I interviewed my kid when he was 7. Why was I surprised?

•April 22, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Part of the reason I have not blogged in a while is the fact that I decided to return to the Field of Emergency Medical Services. It began innocently enough as a Dispatching position for my former FTO (See “That’s what you get for waking me up at 3am“) who had started his own private ambulance company. That snowballed into a management position and returning to school to re-obtain my Emergency Medical Technician certification. This chain of events led me back into education and I ended up teaching and becoming the program coordinator for a local higher learning institution.

(PSA: DO NOT let your certifications expire unless you are a bazillion time sure that you will NEVER EVER NOT EVER use it or need it again. In my case, I needed to take the entire course over again. I’ll get to that in future posts.)

If you really think about it, I am grateful in that cliche way, because I am loving where I am at right now. Remember that last post where I mentioned the ‘…fabulous pity party…. there was some wallowing, whining and a pretty damned good imitation of a hermit crab, but overall it was a wild, fun, annoying, hurtful, I’m not regretting it type of ride…”? It’s true.

I was cleaning out my hoard of handbags, bags, purses and wallets recently and came across an old thumb drive from my EMT class. Here is part of an assignment I had during my path to reclaim my place in EMS. Things didn’t change with my bebe…and 5 years after I conducted this interview, he has acquired a tact-filter of sorts. I highly encourage anyone to interview a child in this manner about any sort of career. Especially yours if you are interviewing your own child…

Interview with a 7 year old.

(I tried to write his responses exactly as he said them, so pardon the grammar.)

ME: What is an EMT? – A: (short silence.) I thought you knew because you work for an ambulance company and went to school to work on an ambulance again. They work on an ambulance.
ME:I have to ask you these questions for homework. Humor me. What do they do on an ambulance?–A: They go get sick people or people who are hurt real bad and take them to the hospital. Sometimes they have to get there real fast because there is an emergency or they are almost dead.
ME: What do you think they do for a person who needs to get to a hospital real quick?– A: Well, they put them in the ambulance, and they listen to their heart with a stethoscope and if they are bleeding they put bandages on them. If they are almost dead they take them really fast or they do CPR. They go Code 3 with their lights and sirens.

ME: Do you know when to call for an ambulance and who to call?– A; (After an awkward moment of silence and an “Are you kidding me?” stare.) You call 911 for an emergency, like if you are almost dead, you fell and cracked your head open after goofing around, you are choking or some emergency like that. If your life isn’t in danger but you are hurt or need to go the hospital and you don’t have a ride you call some other ambulance company not 911. I can’t believe you don’t know this. Isn’t it your job? (This is where I had to pretend I was sneezing so I did not break out into a laughing fit.)
ME: Yes, it IS my job. I told you. I have to ask you what you think as homework for my class. Why are you giving me a hard time? Remember when I answered YOUR interview questions? What do you do if you are a patient?– A: (Sigh). You do what the EMT and Paramedics tell you, and you tell them why you have to go to the hospital, because they are just trying to help you. Don’t be scared. You will have fun riding in the ambulance. Can I go now?

ME: Yes. Go. Thank you for your time (Child is long gone.)

004

6 years gone…Which means 6 years of repressed blogging

•April 8, 2015 • Leave a Comment

It’s funny what major life changes will do to a person…Instead of the proven catharsis of blogging and writing, I eschewed that in favor of a fabulous pity party. Now, It wasn’t the pity party I am guessing you are thinking of. Sure there was some wallowing, whining and a pretty damned good imitation of a hermit crab, but overall it was a wild, fun, annoying, hurtful, I’m not regretting it type of ride.

Which all equals out to blogging and writing fodder. Once upon a time my writing muse threatened me with all sorts of ideas. I think I am in a great place to let loose with it. Everything from home life, my ramblings, rantings and artistic creations and all the way back to The Corporal’s Shenanigans. Yes. I went back to my beloved field of Emergency Medical Services. Believe me when I tell you that the shenanigans have not dissipated. There will always be ” I can’t make this S**t up” stories, and I’ve got a few percolating.

