Naturally Dreamy

A blog about my life as an INFP living with an ESFJ, an INTJ, and my dog, as I try to shine some light into the world of damaged, happy INFPs, Earth-friendly living, and stories and discoveries along the way. :)


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The Story of the Time I Almost Fainted

So, today I’ll tell you about the time I almost fainted.🙂

(It’s kind of long so you might want to get some tea (I had English Breakfast decaf) or iced tea depending on your weather.🙂 )

It’s an oft-referred to story (mostly in jest) in my household and one of the biggest events to happen both in the practice & my family – probably due to the surprising and sudden nature of fainting, and probably partly (within my family) the idea that I’d come close to such a thing is unexpected.

All of us in my family are pretty stalwart people, with one thing each that scares us. I’m the only one who actually has a phobia, but then I can deal with the 2 things they can’t, so it’s a give and take situation.

Medically, not much will get our goat, and if it’s logical, we’ll do it. My body oft threatens me with complete shutdown, but with years of rambunctious activity in the heat, anorexia and intense cleaning jobs, and feeling my body say “that’s enough!” but being able to do it anyway, I’ve realized, I can usually take just as much as they can (but I look 10 times worse! XD)

I redden in the heat and with physical activity (like frisbee) and people ask me “Hey… do you want to go sit down?” and I’ll be like, “No, I’m good, why?” if it’s my brother, he’ll point to something tinged dark magenta or intense red and say, “Because this is what you look like” and then take a picture on his phone camera to prove it. We sometimes institute frequent breaks for me.

But the only time my body has gone over to the dark side was when I fell while riding. With all the lore of “get back up on your horse” (which I don’t recommend by the way — your horse feels bad, you feel bad, the entire lesson is off – My advice is to just give them an apple and a pet and brush ’em down and reestablish rapport that way) I got back on, finished the lesson, and walked my mount back to the barn to remove her tack and groom her.

That’s when things turned x-ray filter colored. “Okay,” I thought, “…okay.” I started to panic a little when I felt it getting stronger, but realized, I was still standing up right! I could do this.

I took off her tack, and then fumbled for the brushes by feel. I now couldn’t see anything. I gave the horse some brushing, and at some point, I called it and said “Hey, I need to go see my mom for a minute,” and surprisingly my hard teacher said, “Okay.”

I walked to my waiting family by memory, and said, “Hey, do you have any of that soda she gave you still?” I’m not sure if it was the fact that I was already not a soda drinker or how I looked, but I saw them start (maybe I could see now, or maybe I felt it) and heard them say, “No, no we’re sooo sorry. Um, sit down. Um. We’ll um, we’ll um find something!” Eventually my sight restored, but I burned the pre-symptoms into my brain so I could recognize it the next time it came.

That next time was yeeears later in the veterinary office.

I had a list of 200 skills I had to practice and do within 2-3 months. Some came up more frequently than others at the practice, so when I was bathing a dog, and a surgery came up they called me to the surgery suite to assist.

I was ready (mentally). Remove street clothes, shoes; assist the vet with donning the gown, don a gown yourself, assist the vet with donning gloves, don gloves yourself. Hair nets, washing hands, only one person fetching supplies (that would probably be me). Wet packs. Spay packs. How to fold drapes.

When I got out there, I was directed to get some gloves (as if it was obvious) by a vet who wore… nothing. No cap, no gown, no mask. As he stood waiting on me I hurriedly washed my hands in a sink I hoped I could (I hadn’t been shown how I could wash my hands yet and there was no soap – I used cleaning solution) and I finally located the gloves (simple nitrile or latex ones) and guessed my size and fearfully entered the surgery suite covered in germs, long hair swinging free (in a braid). There was no circulating nurse, just a vet-in training, a vet assistant the vet-vet and me standing around a sleeping cat.

I could feel the book being mentally thrown out the window. The rest of my time there, surgery practice was irreconcilable with what I’d learned and I made several rookie mistakes just by not being able to see the similarities between what I knew and their practices.

(It wasn’t until near the end of my externship that I saw a surgery being done by a visiting vet the way I’d heard of in my textbook. My brother had been right – there was a difference – a huge one! – between minor, routine surgery and major surgery. I was only prepared for major surgery.)

