Something to Blog About

Lance and I have been serving in the nursery almost as long as we've been married. As a result, neither of us has been to any adult Sunday meetings in almost nine months. Now that I am involved with the Young Women organization and Lance continues as the ward Executive Secretary, we've finally graduated to attending classes where full and complete sentences are the norm. Having Lance return to Elder's Quorum meetings has produced an interesting effect, however. Namely, that he likes to volunteer for everything.

This is not a bad thing. I just find it kind of amusing. And, since Lance signed himself up to help out at the Church-run cannery in Lindon this morning, I decided to come along rather than feel bored and guilty at home, and it proved to be quite an, um, memorable experience.

After washing our hands and donning our plastic aprons and hairnets, we were given a little orientation about safety. There were illustrations to match-- a stick figure straining his back from lifting incorrectly, a pipe blowing hot steam, and hand with four fingers chopped off. We both giggled a little at that last one-- it was quite detailed. Oh, the irony.

Today's fare was pork and beans. The cans came down on a conveyor belt and passed the pork guys (Lance included) who made sure each can got a glob of ground bacon at the bottom. Meanwhile, the beans were washed in the hopper and also took a trip up a conveyor belt, which then dumped them into the machine which filled the cans. The belt under this machine shook wildly back and forth so that the cans filled up evenly. My job came next. The cans then passed under a juice fountain, where they were filled to the brim with a thin sort of tomato sauce before the lids were sealed on. I was to make sure the cans were full, and to keep stray pork and bean bits from clogging up the grate underneath, where the excess juice ran off. It meant that for about three hours I was splattered with hot juice while I stood in a breeze of pure steam. Man, I was so sticky afterward that if you had thrown me on a wall I probably would have stuck to it just like velcro! Although tedious and incredibly noisy, it was neat to watch how the machinery worked and to know that our efforts would bless countless numbers of people.

There were a couple of other jobs as well, including putting the cans in the giant steamer, and then packaging the finished cans into boxes. Then there was the brother behind me who was stuffing bacon into the meat grinder. Can you tell where this story is going?

Everything was fine until I heard the poor guy trying to yell over the tumultuous noise, "It got my finger! It got my finger!" He was clutching his hand tightly and looking desperate. The missionaries rushed him out of the processing area to the hand washing basin and stuck his hand into a pitcher full of ice-- you know, those same clear plastic pitchers they have in every chapel across the country. I turned around and indeed, there at the end where the ground meat came out, I could see the tip of a blue gloved finger amid the greasy chunks of bacon. They took the machine apart to remove it and put it into ice as well.

The police came and while everyone waited for the ambulance, I noticed Lance sit down on some nearby stairs. I went over to talk to him when he rather abruptly got up, ripped off his apron, and disappeared. Turns out the whole ordeal made him rather queasy! Although neither of us really saw any blood or guts, the idea enough was sufficient to make one nauseous. I myself had to concentrate hard not to notice how red the sauce was, and what the dried chunks on my gloves looked like. Lance had to pass the poor guy leaning over the basin in order to make it to the bathroom and almost passed out on the floor. As soon as he thought he was well he came back to man his post, tossing in the greasy, slimy bacon bits... you can guess how helpful that was. He ripped off his second apron and went to lay down in the waiting room until the shift ended, which was about 15 minutes later.

My heart aches for that poor brother. Fortunately at least his finger didn't actually get caught in the actual grinding machinery, where I'm sure it could have yanked in his whole hand. He was pulling out the ground meat at the end and stuck his finger in a little too far, where it got neatly chopped off right below the fingernail by the last rotating blades. The senior missionary next me me leaned over after the ordeal and said, "Well, this is certainly the worst day I've ever had here!" They've had plenty of minor cuts, scrapes, and burns, but no severed appendages. I guess we picked the lucky day to volunteer.

I hope the poor guy is alright. While Lance was outside getting the color back into his face, he heard the man say he had also just lost his job. A trip to the emergency room probably won't help his financial situation. Since we didn't really know him, I don't know how the story ended. We just prayed and hoped, and tried not to barf in the beans.

