Happy Birthday to Me!

It's a 2006 Mazda Miata with a Bose stereo, Leather seats, keyless entry and alarm and it's all mine! (ok, mine and the bank for now)

NOTICE!

To all who know and love me enough to call...
We are finally eliminating our land-line phone. We can still be reached on Ken's cell 717-821-2657 or my cell 717-644-1089
As always, if we can't talk, we won't answer, just leave a message. :)

Thought for the day

Thought for the day:

"No woman will ever be truly satisfied................ because no man will ever have a chocolate penis that ejaculates money."

Lent resolution

I'm not a big one for Lenten sacrifices but this year I decided to use the excuse to change a habit. So for Lent I'm giving up elevators and resolving to park farther away from stores and walk whenever reasonable in order to get a bit more excercise.

My new office space

Welcome to my new office! I'm currently sharing space with the bookkeeper and her assistant, both very nice ladies. This works out great for me as I learn my way around the building and all the systems like the phone, fax, and computer. I have the big copier in the next room, the office supplies in the closet and all the advise I can beg from my office mates. I also have an entire wall of windows behind me which is a god-send in the winter months. (note to self: buy a small fan) I don't get my computer and phone until Friday when the case manager using them is finished so probably Monday will be spent arranging my desk and supplies to my liking. My boss and I worked out my building assignment and he helped me pick some really cherry facilities where I've already met lots of terrific folks and will follow some good CM's making my transition easier. It doesn't hurt that those facilities are exceeding budget projections and are in some very nice areas of the city.
The folks in this facility are sooooooooooooooo nice. The administrator must have asked me at least 4 times if there was anything he could do to make me feel at home. The PT/OT/ST folks were also very welcoming at the meeting today and the Liason is an absolute delight who says she can't wait for me to teach her more ways to manipulate her poor unsuspecting husband. Yes, my influence is on the move again. :)
So far this job REALLY feels like my reward for the past 16 months of giving my 150% at work. It feels like I'm gonna like this job very much.

The first day on the new job...

....and I had a great time! My first two days are spent with Nnenna who is the friend who encouraged me to apply for the job in the first place and today will be spent with her in Lebanon. What a great way to start out. With an encouraging friend in familiar surroundings with people who like you. Awesome.
In case anyone is wondering, I've carefully refrained from blogging about my last 2 -turned into 3 - weeks on my old job because I CHOSE not to go there. If you can't say anything nice..... right? Let's just say that I had my eyes opened to some unpleasant aspects of my supervisors and their attitude towards other employees and even their parent corporation itself. Rather unflattering. I've written no fewer than 4 posts about the subject but wisely chose not to publish them. So I'll try to let that be that and move on and up.
I'm still trying to get that bird's eye view of the process that makes up my new job. Lots of learning to do! Just how I like it. :)
For those who find such things important - and you know who you are - I wore light brown pants and a fantastic green sweater top.

The big reveal!

So FINALLY I can reveal what has had me on pins and needles and keeping to myself a bit more than usual. I HAVE A NEW JOB! I've received a promotion from Hospice RN Case Manager to General Case Manager working for HCR ManorCare Corporate. So the questions ensue...

1. What the heck is a Case Manager? The CM is the hub in the center of the health care universe (how's that for pretentious?). She(he) stands as the moderator between the patient, the payer source (insurance) and the provider (doctor, therapist, facility) to assure that the patient receives the highest level of care that his insurance can (will) pay and that the provider is fairly compensated so that they can provide the best care.
   
2. Isn't that the same thing you have been doing for Hospice? Well, yes, and no. The hospice Case Manager coordinates the care as it is delivered to the patient, but there are layers of administration preventing the CM from directly negotiating better rates or more service. The hospice CM is also directly responsible for providing a significant amount of that care herself. General Case Management is pretty much hands-off. Because she provides hands on care to specific patients, the CM also must serve on-call time to cover services 24/7/365. A general CM basically works when the insurance companies are open.
3. But I thought you loved hospice! I do! And I sincerely hope that this career path brings me back to hospice at some point. For now, I have tons to learn that I can't access in my current hospice position.