I stood beside the other assistant. The vet-in-training, in between directives to the other vet assistant, said to me “See how she’s holding it? Okay!” and then when she went on to the next paw said, “Now you do it!” and the vet assistant willingly gave me her place. (I felt bad for encroaching on someone else’s training). The other VA slipped out of the room, and I held the paw as I’d seen done.

Now, I was getting up at 6am for being at the clinic by 7:30, I think. I wasn’t always hungry, and on this day like several others, I’d skipped breakfast.

It took 3 claws, but I got the idea and was able to understand what the vet-in-training required and the angles required and we quickly worked through the rest of the other ones.

Here’s the setting:

I’m standing over a warm, furry, cat in that odd and flaccid state of complete muscular limpness from the anesthesia. I’m holding it’s paw, and extending its claws one by one, so the vet can do her job.

Which is to take the cauterizer and remove the first bone. I know all of that (though a cauterizer like this also never featured in my textbook).

Cauterizer = good. No blood = good. Smell of burning, flesh, fur, and bone? = decidedly not.

The room is lit up brightly with fluorescent lights, the cauterizer emits radio signals, so that every time she uses it the radio playing in the background plays static only, and there is no air movement in that room.

I try not to breath the fumes, but eventually when I say “Sod that, I should be breathing” my body feels the air and says “that’s not a good idea” and refuses it. I’m short and holding this kitty’s paw in the air, perfectly, completely still, out on the other side of a table that is slightly higher than my waist. Oh, and also she said “Keep your fingers out of the way so I don’t burn them. That’s what the gloves are for. They won’t really protect your fingers, but it’s something.” So it was my dual responsiblity to hold as much paw pad, and fur (which on the paws are reeeally short) away from the cauterizer and to keep my fingers away from the cauterizer – simultaneously.

In other words, lots of effort, very little breathing, fetid air, and exertion and panic to do the right thing while smoke curls up from a living paw and the radio and lights beam down ennui.

I started to feel the symptoms. I started to lose my sight. “I’m sorry. I um, I um, I have to go.”

I lost. In my mind I failed, but I realized it would be much worse for the vet-in-training, and the cat if I didn’t admit defeat.

But the vet-in-training said, “Go! Go!” and I stripped off my gloves as I’d been taught, walked quickly to the break room, squatted (getting a heavy bag and coat-laden chair out was much too much effort and a full admission of defeat) and felt gravity center returning, drank some water, and ate some grapes to combat the shakiness I felt. I’d beg low blood sugar and no breakfast. I’d also return. Something in me felt like she wanted me to give it another shot.

I gathered more gravity to my middle, ate another few grapes and chugged some water, washed my hands donned gloves and poked my head in.

The replacement vet assistant nodded at me, the vet-in-training said, “You good? Want to give it a go?” and the VA and I switched.

I made it through (and breathed this time) as the vet-in-training told me what I didn’t know.

“This is actually one of the hardest surgeries to start out on, actually just, one of the hardest.”

She referenced the smell of the cauterizer, and I also thought, “the effect it has on the radio is also big” and I told her I didn’t have breakfast and she adjured me to always eat breakfast before I came in, that she used to have the same thing, but. always. eat. breakfast.

On her instructions, I did.

That time I made it through 5 claws in 2 stints.

Being a common minor surgery I was called up for it a few times, and each time battled this great enemy of greying out or whatever it is. I also assisted in a couple spays and neuters. I did not encounter the same problem with assisting in those surgeries.

One time I was called to help a different vet-in-training who went very much slower, so even though I knew I could make it through 12 claws, it wasn’t at that pace.

But feeling like the responsible one because I knew how to hold, and this was her first time doing a declaw like this, I managed to stay – through deep inhalations, and using the secret weapon of a perfumed scrub sleeve.

At home, the smell of the cauterizer haunted me. I’d be going about my business, or trying to fall asleep and all of a sudden smell its burning fetor just randomly as if I was still in the suite.

I used a friend’s body sprays on my pillow to psyche myself into good thoughts through the night. The power of the cauterizer was odd and not one I was prepared for or could even explain.