After our shift was over (and the new girls coming in had pretty wide eyes, having just witnessed the injured man making his way to the ambulance), we were allowed to buy some of the goods we canned for our food storage supply. We bought a case of pork and beans, ohne finger-- although I don't think I'll be able to eat it anytime in the near future.

Firsts

This Memorial Day was my first Memorial Day as a married woman. Not just any married woman, but a woman who married the one and only truly wonderful Lance Rees, whose family has a huge reunion up at their grandparents' cattle ranch in Morgan, Utah every year. Therefore, it was also my first time at the annual Rees Family Memorial Day Reunion.

We started out the day by visiting the cemetery up in Morgan, where Lance's grandparents, great-grandparents, and others are buried. This was also a first for me, considering that visiting the gravesides of our loved ones on Memorial Day was never a tradition for the Fifes. Nevertheless it was very interesting (and educational, too). After that, we all headed over to the ranch, which is now run by one of Lance's uncles.
Although this was my first participation in the annual family get-together, it wasn't my first time visiting the Ranch. The place is huge, and it's beautiful. There's hills, a spring, a river, a reservoir, acres upon acres of land, and of course, cattle. We had a huge potluck picnic out on Grandma Rees' old lawn, with lots of games and general merry-making for the all the little ones. I was a little nervous at first, knowing there would be about a hundred people there that I didn't know, but it ended up being a wonderful day. The weather was great and the company was, too. And of course, the Rees Family Reunion wouldn't be the Rees Family Reunion without shooting the breeze-- and I don't mean conversation.

Yes, I'm talking about rifles and .22's. Clay pigeons and soda cans. Oh yeah, and some microwaves filled with fertilizer bombs. Of all the "firsts" of the day, I suppose this has to be the most notable: Even I took a few shots, believe it or not! I have to admit, this is a culture totally foreign to me, and I've never fully understood the draw of hunting. However, I will say that although I did it mostly to make Lance proud of me, it was in fact, enjoyable--mostly because I blasted my first two clay pigeons right outta the sky. And we'll just stop there! I was mostly afraid of knocking out some of my molars, and as anyone one who knows anything about shooting will see how wrong my technique is, I did manage to keep a hold of the gun and only had a mildly sore shoulder the next day.

All in all it was a great day. Hope the weather's just as good next year!

Odds and Ends

I always mean to write more frequently, but somehow I never seem to get around to it. Today I showed up at work only to find out that I wasn't on the schedule, so they sent me home and I went back to sleep. So, with my newly discovered extra time I have decided to update the ol' blog.

I guess a lot of odd things haven't happened, but I do have something to say about an end-- Hansi's rear end, that is. It's fixed! The mechanics at University Collision did a great job of fixing him up and I have to say it is great to have him back. Although I am deeply grateful to Lance's parents for letting us borrow their car for two whole weeks, I felt about forty years older driving around in a Buick Century.

In other news, Lance continues to make good progress on the Chicken Mansion. Although he has not yet installed the electrical wiring or the hot tub, as you can see the roof is almost completed. We also scratched the tanning bed idea when we were reminded that spending several hours out in the sun on a mildly warm and windy day can cause extensive skin damage for free. I'm still peeling.

Lance shouldn't have all the fun-- I can play with wood, too. I promised Mom a picture of my project and so here it is: The pieces were already cut out, I just painted them. Of course, with the weather finally warming up I don't think it will be an appropriate decoration for much longer.

In other attempts to beautify our tiny space, we bought a hanging basket which has pretty much exploded outside our door. If you look in the window you can see Lance's reflection. He has joined a softball league again this year and we have fun going to the Thursday night games- especially when he wins.

And to wrap it up, just a quick mention of our past week. We had lots of fun with our special visitors from Germany, my old companion Becky and her husband (Lance's Golden), Manuel, and their cute baby James. Over the weekend we then got to go down to St. George for my cousin Wilma's wedding. The best part was getting to see Mom and Dad again, but the whole trip was fun. Unfortunately we forgot the camera so I don't have any pictures-- you'll just have to imagine it. And while you are imaging that, you can try to guess what happened to the bag of Amish Friendship bread I left on the counter while we were gone. Oh wait, you don't have to imagine that part. I have a picture.

