Tag Archives: water

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Every day

Every day
I am thankful for clean water
water to drink
water to wash
I am blessed
by clean water

Every day
I am thankful for food
Good food
to cook
to eat
to share
I am blessed
by good food

Every day
I am thankful that I can stand
that I can walk
that I can carry things
up and down stairs
I am blessed
that I can stand

Every day
I am thankful that I can hear
voices of friends
voices of my family
all the music
my cat and birds
I am blessed
that I can hear

Every day
I am thankful that I can see
all the faces
all the smiles
the trees, the ocean, the birds
the ever changing sky
I am blessed
that I can see

Every day
I am thankful that I can touch
my cat purring
a vegetable for lunch
clothes and doors
friends to hug
I am blessed
that I can touch

Every day
I think of those
who cannot touch
who cannot see
who cannot hear
who cannot walk
who do not have food
who have no clean water
and some of them
are children

Every day
I am thankful
and grieving
at the same time

And I try to do a little
it’s not enough
yet

Some day I will be gone
or we will all have done enough

And every day I am still

thankful

________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: warning.

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Dissolution

I am sorting, Beloved.

I dream that my sister has drowned
in the ocean. A sailboat went down.
There were others on board.
Two friends ready me to dive and find her.
I don’t want to scuba dive, I am not trained.
I don’t know how to use the equipment.
I am afraid I will drown too.
I see her daughter, who is four.
Her daughter knows from my face that her mother is lost.
My friends say, “You will be able to find her.
You can find your sister.”
“But she is dead,” I say.
“I don’t want to find her.”
I know that they are right, I could find her.
But I might be separated and lost, in the depths.
I don’t want to die too.

I wake up.
The dream sticks.
My friends wanting me to wear a borrowed wetsuit
and scuba gear and go down untrained.
My sister floating in the depths, dead eyes open.
But she has been dead for years, I think.
And this is the sea of dreams
my unconscious
the greater unconscious
everything.
So why isn’t my sister’s body dissolving?
Changing to a skeleton.
A skeleton coming apart over the years.

I don’t need a wetsuit
or scuba gear
to dive in the sea of dreams
I can breathe in the unconscious
I have been to the bottom of the sea
many times before.

My niece is four in the dream.
She was thirteen when her mother died.
I think she was lost to me long before that.
The dream knows.
Her mother was lost to me
when my niece was four.
Drowned.

When the dream returns
I will say yes to the dive
I love the sea and the ocean and going deep
I don’t need a wetsuit
I don’t need scuba gear
I don’t need to find my sister’s body
She is gone
Dissolved
I let my past go.

I have not dreamed of the ocean

since.

__________________________________

I really don’t know where my sister is, because of the family schism after she died. Are her ashes somewhere?

This poem wanted to be born. For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Who knew?

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Clinic comedy

Yesterday was my second day in the third clinic in this system and the day went a bit sideways. I am in seeing a person with their spouse. We are all masked because this is a sick visit. I try to wear a mask for all the visits but occasionally take it off if someone really can’t hear me. I go to wash my hands. The sink is small and turns on by a motion sensor. It is supposed to turn itself off. It goes on but then will not turn off and is loud. I send a quick message to the clinic director after flailing at it a bit. Why a message? The cabinet under the sink is locked, so I can’t turn the water off. With my patient slightly deaf and masks and loud water, I finish the visit trying to yell things. Ridiculous and embarrassing but funny. The patient and spouse are older and know that things break. They are not upset. The clinic director arrives, has her try at flailing at the sensor, unlocks the cabinet and turns the water off.

I shake hands with my patient and they and their spouse leave. We are in room three. I go in room 4 to wash my hands, since my patient was blowing their nose, and guess what? Yes, the water turns on and won’t turn off. I get the clinic manager. “I broke the second sink. How about I go home now?”

She laughs. “I will put in a ticket for maintenance.” She unlocks the room 4 sink and turns it off. Now we have two rooms out of commission!

I am covering for Dr. X. “See, this just shows that I wash my hands and Dr. X didn’t.” Not really. Dr. X has been out for a month already.

“Maybe it’s because they haven’t been used in a month,” says the medical assistant. We shut down those two rooms and I go into room 2 with some trepidation. The sink does not break.

Maintenance show up early afternoon and replaces the sink sensor batteries in room 3 and 4. They work just fine after that. It turns out that there are two other sinks not working, but there are patient visits going on, so maintenance will come back. The alcohol hand sanitizer makes my hands itch, so I prefer soap and water.

Isn’t technology great? Except when it breaks. I felt silly and helpless, since I was in a brand new place and the cabinets were locked!

I admonish all the doctors, do wash your hands! Even if the sink batteries need to be replaced more often.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: admonish.

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Solo vessel

A duck is a sort of a vessel, isn’t it? Can you nap while floating in the water? I can’t. I hiked part of the Connected Lakes Trail and spoke to a member of the local Audubon Society yesterday. I did not have binoculars but he shared. I used my Panasonic DMC-FZ150, zoomed all the way in. It is still a bit difficult to identify this bird.

Now the pair are both awake. I think they are a female and a male ruddy duck, but it is a touch blurry and abstract. I like the photograph anyhow. The water and ducks and grasses and reflections were so beautiful.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: vessel.

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Cliff collapse

This is taken on Marrowstone Island, going south from East Beach. The king tides take down sections of cliff and whole trees every years.

The island surfaces in the low tides and the seals rest and sun and ignore the ships.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: collapse.

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Who is there?

This is not a brilliant photograph, but it is interesting. This is taken from North Beach in 2022 with my cell phone. It was a very grey day and wet and we heard roaring. I imitate both animals and birds, so I roared back and tried to match the call. This is the response. These are sea lions and they can be enormous. The elders and biggest ones stopped and stuck their heads out, wanting to know who is there? Thankfully they did not come ashore, because the males can be 2.4 meters long (7.8 feet) and 390 kg (859 pounds). We did stop roaring, a bit intimidated. We had roared back at them other times. The sea lions are moving north, more information here.

I am trying to find time and energy to keep removing lots of old blogs and photographs to make room for the new. I could pay for more space, but then I have to keep paying for it, so I don’t want to. I have gone back and read my 2009 posts, no pictures, from the Mad As Hell Doctors trip and from writing elsewhere. I write more often with the Ragtag Daily Prompt, but the longer medical posts are intermittent.

Work has been interesting and I feel a bit off balance, because the plan is in flux and morphing. Right now I am in the same clinic Monday through Thursday, but at two different desks. I won’t be in this clinic for the rest of the assignment unless something changes. I don’t know where I will go next. Primary care has lost two providers in the six months I’ve been here, but I don’t know if that is an ongoing rate nor how many there are total.

My first job out of residency had a terrible turnover. I was fifth senior doctor out of fifteen in two years. That is a really really bad sign. By the end of the second year I was fairly sure that I would not be staying and that I could not change the culture. The three women doctors that I had joined had been trying for two years and one had already left! I was gone by the end of the third year.

And back to roaring with the sea lions. Here is Walt Kelly’s take on roaring, his poem Northern Lights.

Oh, roar a roar for Nora, for Nora in the night,
For she has seen aurora borealis burning bright.

A furore for our Nora! And applaud Aurora seen!
Where, throughout the Summer, has our borealis been?

_____________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: grey.

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Every four years

Out come the spooks
Gobbledegooks
While I escape on a walk

They yell and they lie
They try and they try
On the beach I elude all their squawks

I escaped the electioneering gobbledegook for a beach walk on Marrowstone Island, finding a large and lovely agate when the sun caught the edge of it. It glowed even though it was half buried.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: gobbledegook.