We went to the Holiday Auto-In last night for a little goonies and greased lightening action. Jillie (thank you, thank you, thank you) came in early for me so I could get up and out, home by 7:15 and on the road to Butler County by 7:30. It ended up to be only a 45 minute drive from where we live and we arrived in plenty of time for my hubby's peace of mind. One nice thing about CinCity---a short drive can get you smack dab in the middle of corn country. US 27/ "Highway to Heaven" is a beautiful piece of road.
There was a full moon rising up behind us at the drive in, the Star Spangled Banner being sung by faceless voices in the cars and honking of horns at its finale, mattresses being hoisted to the roofs of vans and kids scampering up, little ones running around with green DayGlo necklaces, cats with gleaming green eyes skulking across the gravel, and hubby saw a shooting star. Honey haired girl and I only saw the stars in front of us, a young Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. Did he really do his own dancing?? I had forgotten how good he was at it.
Got home and in the bed at 2:30am which is the downside to drive-ins when you're not 17 years old, but with about twenty pots of coffee the hubby and I are managing. A small price for a slice of some midwest pure Americana.
Onto another note....
Why is it that when a patient does poorly the first comment to be mentioned is that the doctors and nurses are trying to kill the patient? Doesn't matter if it's from a gunshot wound to the head or an aneurysm bursting in the brain with a less than 10% chance of survival, the muttering comments I hear as I walk into the waiting area to get a family are, "They're killing him."
Trust me on this--
if I were in fact some pathogically smart sociopath with the desire to kill people I would way more like to work as a hired assassin along the lines of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
hmmmmmm....ying vs yang....what to choose....
Oh, hell yes, the job with the 5am wake up call, no lunch break, no bathroom break, and no gun in my foxy black garter belt. Now that I'm thinking, no garter belt either. That's the job for me. I don't even get a posse to hang with.
And before anyone starts commenting--I know, I know...I know about the grief, and the anger, and the guilt that families feel, and that the hospital staff are the only ones that it's safe enough to be angry with at this point in time. I know. I really do get it. But after a week of battling dead and dying brain cells and the toxic effect of the neutrophils and cytokins they release, not to mention the mechanical injury of a mass of blood and the pressure pushing in on the brain, and losing the patient, it's demoralizing.
Brighter note-- it's my older daughter's 21st birthday. She's grown up to be a beautiful young woman and nose-snortin' funny to boot. I miss her company. She'll be home next Wednesday for a week of birthday extravaganza and in the meanwhile will have to make do with the 21 pink longstemmed roses we sent as a surprise.
The title of today's blog is taken from one of her favorite books as a little girl, Nancy Willard's The Nightgown of the Sullen Moon, illustrated by David McPhail.
"But the moon's promises, what are they worth? She took the nightgown off, and she hid it in a drawer at the back of the sky. And on those nights when you see no moon, you can be sure she is trying it on and dreaming she is back on earth sleeping under the warmest featherbed in the world."
I always thought the girl in the illustrations looked just like my little one.
I'm off now to hang a new shower curtain; a picture of Venice to make orientation to time and place that much more difficult early in the morning. Very exciting stuff.