What real world differences are there?

• REAL girl clothes instead of fancy pajamas.
• Business hours instead of lost sleep.
• A COMPUTER instead of carpal tunnel inducing paperwork!
  
• An office!
  
• Being responsible for my own work, my own results and my own SCHEDULE!
• NOT having to clean up other CM's messes every Monday. grrrrrrrrrrrr
• Not having to clean up patient messes any day. (no, I will not miss that aspect of direct patient care...are you serious? yuck!)
  
• Did I mention no call, no holidays and no sleepless nights?
  
• More money.
  
• A CLEAN uncluttered car. (Imagine that! I no longer have to explain to guests why I have 3 sizes of incontinence briefs in my back-seat.)
• Working for Corporate which opens up all sorts of doors.
  
• Trips to Toledo for training and inservicing. (Toledo night life. woot.)
• MARKETING! My job actually falls under the marketing department and I'll be responsible for visiting and marketing to hospitals, doctors, nursing homes and other providers. LOVE. IT.
  

So that's my big news. I start my new job February 9. My "home" facility will be in Camp Hill PA and eventually I'll probably have 4+ buildings throughout York and Carlisle. I'm really excited! This is going to be a really intense year learning the ins and outs of insurance and medical compensation and I just can't wait!
Edit: Now I won't be starting my new job until Feb 12. Not my choice nor my new boss's choice, don't even ask. grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Personality typing

Every so often, usually when I am questioning my place in the universe (i.e. I feel antsy...usually somewhere between January and March) I take another of those online personality type tests. Philosophically I do tend to lean to Jung so it's not surprising that these tests intrigue me. So tonight, when I should have been working diligently, I took a brain-break and completed yet another. And I got the same answer I always do: ENTP Here's an explanation:

ENTPs value their ability to use imagination and innovation to deal with problems. Trusting in their ingenuity to get them out of trouble, they often neglect to prepare sufficiently for any given situation. This characteristic, combined with their tendency to underestimate the time needed to complete a project, may cause the ENTP to become over-extended, and to work frequently beyond expected time limits. Complicating this situation is their predisposition to experiment with new solutions. This makes them eager to move on to the next challenge when things get boring. ENTPs become stressed when their improvisational abilities are ineffective and they will avoid circumstances where they might fail.
If stress continues, ENTPs become distracted and their "can do" attitude is threatened. Feelings of incompetence, ineptness, and inadequacy take over. They need to escape situations that are associated with anxiety is more prominent for the ENTP than for any other personality type. Doubtful of whether they will have what it takes to accomplish a task, they displace their fears onto situations they can elude. Panic, fear, and anxiety then block the expression of their creativity. Defensive phobic reactions cause the ENTP to circumvent achievement in other areas and prevent the success they strive on.

I'm honestly not sure why it surprises me that I always get the same answer.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. -Albert Einstein

And there you have it.

Merry Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the garages
Not a motorcycle was rumbling, except for Santa Claus's;
The leather was hung in the closet with care
In hopes that nice weather, soon would be there.
Our bikes were all nestled snug in their covers
With visions of blacktop and burning up rubber.
With momma in her bandana and I in my skull cap
We had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn, arose such a rumble
I sprang from the bed as I started to grumble,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But, a pack of motorcycles, with riders and gear,
With one old driver so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be Biker Nick,
He was dressed all in Leather, from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished with bugs and road soot,
A bundle of chrome he had flung on his back
Down the chimney he came, carrying a big red sack,
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
As he filled all the riding boots, then turned with a jerk,
And laying a finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose,
He sprang to his motorcycle, to his team gave a sign
As they all cracked their throttles and got into a line,
Now Honda, Now Harley, Now Triumph and Indian,
On Kawi, On Suzuki, On Yamaha and Victory,
But I heard him exclaim as he roared out of sight
"Keep the rubber side down and have a good ride.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

What has happened to me?