I am looking forward to exploring the blogosphere again. This time I bring the addiction of technology driven inspiration such as Pinterest, Instagram, Influenster, and the dreaded “auto-correct”.

Six more weeks of winter…Happy Groundhog’s Day

•February 2, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I never understood this ritual of following around a groundhog to see how much longer winter would be here. (*Adds that to list of things to web surf for.*) I have a ton of questions about this!
For example:

  • Who thought to ask a groundhog when spring would get here?
  • And how did the groundhog communicate with this someone?
  • When this person ran back to the local village to share his news, was he suspected of witchcraft, deemed to be insane, or laughed out of town as the village idiot?
  • Or was he touted the village scholar for being able to talk to the animals?
  • Was he Dr. Doolittle? Clinically insane? The village prankster?
  • And whose brilliant idea was it to proclaim this a holiday?
  • Was it one of Hallmarks failures? I can’t remember the last time I received a card, chocolates, toys or a visit from the Great Groundhog. Nor have I ever had a pin that said “Kiss me! I’m a Groundhog!” ,carved a Groundhog or decorated one with ornaments and lights.

But there you have it. It is Groundhog’s day, and according to the ‘Official’ groundhog, there will be 6 more weeks of winter. I suppose that would make a difference to those living in a harsher climate than California.

So in honor of Groundhog’s Day, and the impending 6 weeks left of winter, I will work on cleaning up my blog. The sidebar is cluttered, and the footer is harboring an infestation of ‘jumble’. But thanks to my short attention span and procrastination habits, you as a reader may not reap the benefit of such cleansing for a while.

ADDENDUM!(6:07pm)

OK, because I am a huge mythology and folklore fiend, I had to find the origin of this so called ‘Holiday’. Apparently it is older than Hallmark. If you are remotely interested, bored or curious, click the link below.

Behind the Groundhog. Festival, Holiday or Freakshow?

Time flies when you are having fun…

•August 28, 2008 • 1 Comment

or are otherwise occupied.

 

can’t believe it has almost been a year. I was just thinking that I have effectively turned my back on my “imp of a writing muse’. It’s been rather painful, considering the mood strikes me when I am travelling dark grey paths of sadness, and the emotional rollercoaster I have been on, even though I always have on my happy face. It has been a tough year for me. Not the least of my distractions has been the loss of my Grandparents,the start of a new job and little man has started KINDERGARTEN after learning HOW TO READ at KinderCare!! I suppose there is a lot of blogging I need to do in order to acheive a sense of catharsis!!!

 

In the meantime, this video clip has grounded me and brought me back to a sense of reality and makes me thankful for all of life’s blessings.

 We were able to contribute to this mans last wish. I spoke with  Garvin Thomas on Friday when he called to see if they could film footage at our headquarters and get a shot of our rigs. (My Camaro even got a cameo! It matches.) I cried when I saw this, because I was able to put a name to a face. I would have donated my time on the rig if I had the certs! Perhaps that’s an idea…
 
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4574017529821596890&hl=en

AVAST! Today be ‘Talk Like A Pirate Day’!!

•September 19, 2007 • 3 Comments

 Captain RagDoll

Avast ye scurvy worm ridden land bastids! Today be talk like a pirate day! *cough* Oh the silver screen drama… Heh heh.

Anyhow, in honor of the day, I started thinking about rum. (what else is new? As if I need a day declared to rationalize this…) I was thinking about rum, and the fact that even though it may be 5 o’ the clock SOMEWHERE, it was not even past breakfast HERE.

My train of thought was chugging away as usual, and as usual when I am beginning to think about a new piece of art or writing I begin to mutter ‘Hamlet’s Soliloquy’. One thing led to another and I came up with a fabulous shot of rum goodness, named….HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY. Yes yes. I KNOW it is talk like a pirate day, but really. How cliche …rum…pirates? Ha ha ha ha! Besides…it’s in a shot and I can turn it into a drinking game involving the lines.