I had one more chance to get through a declaw without incident, and I hadn’t yet discovered my greatest need, which was to keep one arm on the table (which is hard to do without also putting your arm on the cat and making breathing difficult for them. That was the key to keeping me sane and able to go on. Otherwise I was standing and suspended both arms in the air, trying to breathe shallowly and sufficiently, while holding everything perfectly, perfectly still.

But I had one more chance to not be the one who had to vacate the room and one more chance to get all the way through a declaw procedure (maybe I didn’t make it with the other vet-in-training, or maybe it wasn’t the same because it was front paws only).

I had eaten breakfast, preloaded my bloodstream with grapes, and my belly with water. I had gloves, and everything was ready for our last hurah.

The cat was going to receive a total declaw. We had 4 paws to declaw and we set ourselves up and began. “Did you eat breakfast?” she checked before we began, and I assured her I had. A big one, too.

I loved working with this vet in training. She’d tell me stories as we worked through the repetitious and mind-blurning work and as I struggled for life. She’d check in every so often and ask if I was good and I pulled myself from the brink a couple times.

We were very close to the end, when two claws decided to bleed. She tried to find the source, and I felt myself going downhill fast. Blood doesn’t bother me, but something did, and I got through one of the bleeders, and was glad I’d risen to a new unforeseen difficulty and had helped the vet through the danger, even with my little training.

But the last, the very last claw, bled, too. And finding the source was taking a while. One moment, I thought I was good, the next I felt the world go sideways. I eeked out our assigned emergency phrase, and she said, “Go go go!” and I gave my brain the signal.

I gave my brain the signal.

I g… But there was a table blocking my path. A surgery table on wheels. I had gloves on, bloody, hairy gloves on. – Could I touch it? No. But I had to get out.

But there are rules. The vet tried to move it and next thing I know, my legs are rubber, and I’m sitting on the floor. Hands up, so I don’t touch anything, and so when I recover I can go right back to help her.

Well, none of that was what the vet-in-training was thinking. “SHE FAINTED!” I heard yelled out to the main room, “GET SOME WATER!” Another vet assistant came in with a dixie cup of water which I gratefully sipped, and the other assistant assisted the vet-in-training with the final claw and sewing up and bandaging of the foot as I made my way out.

I felt bad. Bad for letting the vet-in-training down, bad that my favorite super-capable vet assistant had to take my place, bad that I couldn’t get out in time so the vet-in-training didn’t have to see that. But mostly bad for letting everyone down so terribly.

That lunch, I burst in the door and told my family the news. I kind of thought, “Isn’t that something you don’t want to share?” but I felt like I couldn’t keep it to myself, that it was definitely something to share with my family. “I almost fainted!” and repeated the story which held much, “What?” “Really?!” “How?” for them, and by the time I’d finished I felt better. They treated me like I’d given a valiant try and anyone would have done it. My brother got a kick out of me having protected my gloves.

The next day I arrived to overhear the vet-in-training retelling the story too.

Only hers was slightly different.

In hers, I had full-out fainted, and she had had to catch me. I knew that wasn’t the case, because I sat very carefully cross-legged on the floor behind that pesky table out of reach from her, but I smiled and let her tell it her way. And just responded in the positive to their questions to me. I tried to correct a few things, but the vet-in-training was convinced it was a full-out faint. So, I let it be.

I didn’t get another chance to redeem myself, but what I learned was nobody really seemed sore about it. For that I was glad.

I had precious few chances to prove myself there. I let a partially anesthesized cat jump off a table, I dropped a dog bowl on a vet assistants head, I was accused of being bitten, I was berated for wasting product, and once discovered at lunch that my lips had reacted with a balm and all day I’d been working front desk with white lips…

The fact that none of this seemed to bother my coworkers deep-down was pretty amazing. But not amazing enough to make me stay.

I wanted to. I loved the comraderie, the daily battles, and the familial feel of the workplace. But with mild hypoglycemia, and a general innate clumsiness, I was uncomfortable working anything but front desk, and by the time I got offered a job, I was already employed elsewhere.