That's about it. The only other new thing is that I've been called to be the Beehive advisor for the two beehives in our ward. I think it is going to be fun, and it will help me get to know the girls better before camp-- considering that my other ward calling is Assistant Camp Director. We'll see how that goes...

Good News and Bad News

Utah Valley Hospital is my least favorite hospital of the three where I work. It's just a bit too big and busy for me-- I really prefer the smaller scale. Night shifts aren't my favorite either, so when I knew I had to work an 18L at UVRMC on Monday, I wasn't thrilled. I really did try not to whine too much (you'll have to ask Lance how effective that resolve was) but I still had to pray for a good attitude before I headed out at 5:30.

Well, it's a good thing Lance bought me that bike for my birthday, because I'm going to be needing it a lot more than I thought. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I hope the look on my face says it all:
The only good thing about these pictures is that it shows at least how lovely the weather has been lately. Ok, in seriousness the good news is that nobody got hurt. I was stopped, waiting for a car to pass so I could make a left hand turn into the hospital parking lot. The next thing I saw was a huge silver Dodge Durango in my rearview mirror, which suddenly swerved to the right and then smashed me. Turns out she wanted to pass me rather than wait for me to turn and misjudged how much room she had (it's a small road). She only lost a bumper. Hansi's whole rear end is maimed. And it all happened the very week that we were in the middle of switching our car insurance. However, it looks like it will all work out ok. And hey-- I didn't end up having to go to work after all! They put me on call and I was kinda shook up the rest of the night. So, to get my mind off of everything, we decided to bust out the Joe Smokey Silver. At least the rest of the evening was nice.
Mmm.... Grilled zucchini!

25 and Counting

For me, birthdays are my business-- every time I go to work it is to celebrate someone's Birth Day. However, there's still something special about one's own birthday. My family still teases me about how I used to let everyone know that "someone" had a special day coming up... sometimes even a month or two in advance. I admit that the excitement is not quite the same as when I was little; I usually don't lie awake in bed on March 19th anymore, for example. Back then the whole day felt, well, different and my heart would beat faster each time I remembered that this was my special day. I guess the day is still magical-- just in different ways. And this year, I had as good a birthday as one can expect at my age :)

2009 means I celebrated my Silver Birthday-- and although I didn't get any silver, I did get something shiny. Lance has a wonderful knack for surprises, and this time he outdid himself. He bought me a beautiful shiny red-black-and-white seven speed cruiser, complete with klingel!

I don't think I've had a bike since my old banana seater back in the early 90's (doesn't that make me sound old?) and until my mission, that was probably the last time I really rode one, too. Lance is an avid mountain biker and recently I've wanted something simple just to ride around. I knew Lance was cooking up something when he left to "finish some homework" at school in the afternoon, but I really didn't expect a bicycle. It was a wonderful surprise.

The rest of the day was great, too. Lance had made me breakfast in the morning and while he was gone I had time to finish some work around the house while listening to the lectures on Haydn that Mom lent me. In the evening we went out to eat and then watched a movie at home. It really couldn't get much better. I was also happy to recieve several phone calls and messages from my family and friends. It's nice to know you are loved and remembered on your birthday, even without reminding everyone. So, thanks to all of you! And now I have just eight months to come up with something really good for Lance's birthday...


Thanks, Sweetheart!

One Lucky Day

I just lived through the most harrowing shift I've ever experienced in my nursing career, short though it may be.

I was planning on an uneventful night shift at the smallest of the three hospitals where I work, even when I walked in and saw the patient board almost completely full when I arrived at six pm. There were only two laboring patients and the rest were postpartum or post-operative. Hmm, I thought, maybe they will even send me home after my patient delivers, as I am not really trained to do Mother/Baby work... It's almost as if I jinxed myself with overly wishful thinking.

By the time my patient delivered, there was only one room left on the floor for one very lucky person-- who ended up being just that. She came in at about five centimeters, planning an unmedicated delivery for her fourth baby. She was doing awesome-- chatty and upbeat even after her Certified Nurse Midwife broke her water, and man, that was a LOT of water, more than even the midwife had ever seen, she said. I, on the other hand, was starting to get a headache and hoping she would go "complete" soon. Baby looked a little stressed on the monitor as well, and when the midwife came back to do a cervical check, that's when everything went downhill.

