A Little Slice of Heaven (aka Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondies)

I did it!  I succeeded in baking a small slice of heaven!  (At least, that’s what my coworkers told me.)  After feeling somewhat crushed and demoralized by one of my patient’s family members, I needed a little confidence boost.  So, I decided to bake.  And, since I had some heavy cream in the refrigerator, I knew I needed to make something incorporating caramel.  (What else was I going to do with that heavy cream?)  Besides, after a rough evening at work, making a batch of caramel is the best way to de-stress.  Caramel is kind that way.  It’s such a precise, all-consuming project, my mind doesn’t have time to wander or worry about other things.  (And, believe me, I needed to be fully distracted from what had happened at work.)  The only problem was figuring out what would go well with the caramel.  So, after careful consideration, I decided to make Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondies.  They’re rich, but absolutely delicious.  They melt in your mouth like any good caramel treat should.  But, most importantly, baking them helped me feel a little better about myself again.  Thank heavens for baking therapy!

Honey-Caramel Macadamia Blondie Recipe

Not All Rules Are Meant To Be Broken

It’s funny.  In my everyday life, I’m not a big fan of rules.  As far as I’m concerned, rules exist for the sole purpose of being broken.  I like being unconventional.  I like living my life in the land of “what if”.  But as a nurse, I thrive on rules.  I see them as a necessary means of protecting our patients, their families, and even us nurses.  A hospital cannot function without rules.  Our patients’ treatments and outcomes could easily be compromised without them.  The rules may not always be popular or fun, but they are a must in the hospital setting.  Even the most inane rule has a purpose.  

As staff nurses, we are required to follow these rules and enforce them.  And it never fails to astound me when patients and their families somehow think they are exempt.  We post signs.  We provide explanations.  And yet, these people look right through us, as if we don’t exist, as if the words coming out of our mouths are unintelligible.  Even worse, they become hostile, calling us names, questioning our competency, and making threats.  And this doesn’t just happen here; it’s the same in the states.  

I know it isn’t easy having a loved one in the hospital.  I’ve been there and know they’re scared.  But I can’t do my job when I’m constantly running into roadblocks.  I can’t concentrate on my patients when I’m wasting time fighting the families.  It’s frustrating and nerve-wracking.  It makes me want to give up.  I just wish these people could see I’m on their side.  Just because I’m not telling them what they want to hear, doesn’t mean I don’t have their best interest at heart.  My intent is to provide the best possible care for all of my patients.  I wish they could see the big picture and comprehend the clinical rationale behind my words and actions.  I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wish they would just try to understand.

Flying Solo

It’s October.  October 4^th, to be exact.  I can barely believe it.  October means I’ve been gone for eight months now.  October also means that Mouse has been away from me for a full month, leaving me to continue this Aussie experience solo.  There are moments, even entire days, when I miss him so acutely it hurts.  These are the times I ache for him and wish with every bit of my being that he could magically appear, even if only for a moment.  After living together for so many years and being a part of each other’s everyday lives, it’s strange to wake up to an empty bed and come home to a silent house.  I miss his smell.  I miss his voice.  I miss all the intimate details that are so easily taken for granted when you’re with a person day in and day out.  But then I have good days.  These are the days when the loneliness dulls, allowing the rest of my life to brighten.  These are the days when I can appreciate my surroundings and see the value in having this time to myself.  These are the days when I truly feel happy.  My time in Oz won’t last forever, and neither will our separation.  Soon enough, life will return to normal and all of this will become a faded memory.  In the meantime, I need to be mindful to be thankful for the present and all of the amazing experiences it's providing, despite his absence.  Because, believe me, I am having fun.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It has been raining non-stop for over a week now.  I’m not kidding.  It’s possible we may have been granted the occasional break in cloud cover, but not for long.  Mostly, it’s been a variation between grey and drizzly or grey and pouring down sheets of rain.  I’m trying to remember the last time I actually saw the sun, but am having a difficult time doing so.  The weather has been dreary and abysmal for so long, I’m beginning to forget what it’s like to feel the sun on my face.  It’s supposed to be spring, but all we’re getting is constant wet, and this weather is taking its toll on everyone.  We’re growing grumpy, claustrophobic, and restless. 

Today, a few of us girls couldn’t take being shut-in any longer, so we made the two-hour trek down the coast to the Byron Bay markets, hoping for a slight reprieve from the rain.  No such luck.  We arrived to find ourselves in a torrential downpour so persistently vindictive that it had shut down the markets for the day.  We were crushed.  We stuck around to browse the shops around town, but just ended up feeling like drown rats.  Yuck!  As much as I enjoy shopping, it’s tough to have fun while being accosted by raindrops the size of marbles.  This weather sure knows how to suck the pleasure out of everything.  So, I’m back to taking shelter in my apartment, watching the rain put a damper on the outside world.  I’m trying to stay positive by dreaming of better weather, but the forecast doesn’t look too promising.  Bummer.

There Goes My Grammar

Uh oh.  I did it.  Yesterday, in the midst of a perfectly normal conversation, I caught myself saying, “I reckon.”  I didn’t mean to.  It just slipped out.  As soon as I said it, I caught myself and looked up, just waiting for my coworker to call me out. But, of course, she didn’t, as this is nothing out of the ordinary for her.  So, the conversation continued, without any acknowledgement of my error.  Even still, I felt silly, especially considering I give all of my Aussie friends such a hard time for the blatant overuse of this term.  I’m not joking, every sentence either starts or ends with “I reckon.”  It can be maddening.  “I reckon” has become my least favorite of all Aussie slang.  It’s like a tick in their language that just won’t go away.  And there I was, just dropping it into the conversation like it was a normal part of my vernacular.  To make matters worse, I’ve caught myself saying, “Good on you!” a couple of times.  Ack!  What’s happening to me?  Am I losing all sense of grammatical propriety?  The next thing I know, I’ll be saying things like “fair dinkum” and “Bob’s your Uncle.”  I shudder just thinking about it.  I need help.  But, considering I’m surrounded by Aussies and only have access to a handful of American television reruns, I might be in serious trouble.