So 10 more people got shifted into the “I used to know” column of life that I don’t understand, but I know I’ll treasure those memories forever. The time a coworker and I raced to save dead deer having been told it might be an alive dog. The time I fetched a file and nearly ran into the person going back to fetch it and her saying, “Can we keep her?”. The feeling of the time I worked through lunch for 3 days in a row and we all rushed to complete my externship. The last day of that string, the last day of my externship was from 7-9pm and we saw the first emergency of the whole 3 months I’d been there. There were 3 emergencies in that one night, four that day, involving 5-7 animals in the last 5 hours. We all went home exhausted that night into the pitch black darkness. That same night when we had a respite and we tried to clean the charcoal from the floor and every surface of the main room, 1/2 of us being covered with charcoal ourselves. The vet assistant just looked up at us from her mopping and said “This isn’t going to work” and we all burst into laughing as we saw charcoal footprints on a freshly mopped floor that led right to her as she mopped up more charcoal.

These and several others are imprinted into my memory like the first play I did, the first time I saw my life-long friends, the first time I learned how to play basketball for real, the feel and the time I visited some of the most remote and favorite destinations, the respite and hard cookies of the hotel breakroom when I stayed there for 2 weeks. The oddest things get imprinted into my brain, really.

And my family and I will still nod at me when we see someone faint in a movie.😄 Even though I didn’t, it’s like a nod to the experience not one of us had ever come close to before.

Q&A:

Have you ever fainted? What circumstances brought it on?

What are some things that are imprinted on your brain?


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Sorry, blog

Here’s a little known fact about me – I actually really enjoy blogging. Lol, I know it must not seem like it.

What I didn’t realize when I started this blog was that I wouldn’t want to share my theories and realizations about how to make life easier to handle, simpler to go through, or other things. I didn’t realize I wouldn’t even like to review a product before having it 6 months.

Even though I desire to offer my observations as fodder for other people’s not-wholly-baked theories (yes, I mean half-baked but that’s used in a mean way, I mean it in a good way — I have them all the time where I’m searching for missing pieces and observations for half-crafted theories), I’m too concerned that what I say (especially in blog form – it’s not so intimidating in tweet or tumblr form) will be accepted as the final truth on something.

And I change my mind so much. I’m constantly confounding the British henchman  Ahem, that is discovering new ideas, realizing new perpectives that if I say “here’s a great way to cope with that” or “this idea is so cool!” I am not sure that it is so for years and years afterward. I don’t want to say a thing until I know it’s hard and fast true for me.

What if I said “I’m writing poetry every night to exercise my creative muscle” and then a month from now found out that instead of helping my creativity it narrowed it by locking it down? I’d feel… I don’t know what I’d feel but I wouldn’t like that to happen.

I don’t want to be trivial on this platform either (though I quite enjoy it! Favorite movies, songs of the day, book quotes are posts I’d love to do, but again my brain stops me… in this taken so-seriously (people make a living and write books from their blogs! They are here for yearssss sometimes! and people carve out time to read their favorite bloggers). So it’s like my most earth-shaking theories or nothing, but earth-shaking theories come about once every 2 months, and then I’m not comfortable divulging them until 3-4 years later?

I thought I could be okay with it. I thought “Yeah, I have hints and experience as I’m living. Maybe it could help someone else.” Instead I find them, and hide them away, just in case it’s not fully true. As often it is not. It morphs and changes. And once I click “publish” there is a form of it immortalized.

I’m not even saying “I’m all that” just the idea is hard for me to rebel against so that is one reason (I believe) I’ve posted so little on here.

I’m also not sure what to do about it, if there is indeed something I should do. But there it is.🙂 That’s what I’m currently problem-solving around so as to hopefully find a way to blog more in the future!🙂

So ciao! And hey — if you (as indeed you are my readership, so you probably have a better idea than I do on this point!) have an opinion on this, pleassse feel free to let me know in the comments or in this poll!🙂

Ciao again! And have a great weekend!!😀

 

(Multiple choice btw!🙂 Lol, one choice polls are so tough.)

 

 


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Communication Epiphanies of the Last Week

So, I’m not going to post the post I was going to post.

I thought it was pretty good after I wrote it, but on 2nd thoughts. Nope.

