D.C. There are so many new experiences out there because of these transitions. Examples: +I have lived in Texas all my life [except college, but I came home for summers. also, I wasn't born here, but whatever, I don't remember that part] . I am used to the fact that if I drive for a couple of hours in ANY direction, I will still be in Texas. This is not so where we are moving. We will be in D.C., but we could easily be in Maryland, Virginia, New York, West Virginia, etc etc within a couple of hours by train. That is SO weird to me; it's like this alternate universe of life in the U.S. +I had to get fingerprinted to get my RN and NP license verified in D.C., and it turns out that I don't have any discernible fingerprints on my ring and pinky fingers. The fingerprinting lady said it was more common in women,...

At the end of last month, Mark and I flew to D.C. hoping to shoot us a Job (which these days are rather crafty, showing up in only select locations, and usually not where we are). The airplane that got us there had some obfuscating pictures that were supposed to direct us in what to do in an emergency, but seemed instead to tell us that only those wearing high heels and carrying luggage would be allowed to exit.  [This is why punctuation is important. Remember, don't eat Grandma .] Neither of us had slept well the night before (particularly Mark), and planes don't offer much comfort to those in the economy section, so we took a nap as soon as we arrived at our motel. And then I woke up and found a bug in the sheets, killed it, and called the front desk to ask for a new top sheet. They were kind enough to offer us a new room, which happened to be a suite, but the jury is still out on whether it was nicer. The door to the suite didn't shut well, which was probably bec...

Interesting fact: I have lived in Houston for over 25 years, but the last time I went to the Houston Rodeo, I was in elementary school. I vaguely remember a barrel race, and a caterpillar roller coaster. Another interesting fact: Mark has lived in Houston for 3 years, and no rodeo. Also, we live less than 15 minutes from where the rodeo is held. Clearly we're missing out on opportunities here. And so, finally, we went. We didn't see any of the actual rodeo events (barrel racing, steer wrestling, calf roping, bull riding, and my favorite: mutton busting), but we did see lots of livestock, so I think that counts. And we did watch part of a horsemanship show, but then wandered off to pet horses' noses because they are super soft. I got to pet this little lambie. Which act startled it. This cow was part of a "mini livestock" exhibit. The mini horses were cuter, but had more people blocking the view. It's a pig pile A longhorn cattle. Very...

There are mysterious forces at work on our clothes in our apartment. And we can't figure out how to combat them. For many many months now, some of our clothes have smelt of rancid oil. Despite throwing out both of our clothes dressers, using dehumidifying packets and odor eliminators, and airing them out, the smell remains. We've tried washing the washing machine. Soaking the clothes in vinegar. Adding SimpleGreen to our laundry load. Adding Borax to the wash. Using fabric softener with the detergent. Trying different detergents. Bleaching all of the white-colored smelly clothes. Nothing keeps the scent from coming back. And worse, it's spreading; how, I don't know, or I would be able to protect our remaining clothes. We keep the oil-smelly clothes separate from all of our other clothes, yet the smell still gains ground. Clothes that have never been in the "contaminated" dressers start to reek. I'm down to four or five non-smelly undershirts. Nearly all o...

For reasons of bed availability and timing (probably), my hospital ward has seen many deaths recently [with the clarification that these are expected deaths, not medical disasters] . I handle them much differently than I did 6 years ago, in that they don't depress me as much, but by no means does that imply I do not think of them. I think of every one. I think back to decide if I made a difference. Mostly, the difference I make is very very small. I do not, after all, have power over death. I usually do not have great words of wisdom or comfort for these patients and their families. And I suppose the touch of my cold hands is not that comforting either. But I remember them. I remember the deaf and confused patient, who smiled when I tried to speed-learn medical terms in sign language, cheating a bit by posting pictures of the signs in her room. Of course we have translators, and (thankfully) video interpreters, but for me, that disengages me from my patient, and is often too cum...

Last week, for a job interview, Mark and I embarked to Charlottesville (Virginia, not North Carolina), home of Jefferson's home--Monticello. Hence the title of this post. Except we never made it to Monticello, because we ran out of time, but, you know, we were still in his hometown. The reason we embarked instead of flew is because we had purchased our tickets separately, so were not sitting next to each other, and even had different flights after the layover in Charlotte (apparently the namesake was very popular in the South). These circumstances led to the Aggravating Situation of the whole trip. You see, Mark and I were in different boarding groups on the flight to Charlotte, and since he boarded after me AND had a shorter layover, I took his carry-on with mine so that I could stuff it above his seat before walking further down to mine, thus guaranteeing him a spot in the overhead bin. Unfortunately, when he boarded, he could not locate it anywhere, and sent me frantic tex...