You know, I'm a girl - not in the chronological sense of the word but in the shopping preference sense of the word. I like pretty, shiny expensive things. I love shopping for clothes and trying on shoes and picking out accessories that sparkle and glitter. So at what point did this happen?
I pay more than $100 for shoes that could look like this:
But instead look like this:
I could buy jewelry that shines like this:
But instead I end up with shiny stuff like this:

We won't even go into my Christmas wish list which includes a scissor lift and motorcycle work stand. Oh my.

"Bud"

This is a photo of a VERY dear person I know who is nicknamed "Bud". Bud is losing his memories to Alzheimers disease, but not alone. He is visited daily and faithfully by his (hilarious) wife of 64 years. Every afternoon she brings him a snack and reminds him of the goings on of his grown children and grandchildren and tells me stories of their "adventures" together. I rarely leave without a smile and a chuckle but today was extra awesome and I have Mrs. "Bud"s permission to tell you all about it.
Bud has lost his names for things and people. This really bothers Mrs Bud because he doesn't remember her name. When asked for her name he says "My Wife". Obviously that's the important part of the relationship but, darn it, it's NOT her name! Always being known as "Mr. Hawley's daughter" or "Ken's wife" or "Nik/Alex/JJ's mom" I can sympathize. Well today Mrs. Bud tells me "watch this..."
Mrs B: "Bud, Tomorrow is December third."
Bud: "uh huh" (with absolutely no sign of interest)
Mrs B: "What is December third, Bud?"
Bud: (without a single moment's hesitation and looking straight at Mrs. B) "YOUR Birthday!"
Mrs. B was wearing a very satisfied look when she said "64 years and he doesn't remember my name but I hammered THAT date into his brain!"

Gotta love it. :)

RNs on Motorcycles

I was trying to find a motorcycle riding club involving nurses tonight. While I (surprisingly) didn't find any such groups, I did come across this "filler" article in a local Med Center site:

Joan Caldarella, R.N., is celebrating her golden anniversary as a nurse at a Massachusetts community hospital by riding her Harley Davidson motorcycle over the Golden Gate Bridge. Despite decades of change in the nursing profession, the 72-year-old Mrs. Caldarella has helped at least 80,000 patients in a career of extraordinary stability at Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital-Needham.

Pardon me.... you want to read that again?! GOLDEN anniversary...that means 50 years! and how old is she to celebrate that...ON HER HARLEY ROAD KING?????? 72 freaking years old thankyouverymuch! Oh, the Road King is only one of her hogs by the way. Oh. My. Freaking. Gawd. I feel like such a weenie right now. I think when I grow up I want to be Mrs. Joan Caldarella.
Read the rest of this wonderful story here.
Wow.

Momma's new scoot

The Wave

The Wave
By Tom Ruttan

The bike's passenger seat swept up just enough that I could see over my father's shoulders. That seat was my throne. My dad and I traveled many back roads, searching for the ones we had never found before. Traveling these roads just to see where they went. Never in a rush. Just be home for supper.

I remember wandering down a back road with my father, sitting on my throne watching the trees whiz by, feeling the rumble of our bike beneath us like a contented giant cat. A motorcycle came over a hill toward us and as it went by, my father threw up his gloved clutch hand and gave a little wave. The other biker waved back with the same friendly swing of his left wrist.

I tapped my father on his shoulder, which was our signal that I wanted to say something. He c**k his helmeted ear back slightly while keeping his eyes ahead.

I yelled, "Do we know him?" "What?" he shouted.

"You waved to him. Who was it?" "I don't know. Just another guy on a bike. So I waved."

"How come?" "You just do. It's important."