I mean it’s not not good, but it’s not the message I want to add to the world.

Silence can be annoying. It can be perturbing, but I find it the preferable alternative.

For years, I blamed a disorder for my lack of speech, my lack of words.

My blog almost further proves it – the long gaps, and the insanely long time it takes for me to reply to comments.

Any foray into social media – tumblr, twitter, blogging – spells out the same story. I’m quiet, and take very long to reply to things addressed to me.

I didn’t know what to think – The people around me usually have a ready word, the bloggers who do share several similarities to me write back within the day.

Then I learned that it seems Fi keeps its feelings to itself and stuff started to make a little sense.

Not that that’s helpful at all. I still have at least 10 things I’m trying to write back on, and zero confidence – so I always pass it by someone else to see what they think.

That’s not normal! Or is it? I don’t know.

But it feels like society expects you to have an opinion on things, a ready reply, and if you don’t you aren’t heard. I realize the amount of cultivating which goes on in my head (not a unique attribute) is not offset by output. It all kind of stays swelled up there and in me, and makes me seem very mysterious.

But not so – just do you want to hear hours of commentary on what my international friends did and said I thought was cool? Or how the character development in this that and the other is awesome? Or how I plan to make a book into a movie? Or the intricate nuances of dog training and baking? (Oh, gosh! Not dog baking – er, just baking.)

That’s rather boring, or if it’s not, only useful to me. Its use is so limited I don’t really have anything to open up and share.

It’s not a wasteland, but the harvest is alien.

My mom avows that she doesn’t mind me prattling on about these topics, that it’s enjoyable. I believe her, but one of the things I’m always working on is “the point of things”, and I don’t know the point of sharing these things, so I try not to do it. (I’ve gotten a little better at this though – living and doing before I have explanations for everything.)

In the end, this reinforces my feeling useless. Discovering I was an INFP made me hopeful that I could be a good friend. Now I realize that my F stands for “keeps to oneself the only thing that could possibly bring people together” I’m disheartened once again. What’s the point of being a caring member of the human race if you can’t show people you care?

There seems to be no simple way to “get to know me” and there seems to be no way for me to say the thoughts in my head that might actually contribute to society. I think and I think on an issue, and then the words come. But thinking someone is the most precious thing to you since sliced bread, or that what they said really impacted you is not an issue so it’s not something that I can connect and associate and thus find words for. It’s left in pictures and feels and abstractities that have no hope of being repeated to the person and in turn buoying them.

That’s probably not all there is to it. There’s probably great things I can do. But discovering that the reason I speak so effortlessly and long on the subjects I do is directly related to the amount of connections I’ve gathered for that subject was instructive.

But it got me no further on my biggest question: How do I communicate the good things in my mind with the outside world?


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For all the Tired INFP’s out there…

This is not a good idea.

kittensleep

But I’ve got to not be alone, right? There’s probably some other lonely, tired, confused INFP out there thinking – well if they’re like me – a lot of thoughts!

I’m tired and I’ve learned that I’m weird when I’m tired!

I think I’m super fun – I make funny connections, and say more because I’m not overthinking everything. But, being tired is such a weird place for me because it’s a weird combination of being open, less censored, wordy, & forgetful all at once.

But I also regret every word I say, like because I can’t censor it it must be poison. I worry so much.

At this stage of sleepy tiredness, I’m finally okay with sharing everything in my mind (I’ve been learning about Fi cognitive function – it wants to keep all it’s feelings to itself, which explains a lot about my life), but because I don’t censor, I still try to keep everything to myself.

I at once want to share all my secret stories, funny jokes and feelings, but am too worried to because I know that in this openness I could have harm. Like an escalating children’s game a harmless fun start can end in dire straits.

So yeah, maybe that won’t happen, you say – and one anecdote to back that up is this one I hold in my heart:

It was 10pm at night, and I was watching TV with BT when I saw a commercial for pizza.

“Mm, pizza,” I said.

“Actually, Domino’s might still be open,” BT mentioned.

I leapt up and checked the clock and said “They are?!?” really happily, and in that split second I just reacted and emoted without society’s values, without my own monetary worries, just me and my happiness about pizza.

