Reiki Nurse 2016

coming soon... Reiki Nurse 2016.

I fixed some annoying errors, edited, deleted, and added. Now it's at the printer and will be available to you soon. Same fun stories. New information. 

Reiki is...

everything and nothing.

students

Nursing students. First they need to learn everything: skills (sterile & etc), how to think (critically), how to walk (fast), and talk (concisely).

Now I'm working with students who will graduate in three months. What else can I teach them? They know the basics. They've given meds, pulled IVs, and written care plans. They're thinking about finishing up with school and getting jobs. They need a little more practice with everything. 

Reiki

Listen to your heart.

It's better to help a person listen to her heart than to bestow the burden of advice.

The person on the table is on a journey. Offer a glass of water, not directions to the best path.

Better to listen than to advise, she advised.

from freezer to stove

I made spaghetti sauce yesterday. Sauteed portabella mushrooms and things from the garden. From the snowy backyard I picked kale, still good. From the freezer I got pesto and hot peppers.

Today I made mole chili. Cooked some dried beans. Added more of those hot peppers from the freezer (easy: pick, chop, and freeze) and some roasted vegies. Then a little fine chocolate powder and maple syrup. Mole chili.

From summer garden into the freezer onto the stove. Summer heat in January. 

snow day

Wet with sweat and snow, back inside after moving snow from here to there, I'm burning sage leaves, harvested from the garden in October, watching the smoke swirl like snowflakes.

just for today

don't get angry.

Our first Reiki principle. So important, right? So if I've been Reiki for many years, am a nurse and a mature woman, I've probably got that down. Never get angry, right? I don't often feel angry. I did this week.

After years of authoritarian leadership of the passive-aggressive narcissistic nepotistic vindictive type, those people moved on and those of us who stayed agreed to be kind, respectful, and most importantly: collaborative. This week a new leader made an authoritarian move, issued a command, and triggered a collective shudder PTSD. She issued a unilateral edict which usurped a collaborative decision. Smack.

I got angry.

Unlike in previous years, where I coped by shutting up and shutting down, I spoke up. It was scary. I shook with fear, but I did it. I spoke with her, first firmly stating my position, and then more gently, with love and compassion.  It went well. We hugged. I expressed gratitude for her reaction. I requested a meeting of all so we could discuss whether to accept her proposed changes to our original decision.

We had the group meeting. My peers stood with me. There was discussion and collaboration. The edict was retracted, but that wasn't the important part. The important part was the discussion, the respectful listening, and the compassionate hugging.

A shift. A good one. 

snow snow snow

 big fast flakes, so beautiful; excited to get out there and be in the cold white stillness

open carry

or concealed ammo

My son was small. He came home from a play date and emptied his pockets, "Look, Mom!"

Bullets.

I freaked. Called the other mom. "Just bullet casings," she told me. The guns were locked up, she said.

I didn't allow my son to go over there again. The friend could come to our house, I said. But I'd offended the other mom, and the friendship rapidly dissolved. 

tiny houses

the photos always look so charming. Tidy, orderly, cozy. Lots of wood and books, sleeping lofts, small stoves and refrigerators.

I lived like this, in the woods in Maine. Two rooms and a loft. Woodstove, gas light, no electricity, no running water. We had an outhouse and an outdoor shower. We had 20 acres of cedar, moss, and berries. Good times. 

alpaca sweater

is almost done.

A coworker gave me the fleece. Well, I bought some, she gave me more.

I washed it in hot soapy water. Dried it outside in the sun. Carded it. Spun it on a drop spindle; I'm a bottom spinner. Knit it into a sweater. Almost done and just in time. It's cold outside; icicles like stalactites.

on fleek

2016

Here are things you could do in 2016:

use your passport
go for a bike ride
take a cooking class
get certified in something
share Reiki
publish
go to an outdoor concert
swim in the ocean

where's the heat?

My friend and coworker M found a restaurant online and we went. Little hole in the wall place: a brand new sparkling clean kitchen with 5 bar stools, attached to a convenience store, gas pumps outside. So, a gas station, convenience store with Asian food. Interesting. Three of us got take-out and headed back to work.

It was good; my palate was amazed with an abundance of interesting flavors. Heat, citrus, flavors I couldn't identify, greens I didn't recognize. Every bite was a marvel; it was good to the end. I told people it was the best food in town. 

I've been back a few times; it's right on my way home. Subsequent meals have disappointed. My memory of our first meal has not been reinforced. Where is the garlic, lemon, lime, cilantro, and heat? Where are the peanuts? It's bland. I brought a meal home last night and added my own vegies, spices, and condiments. 

The kitchen last night was grimy, grills rimmed with charred chunks, the cooks' trousers filthy with brown grease. No longer appetizing and exciting. I need a new place.

winter

Winter in Maine.

I go to work in the dark, come home in the dark. It's bitterly cold. Single digits. Sidewalks are covered with snow and ice.

Pipes might freeze. Ice might fall on your head. You might slip and fall on ice or skid on black ice and smack your car into a tree.

You can ski which is like flying. You can snowshoe through deep fluffy snow and discover animal tracks and cloud shapes. There are no bugs. There is stillness. Sometimes snow glitters like a blanket of diamonds.