Sunday in CinCity
"here comes another grey morning, a not so good morning after all, She says, well what am I to do today, with so much time..." The kind of morning when it's probably best to stay curled up in the covers with a big old tom cat at the foot of the bed. But, groceries don't buy themselves and errands must get done. I just hate driving around town when it's rainy and misty and cold.
Yesterday took a bit out of me, mostly because work began calling at 5am to beg anyone and everyone to come in and help--they were two nurses short. I had brain lab though and that was already scheduled. So, I helped out a bit before and about three and a half hours after till things seemed to have righted themselves a bit and Pat was coming in extra for the afternoon shift. HoneyHaired and I wanted desperately to see the Illustionist, but it's at a neighboring theater and we couldn't make it there by 3:00.
As for Brain Lab--it is not for the faint-of-heart. I was told "heads in buckets," so I had steeled myself for that, and actually they are well contained in Tupperware. Disquieting though to see faces on them. Not an image to keep with you on a gloomy, rainy day. Very helpful though to transpose what you know of anatomy from a book and make it three dimensional.
I have two presentations this week--The Near-Miss and Injury Online Survey and Health Hazards at Rumpke Materials Recycling Facility(are you kidding me?? If you can think of a health hazard, they've got it), then I believe school is finished for this quarter. If I can get my PowerPoints edited then I can do something fun. In the cold, grey rain.
On a Cold Day in Late March, Near Easter
by Elizabeth Twiddy
I took the car through turns, down long roads,
along wood fences, and saw horses, just two,
far off, in a field. One turned its head toward me—
the other stood motionless so long
I began to wonder whether it was real or a fake
put there to keep the other company,
until finally it bowed its head
earthward. Farther on, I saw a flock of small birds
pulsing together as points over the brown grass,
like tiny buoys responding to air currents,
rising and dipping, the air moving
the smallest feathers on their bellies.
please note: photo art by David Lorenz Winston