Later, when we had stopped for chocolate ice cream, I asked why it was important to wave to other bikers. My father tried to explain how the wave demonstrated comradeship and a mutual understanding of what it was to enjoy riding a motorcycle. He looked for the words to describe how almost all bikers struggled with the same things like cold, rain, heat, car drivers who did not see them, but how riding remained an almost pure pleasure.

I was young then and I am not sure that I really understood what he was trying to get across, but .
It was a beginning. Afterward, I always waved along with my father when we passed other bikers.

I remember one cold October morning when the clouds were heavy and dark, giving us another clue that winter was rolling in from just over the horizon. My father and I were warm inside our car as we headed to a friend's home. Rounding a comer, we saw a motorcycle parked on the shoulder of the road. Past the bike, we saw the rider walking through the ditch, scouring the long grasses crowned with a touch of frost. We pulled over and backed up to where the bike stood.

I asked Dad, "Who's that?" "Don't know," he replied. "But he seems to have lost something. Maybe we can give him a hand."

We left the car and wandered through the tall grass of the ditch to the biker. He said that he had been pulling on his gloves as he rode and he had lost one. The three of us spent some time combing the ditch, but all we found were two empty cans and a plastic water bottle.

My father turned and headed back to our car and I followed him. He opened the trunk and threw the cans and the water bottle into a small cardboard box that we kept for garbage. He rummaged through various tools, oil containers and windshield washer fluid until he found an old crumpled pair of brown leather gloves. Dad straightened them out and handed them to me to hold. He continued looking until he located an old catalogue. I understood why my dad had grabbed the gloves. I had no idea what he was going to do with the catalogue. We headed back to the biker who was still walking the ditch.

My dad said, "Here's some gloves for you. And I brought you a catalogue as well." "Thanks," he replied. I really appreciate it." He reached into his hip pocket and withdrew a worn black wallet. "Let me give you some money for the gloves," he said as he slid some bills out.

"No thanks," my dad replied as I handed the rider the gloves. "They're old and not worth anything anyway." The biker smiled. "Thanks a lot." He pulled on the old gloves and then he unzipped his jacket. I watched as my father handed him the catalogue and the biker slipped it inside his coat. He jostled his jacket around to get the catalogue sitting high and centered under his coat and zipped it up. I remember nodding my head at the time, finally making sense of why my dad had given him the catalogue. It would keep him bit warmer. After wishing the biker well, my father and I left him warming up his bike.

Two weeks later, the biker came to our home and returned my father's gloves. He had found our address on the catalogue. Neither my father nor the biker seemed to think that my father stopping at the side of the road for a stranger and giving him a pair of gloves, and that stranger making sure that the gloves were returned, were events at all out of the ordinary for people who rode motorcycles. For me, it was another subtle lesson.

It was spring the next year when I was sitting high on my throne, watching the farm fields slip by when I saw two bikes coming towards us. As they rumbled past, both my father and I waved, but the other bikers kept their sunglasses locked straight ahead and did not acknowledge us. I remember thinking that they must have seen us because our waves were too obvious to miss. Why hadn't they waved back? I thought all bikers waved to one another.

I patted my father on his shoulder and yelled, "How come they didn't wave to us?" "Don't know. Sometimes they don't."

I remember feeling very puzzled. Why wouldn't someone wave back? Later that summer, I turned 12 and learned how to ride a bike with a clutch. I spent many afternoons on a country laneway beside our home, kicking and kicking to start my father's '55 BSA. When it would finally sputter to a start, my concentration would grow to a sharp focus as I tried to let out the clutch slowly while marrying it with just enough throttle to bring me to a smooth takeoff. More often, I lurched and stumbled forward while trying to keep the front wheel straight and remember to pick my feet up. A few feet farther down the lane, I would sigh and begin kicking again.

A couple of years later, my older brother began road racing, and I became a racetrack rat. We spent many weekends wandering to several tracks in Ontario-Harewood, Mosport and eventually Shannonville. These were the early years of two-stroke domination, of Kawasaki green and 750 two-stroke triples, of Yvon Duhamel's cat-and-mouse games and the artistry of Steve Baker.