BT laughed and said, “Every once in a while the unadulterated, filtered, raw you comes out and we see what you really think.” He said it approvingly, at once chiding me for hiding everything in and also caringly for the real person I guard inside. It’s a memory so rare and so odd I definitely had to save it, and refer to it every once in a while.

There’s my dichotomy for the day. And I think I’m going to just focus on getting some sleep, playing with my dog, and chilling. Not necessarily in that order.

Ciao! Have a great night.🙂

Q&A:

Can you relate? What are you like when you are tired?


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A Walk, a Hawk, and… Well that’s rather it.

A friend once commented how she enjoyed my posts about my walks, so midway through my last walk I remembered this, and so while Rimfire is panting and enjoying the semi-cooled inside air, I’ll tell you about it.🙂

I decided to take a “nice” stroll through our trailed-woods. Rimfire caught my drift and we took off in a run (because we don’t get enough cardio) to the woods. It was rather plop-plop-plop for the first bit, but by the time Rimfire decided he wanted to mark a tree I’d soothed into a smooth rhythm.

For one of the few times we’d done this run to the woods, I was able to slow down my trajectory so I didn’t yank his neck.

I took a breather, and Rimfire bolted off, but I stayed behind opting to walk this bit.

It was then, as we entered the woods, I remembered the last time I’d walked in woods – not these, but still. The snake.

Even though I wanted to enjoy the woods and the greenery around me, for both our sakes I kept a weather eye on the ground scanning for wildlife we should avoid.

Despite my wariness, I took the longer, more wild trail, and it wasn’t till I was back at the main trail’s connection that I saw my first fauna. A bird flew up from the underbrush.

I dropped my jaw and crept closer, quietly, after scanning the location Rimfire was wandering off to.

It was! It was that falcon I’d spotted the other day in our neighbor’s yard.

So cool.

That was when I heard to my right a rustling in the underbrush and spied a lean black, moist head wrapping around a tree. It could be a snake, albeit a disfigured snake.

I could run back and get back to civilization and perhaps spare both our lives, or I could investigate.

I drift towards the main path on my left, before rationalizing that I was actually rather distant from the being and I could stay far enough away I can check out the mysterious creature, find out what it was and bonus! continue out the way I was originally intending.

I did that.

It was a laid out black frog like thing, and I surmised that maybe he had been the hawk’s prey before I happened on them.

I ran past it holding Rimfire, only to find myself actually lost. I took the loop again, passing the frog, and chose the right direction this time. I’d forgotten I’d taken the optional path, and that had thrown off my sense of direction.

When I had the trail’s exit in my mind’s eye’s sites, I put Rimfire down, and we bolted for the clearing that was the path’s end.

So as not to alert the dwellings immediately at the trail’s end/beginning I slowed down before then.

Danger averted. Bug bites collected. Heart pounding a bit.

I kept Rimfire somewhat close, as these dwellings usually had big dogs they let outside and it was so again, this time. It was a new dog I hadn’t seen out on a chain – I hoped.

He hopped off the deck and approached the road Rimfire and I were walking down. I heard the dog utter a growl.

Since the first time I heard Rimfire growl, I’ve realized that to my ears there is nothing quite so ominous as a dog’s growl. I’d picked Rimfire up already, but now I looked at him and covered his eyes which he was using to gaze directly at the bigger dog. “Stop it.” I said gently, and I felt the other dog relax. We passed and I put Rimfire down.

It was then he decided he had to go, and I saw our landlord approaching.

It’s always kind of awkward, I feel, when you make eye contact with someone as your dog poops. And it was bound to happen as our landlord approached.

I made sure that the bag I was going to use was visible, and he passed with a friendly greeting I returned, and it was over.

As Rimfire and I walked off, we passed all our regular places without incident and it hit me how, even though the woods were so close and not at all what I would dub “wild”, how much safer it felt walking along these roads. And I started thinking on that when I realized I had “Drive By” going through my head.

I’d heard it this morning and I gave it little thought until I remembered I’d started a game in my head of “What Made Me Think Of That Song”. I smiled when I realized it had been when I got the bag in plain sight for our landlord’s benefit that the “Hefty bag to hold my lo-o-o-ove” verse had popped in my head.