So, in honor of ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day’, My deviations today include a short bit of advice and a Eulogy of sorts. And a fabulous invention that sounds good in theory, but may be simply rancid and horrific in practice. I’ll let you know as soon as I try it. I need to replenish one of the ingredients. Why are you looking at me like that? It may or may not be rum…maybe.

Why is it Talk Like a Pirate Day? (Mind starts racing at all the other ‘pirate themed’ days it could be.

Anyway…dragging these from the depths of Davy Jone’s Locker… Enjoy! And may fair winds fill yer sails. ~Captain RagDoll

ODE TO CAPTAIN PLATY: A EULOGY FOR A BLOG
Captain RagDoll of the ship “Thalion” is called to say a few words in honor of the dearly departed blog. A dark haired pirate sitting amongst a group known as ‘The Shout Boxers’ stands up. She strides up to the podium garbed in black. She is wearing a black leather tricorn hat (if you look closely you can see the embossed outline of a skull and crossed swords) adorned with an ebony ostrich plume. A black sash replaces the scarlet one that usually adorns her waist. Her ‘fancy’ sword hangs at her side, and a black ribbon in honor of Cap’n Platy and his recent foray into fencing adorns the hilt. This is a solemn occasion that calls for ‘fancy dress’. She clearly has taken fashion tips from the ‘Dread Pirate Robert’ what with the long sleeved black shirt, dark pants and black leather boots. She removes her hat, nods towards the gathered crowd, takes a deep breath (As deep as her black leather corset will allow) and…

She begins to speak…

Captain, oh fellow Captain! Oh wonderful blog that we knew so well as ‘The Platypus Society’! In the grand scheme of the Blogosphere, we hardly knew ‘ye.

*Blows schnoz enthusiastically into starched hanky after choking down sobs*

No longer shall we meander the halls of such a fine vessel of writing. No longer shall there be merriment, no longer shall there be such interesting bits of World Wide Web linkage. Oh where, oh where shall the epic poem ‘Rhyme of the Senile Bus Patron’ reside? No more shall we be able to kept up to date on the antics of idiots naming animals such things as Zonkeys. Who shall teach us such fine drinking games? Without your inspiration, I would never have had so much fun watching American Idol. Do you remember?

Pick a judge. Everytime your judge says a certain word everyone else takes a drink. Here are the words:

Simon: Competition
Randy: Dog or Yo (pick one)
Paula: Love (pick one)

Whenever any judge uses the word “absolutely” everyone drinks. It should make watching the show much more enjoyable.
Ahh.Good Times.

*Sighs and dabs at eyes with corner of hanky. No, not the corner used to blow nose. Eyeliner is now flowing freely down cheeks a la Tammy Faye.*

Why were you taken from us so soon? You were such a fine blog. A merry blog; an informative blog; a serious blog. And you were such a source of humor. Why, I remember one post, *insert half choked forced laughter here* in which you posed the question, “What would happen if Satan’s turtle ate the Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese?” Why, you even suggested that Goldenpalace.com buy the turtle to make the showdown happen. That question had me occupied for hours! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!

*Begins to wail. Is comforted by mediumlargephil and other ShoutBoxers while Cap’n Jeff tosses RagDoll a fancy new bandana. The Tammy Faye look is beginning to scare the children. She bravely collects herself, and attempts to go on.*

Are there to be no more careless shantys? No more swigs of mental grog? Because of you I became aware of the existance of Darth Tater! *Breaks down into hysterics* I jes’ can’t go on! It’s too difficult! PLEASE! Not the male enhancement ads! Noooo! Not the pictures of the cat! *Sob*sniff*hearty nose blowing*

*Is finally led away and helped back to her seat. Nearly sits on sword, and sobs give way to rampant cursing. Remains in seat for rest of eulogies.*

On the prevention and alleviation of Sea Sickness

I have been set the task of a bit o’ writin by Cap’n Jeff who claims the fair waters of Hawai’i as ‘is home port. I have decided to set down a bit o’ advice. On the prevention and alleviation of Sea Sickness: Ahoy, landlubbers! So ye be wantin’ to sail the seas do ye? What’s that? Ye not be havin’ yer sea legs yet and suffer from that malady known as sea sickness? Since this be no true sickness or disease, it be best to keep the followin’ in mind. And do not be feelin’ too bad, any mariner worth ‘is salt has had a bout with the ailment at one point.