Eventually, I started to pursue interests other than the race track. I got my motorcycle license and began wandering the back roads on my own. I found myself stopping along side roads if I saw a rider sitting alone, just checking to see if I could be of help. And I continued to wave to each biker I saw.

But I remained confused as to why some riders never waved back. It left me with almost a feeling of rejection, as if I were reaching to shake someone's hand but they kept their arm hanging by their side.

I began to canvass my friends about waving. I talked with people I met at bike events, asking what they thought. Most of the riders told me they waved to other motorcyclists and often initiated the friendly air handshake as they passed one another.

I did meet some riders, though, who told me that they did not wave to other riders because they felt that they were different from other bikers. They felt that they were "a breed apart." One guy told me in colorful language that he did not "wave to no wusses.'' He went on to say that his kind of bikers were tough, independent, and they did not require or want the help of anyone, whether they rode a bike or not.

I suspected that there were some people who bought a bike because they wanted to purchase an image of being tougher, more independent, a not-putting-up-with-anyone's-crap kind of person, but I did not think that this was typical of most riders.

People buy bikes for different reasons. Some will be quick to tell you what make it is, how much they paid for it, or how fast it will go. Brand loyalty is going to be strong for some people whether they have a Harley, Ford, Sony, Nike or whatever. Some people want to buy an image and try to purchase another person's perception of them. But it can't be done. They hope that it can, but it can't.

Still, there is a group of people who ride bikes who truly are a "breed apart." They appreciate both the engineering and the artistry in the machines they ride. Their bikes become part of who they are and how they define themselves to themselves alone.

They don't care what other people think. They don't care if anyone knows how much they paid for their bike or how fast it will go. The bike means something to them that nothing else does. They ride for themselves and not for anyone else. They don't care whether anyone knows they have a bike. They may not be able to find words to describe what it means to ride, but they still know.

They might not be able to explain what it means to feel the smooth acceleration and the strength beneath them. But they understand.

These are the riders who park their bikes, begin to walk away and then stop. They turn and took back. They see something when they look at their bikes that you might not. Something more complex, something that is almost secret, sensed rather than known. They see their passion. They see a part of themselves.

These are the riders who understand why they wave to other motorcyclists. They savor the wave.
It symbolizes the connection between riders, and if they saw you and your bike on the side of the road, they would stop to help and might not ask your name. They understand what you are up against every time you take your bike on the road-the drivers that do not see you, the ones that cut you off or tailgate you, the potholes that hide in wait. The rain. The cold.

I have been shivering and sweating on a bike for more than 40 years. Most of the riders that pass give me a supportive wave. I love it when I see a younger rider on a "crotch rocket" scream past me and wave. New riders carrying on traditions.

And I will continue in my attempts to get every biker just a little closer to one another with a simple wave of my gloved clutch hand. And if they do not wave back when I extend my hand into the breeze as I pass them, I will smile a little more. They may be a little mistaken about just who is a "breed apart."

Just a Biker

JUST A BIKER

I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local Mall.

I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant when you saw my bike
parked out front. But you didn't see me attending a meeting to Raise more money
for the hurricane relief.

I saw you roll up your window
and shake your head when I rode by. But you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. But you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.

I saw you stare at my long hair. But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you roll your eyes at our
Leather jackets and gloves. But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none.

I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. But you didn't see me cry as my children wsere born or have their names written over and in my heart.

I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.

I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. But you didn't see me pat my child's hands knowing she was safe behind me.

I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you race down the road in the rain. But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But you didn't see me trying to turn right.

I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But you didn't see me leave the road.

I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But you didn't see me. I wasn't there.

I saw you go home to your family. But you didn't see me. Because I died that day you cut me off.

I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But you didn't see me.

Repost this around in hopes that people will understand the biker community..


EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE US, RESPECT OUR RIGHTS TO RIDE WHAT WE CHOOSE AND TAKE A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO BE SURE WE ARE NOT IN 'YOUR' WAY

Anyone wondering....?

... where I've been lately? Well, remember back around the time of my last post when I showed a certain motorcycle and said it was my motivation to recover from my hand surgery? Yeah, well I didn't exactly wait till it was ALL healed. ;) I've been riding two wheels and an engine every chance I get! Some lessons I learned really early on (like within the first 5 minutes)

• laying the bike over while at slow or stopped speeds doesn't nesseserily kill you but it sure creates colorful bruises.
  
• Stitches are stronger than you may think and doctors are not at all understanding of a girls need to have fun.
• Vicodin is a wonderful thing.
• If anyone suggests learning to ride a motorcycle on grass first, hunt them down and kill them.
  
• Getting caught in a rain-shower also won't kill you but thunderstorms are best weathered under a roof of some sort.
  
• Even Harley riders show some signs of humility while pouring rainwater out of their boots.
  
• Cars really, really, truly look right THROUGH motorcycles on the road and I vow not to talk on my cell phone while driving (unless I have a bluetooth and then only when it's really important and brief). My boss will just have to wait a few minutes till I can call back.
  
• There really is nothing in the world like a 600 lb vibrator. :D

So I got to the point where I could ride the roads for practice trips and then started my Basic Rider Safety Course. As much as I enjoy the Honda, suddenly I experienced a bike that FIT. The security of being able to maneuver that beast around like a baby's walker was simply amazing! Suddenly my goal of a 650 cc bike took a distant second to finding a bike - ANY bike - that fit me as well as that class model. So I did some shopping around and visited my favorite shop and favorite salesguy, John. And I found this beauty:
She's a 2003 Suzuki Savage 650cc cruiser, AKA "Thumper" to bike riders, with a dry weight of 350 lbs (that's really low) and a seat height of 27 inches!!! (also very low) Despite the photo, she's not all black. The tank is black with BLUE flake and silver flake graphics. Gorgeous and matches my helmet. She rides like she was built with my name written all over her. SOOOOOOOOOOO much fun to ride. Tons of giddy-up and with that single cylinder has that characteristic sound of a classic "thumper". I love that sound. LOL. (You knew there was a rabbit reference in there someplace, right?) Only 3K miles on her and the price was right. Now she's MY thumper. :D Her name is "Katie" and I'll save that explanation for another post. Meanwhile, I put almost 200 miles on her Saturday and Sunday (today) and plan to take her to work tomorrow if the weather holds out. So far it looks like close to 60 mpg! Hey Judy, I can drive to your place for less than HALF the gas cost! WOOT!
I can't say THANK YOU enough to my fellow Lady Biker friend Julia for loaning me the Honda. If she hadn't, I doubt I'd have followed through with my threat to learn to ride. But the Honda isn't ready to go home just yet...she's getting a bit of a makeover first. ;)
Wave at bikers when you see them on the road. One of them just might be ME! And PLEASE, LOOK FOR MOTORCYCLES actively when you drive and PLEASE stay off the cell phone and pay attention.

I really DO work with a bunch of clowns ya know...

This would be one of them...
Don Kelly...
the...........
wait for it.............
Social Work assistant
and
facility .......................
CHAPLAIN.
Yeah.

my reward

...as soon as the hand is better...;)

--
Elaine
Site - http://www.ccrfuzzy.com
BLOG - http://www.ccrfuzzyoutofhand.com
Store - http://www.outofhandfiberarts.com

Complications arose, ensued, were overcome.
Capt Jack Sparrow

Fwd: not much knitting going on

I finally had my carpal tunnel problem worked on. I don't like being one handed :(

--
Elaine
Site - http://www.ccrfuzzy.com
BLOG - http://www.ccrfuzzyoutofhand.com
Store - http://www.outofhandfiberarts.com

Complications arose, ensued, were overcome.
Capt Jack Sparrow