The midwife felt the pulsing umbilical cord coming down before the baby's head-- a big fat obstetrical emergency called prolapsed cord. The midwife went to sound the alarm while I was left to push the baby's head up off the cord, which by the way, is very difficult-- pushing baby UP when mom's whole body is working to push baby DOWN. Every nurse on the floor came rushing in to help. Get her in hands and knees position. Get the meds. Call the MD. Set up the OR. Wheel her back! Find baby's heart tones! ( They were in the sixties- normal for baby is at least 120). Prep her tummy! Get in that foley catheter! By this time you could actually see the umbilical cord sticking out. As soon as the mom was safely under general anesthesia (and it's lucky anesthesia was there already instead of being called in from home, which was mostly due to a paperwork glitch), they sliced her open. It was only one or two minutes from cut to delivery. Baby needed immediate resuscitative efforts, but to make a long story short, mom and baby made it.

It was frightening to say the least, but the real effort on my part came after the delivery. General anesthesia is a yucky thing and is only used in obstetrics in real emergencies when an epidural or spinal isn't already placed. I couldn't leave the room until mom was stable and I had to do a lot of nursing care that I've never done before on my own. Not only that, but of course that budding headache exploded and I felt sick to my stomach. All the nerves and the excitement and the fact that I had eaten a grand total of two sandwhiches and a bunch of grapes in the last 24 hours combined to make me feel utterly miserable. When a hematocrit was ordered "stat" I was left completely alone with a butterfly needle and a syringe. Poor mom was so swollen I couldn't even see or feel a vein. That was my lowest point. It was almost three am. I felt sick. I was tired. I was worried for my patient and her baby. And I'm lousy at blood draws! So I just prayed, and poked. And poked. And nothing. I put my head down and was hoping to simply pass out when lo and behold! There was blood in the tube! It was an absolute and complete miracle.

This story is already long and more details would simply be boring. Needless to say, it was an incredibly difficult night. However, there was certainly a lot of luck that St. Patrick's Day morning-- or perhaps better put, a lot of miracles.

Of Loquacity, Conifers, and Vacuum Cleaners

I have discovered that it is rather difficult to keep up a blog, mostly because I don't believe I have many "post-worthy" moments worth publishing here on my own personal-public journal (there's an oxymoron for you). Some people of course, have the talent of making even ordinary experiences seem quite entertaining simply by they way they retell it. I don't really think I am one of those people, but it won't stop me from posting whenever I feel like doing it. It's funny-- I am actually quite a loquatious person, and in fact I just discovered that in the two years and two months in which I've had my cell phone, I've spent at least 589 hours, 45 minutes and 53 seconds talking on it. However, when it comes to writing, I often draw a blank. Every now and then, though, I try to come up with something.

Today's post came to me this morning while I was cleaning. Now, there are many things I was looking forward to when Lance and I got married. One of them was getting to spend all the holidays together -- especially Christmas, and how much fun it was going to be to decorate our own place in the traditional Yuletide fashion. I was also looking forward to all the fun household things we would get to buy, including my very first, very own vacuum cleaner. It isn't like I love vacuuming or anything, but there was something thrilling to me--perhaps because I have never owned one personally--in the very idea of choosing my own Staubsauger (German, literally "dirt sucker"). Lance and I finally decided on a fire-engine red Dirt Devil upright from the Home Depot.

So our first Christmas together was wonderful and our little apartment looked fabulously festive. After the holidays were over I was so sad to take down all the decorations and to denude our beautiful little Christmas pine tree whom we dubbed "Needles." However, that thoughtful Needles left us a lovely parting gift, namely, all of his needles all over the carpet. But never fear! My trusty dirt devil came to the rescue and I didn't really have a problem cleaning up. But Needles' gift was more far-reaching than any of us would have guessed. Even though there aren't any more needles in the carpet (although I will admit that Needles himself is still sitting outside our doorway), and we've already unloaded all the dust and gunk from our vacuum, every time I've turned on the vacuum cleaner since then the effervescent aroma of pine wafts through the apartment. Now there's a gift that keeps on giving!

Needles Then...
and Now
Our faithful Sentinel! Thanks, Needles.