  • Tis prudent to be fixin’ yer sights upon the horizon or land if ye be within sight of it. Refrain from looking all around ye, as tempting as it may be, else ye will most likely be burdened with the cold sweats and the urge to feed the fish as ye hang over the gunwale. (Fer the love of the sea, if ye do be feelin’ poxied, be sure and do everyone a favor and keep the deck clean, else ye will be shark bait as soon as ye be done swabbing the deck of yer mess!)
  • Avoid the urge to retire to yer quarters to lie down. I do be assurin’ ye thet ye’d be inviting the sickness to become worse. Ye will soon be feelin as if ye were ‘bout to visit Davy Jones Locker.
  • Wear a Pressure Point Therapy Wrist Band. The wise acupressure practitioners of the Orient did be havin’ a good prevention. Ye can use this along with any remedy with no ill effect .
  • Have a bit o’ginger in any form that do be agreeable to ye. Pills, candy, cookies or jes plain raw.
  • Partake of some Rolaids ®. If ye be slightly ill, this may help, but the Gods save ye if ye be more than that. This magic pill will help to neutalize the acids in yer’ belly, hopefully suppressing the burn as ye lose yer lunch.

As much as yer mates do be wishin’ to spin yarns, sing chantys, splice the mainbrace and partake of grog the night before ye weigh anchor and set sail, ye may be wantin’ to take it easy. Especially if ye do be havin’ difficulty holding yer rum. A hangover at sea will make you beg to Dance with Jack Ketch (The hangman)! So thar ye have it. Cap’n Jeff, I believe I have completed me task per our accord. I tip me hat to ye. May fair winds fill yer sails.

Arda never saw anything like this…

•September 14, 2007 • Leave a Comment

And then she said “…and Balrogs shoot flowers and butterflies out of their bung-holes…” in response to something she apparently did not believe. (Lady Atanone- RP character at www.taliessin.bravehost.com  if you visit, stop in at the Great Gates and say hello. You don’t have to register to post, but if you do you have access to all the tales etc.)

Drawn and colored quickly on a dare. All because someone said that it was not a mental image she needed. Well, they say a picture will last longer…*grins and runs*

I do not own balrogs, I am merely borrowing them from Tolkien and Arda. Hmmm, I don’t really own flowers and butterflies either…

Balrogs and Butterflies

Curiosity Killed The Cat…I was just the accomplice

•August 23, 2007 • Leave a Comment

Because I KNOW Misha wants me to share this….

I love my sisters. My youngest sister gets the benefit of all my love without the teasing, but the ‘Middle’ bore the brunt of all my creative torments. *cough* I mean ATTENTION. Yeah, attention. That is the word I was searching for. Suffice it to say I am surprised that she still speaks to me. A child’s curiosity is a wonderful thing. The power of suggestion, in the hands of an imaginative pre-teen is a dangerous tool.

Sharing the gift of story with a loved one

Have you ever read ‘Little Women’? Do you remember the part in the story in which the characters tell the tale of the kids who were left alone? The last thing their mother told them was to ‘Not put beans in their nose’. In any case, it was a lesson on how the power of suggestion could drive someone to do something they otherwise would have no intention of doing. I decided to put it to the test one day.

  • Me: Misha, you want to hear a story?
  • Misha: OK!
  • Wolf in Sheeps Clothing: OK, there once was a Mommy who had to go to the store. (Work with me here. I totally ripped the idea off and retold the story using the basic idea. Of course the story is not written verbatim, that was a LONG time ago!) The Mommy had 3 kids, and told them to behave while she was gone. She told them they could watch TV, play games, and eat whatever they wanted. BUT, they were not to open the door to strangers, and NO MATTER WHAT, they were NOT allowed to put beans in their noses. ‘Why not? Asked the kids. Because if you do,’ the Mommy said,’ then a magic beanstalk will grow out of your nose.’
  • Innocent kid without a clue to evil sisters motive: WHAT? Why would they want to put a bean in their NOSE anyway?
  • Calculating future con-artist: SHH! Because! Don’t interrupt me, or I won’t tell you the story.
  • Poor little girl, she has no idea: OK! Finish the story.
  • 12 year old on the fast track to delinquincy: Anyway, she left them at home, and they did everything the Mommy said they could do. They watched TV, played tag, ate ice cream, and didn’t answer the door when the doorbell rang. All of a sudden the youngest one was crying, and picking his nose. He kept crying and saying his nose hurt. The oldest one said “OOO! You put a bean in your nose! Mom said not to. ” The kids tried and tried to get the bean out of their brothers nose but it was stuck. When the Mommy got home, she saw the older kids with tweezers and a popsicle stick, trying to get the bean out of the youngest kids nose. ‘I wanted to see a magic beanstalk!’ sobbed the youngest kid.’ ‘It was just a story!’ said the Mommy, as she grabbed a crochet hook and stuffed it up the kids nose. She hooked the bean out of his nose, gave him some aspirin and sent all the kids to bed with no dinner. All the kids were sad, and the youngest kid looked like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer for a week. The End.
  • Unimpressed kid: That story was stupid.
  • Liar*cough* I mean storyteller: So what? Don’t go putting beans in your nose, or you’ll get a crochet hook stuck in you nose, or a beanstalk will grow out of your nose.

At this point, I thought that my experiment failed, and went on my merry way in pursuit of some fun diversion. A few hours later Misha is screaming, and my Mom is cursing ‘Why in the hell did you put a damn bean in your nose?’ No intelligible sounds are coming from my sister, merely a screaming howl, so I venture into the kitchen to see what is going on. My sister is sitting (pinned down) in my Nana’s lap and my Mom is aiming a flashlight up her nose, while trying to fish out the bean with tweezers.

  • Mom: Did you put a bean up your sisters nose?
  • Me: NO! Why would I do that?
  • Irritated Parent: I don’t KNOW! Did you tell her to put a bean in her nose?
  • Truth-bender: No. I did NOT tell her to put a bean in her nose. (Well, I DIDN’T.)

My Mom eventually got the bean out of her nose, and Misha never did confess her reason for stuffing it up there in the first place. Only I knew better, and I also knew that I was lucky to have my hide intact.

Misha and the Nestle’s Chocolate Quik ‘Factory’

 

I fondly remember the time that I convinced my sister that Chocolate Quik was harvested from our garden. (Nestle’s Quik is powdered chocolate flavor for milk , just in case you weren’t familiar with the stuff.) She must have been about 4 years old, making me 12, and old enough to know better. My friend Yvonne and I were in the front yard, trying our best to ignore the pre-kindergarten bundle of pestering questions, when a devious thought popped into my head.

  • Me: Hey Misha!
  • Naive Little Sister(playing “Barbie” in the dirt under the Juniper): What??
  • Evil Sister: I bet you didn’t know that your playing in Nestle’s Quik. You better not mess it up!
  • Suspicious Child: Na’ahh! I don’t believe you. It comes from the store!
  • Evil Sisters partner in crime: It does too come from the garden! My Mom buys all our Quik from your Grandpa! It tastes better.
  • Lying like a rug big sister: See? I told you. *grabs a bit of dirt and pretends to eat it* You don’t know what you are missing.

At this point, Yvonne and I innocently move our attention to the lawn a few feet a way. Misha still seems unconvinced, but we noticed that she leans over to grab a sample of the ‘Quik’.

  • Suckered Innocent: *Phhhhbbbtttttt! SPIT-SPIT-SPIT* EWWWWW! You LIARS! I HATE YOU! *runs into house screaming something about ‘You’re gonna get it!’
  • Pair of heathens: HA HA HA HA HA!