Soon we passed by a place I’d always used to take Rimfire out at, before we’d moved within the same neighborhood. It amazed me how something that’d been so much a part of our neccessary routine had summarily slipped from my mind.

I didn’t fully form this thought as we passed by one of the most regal (that is in my head) looking lands and I took a look at the house that graced its presence. Light filtered through the trees and “that’s odd” I thought. Light was filtering everywhere else, but I didn’t notice it.

I followed it down until I saw the grill and concluded the grill must be on and the smoke was providing the pretty scene. I didn’t want to stare and so averted my eyes until our angle of passing the house narrowed and I could actually hear something popping on the grill 30 feet away. Satisfied, I nodded, but then immediately wondered what it was. Ah, but mystery is fine, fun even, and I just was glad nobody came out while I was admiring the pretty scene of grill and trees and light.😀

Just keep walking just keep walking.

Finally we arrived by one of the lakes that Rimfire usually has a ball at (re-reading this, I realize this could be confusing – I mean it as “he has fun.🙂 ) because of its large swaths of grass. Rimfire did have fun rolling in the grass and cooling off, but to my surprise he picked the grass that edged the road and was rather covered with clay and road-dust. I tried to incent him to come closer to the lake and up where the clean grass was in case he was just taking the first grass he could find because he thought I wouldn’t stop, but he was having none of it. Okay, then.

Ruefully, well not ruefully actually, I rubbed my bug bites and resisted itching them. I think I looked rueful as I squinted into the sun, and concentrated on not itching.

Near the end of the lake-bit, we paused under a tree which offered wonderful shade and waited for cars to pass before venturing back out in the road. Following a truck, I enjoyed the light scent of diesel exhaust, and squinted against the dust it had picked up, but it quickly dissipated.

We neared the end of that road, and passed the neighbor that lets me practice archery in their yard, and I asked Rimfire if he felt like a run up the hill. I wasn’t sure, but I did and as I hit the ground Rimfire did too, and zoomed ahead of me and we jogged up the short grassy knoll.

A short (1 foot, maybe) rock wall separates us from the main road after this, and I planned which rock I was going to step on while Rimfire didn’t catch my intention till right up to when I decided to cross over. Usually this means he’s either behind me and I call him over, or he decides way quicker and is swifter on his feet so he leaps over in a split-second before I’ve even started my hop over.

This time, though. He hit it a split second after I did and we were air-borne together and hit the ground at the opposite time in synchronized timing. It was epic and I laughed.

Rimfire was flagging in the sun, and we were making our way on our last leg of our much-shorter-than-it-sounds-actually walk – when I asked him which way, he kept on our usual way and I agreed. It’s not as shady, but it’s quicker.

I looked fore and aft. There was no one about.

Time for one last hurr-rahn.😉

“Come on! Let’s go!” I called to him, as I spun back to face front after checking for vehicles (and anybody who’d see us…) I saw my ponytail in my shadow and thought I looked quite cool, and giggled at myself for thinking so, before we burst into a sprint home.

We probably don’t look cool, though I spied our shadows – and they did – as we run for the fun of it. Me, pounding the ground into oblivion and just hoping for the best as my foot lands, and him leading the fray panting and — well, no he looks cool – but it doesn’t matter. We go fast and we love it!

I take a few breaths before I go back inside and get my laptop to write this down.

It isn’t long before BT nitpicks and gets upset, retreating to be by himself and I feel weird not knowing what he’s thinking, but that’s life. Yay and negative thrown side by side and never knowing what’s next.🙂

 


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Gishwhes Team Paradox!

GISHWHES (Greatest International Scavenger Hunt The World Has Ever Seen) is starting soon!

Last year amongst a bundle of what ifs, and doubts, I did sign up for GISHWHES and discovered it to be gladly more low-key than I expected and fun, and really great fun working on a team.

Okay – so, what is GISHWHES?

Originally a publicity stunt, Misha Collins (actor, Supernatural, cool Dude) tweeted something at the behest of Ollis (Supernatural’s publicity guy). Misha tweeted that Ollis gave him a rhinocerous he would share with everyone who voted for Supernatural. Supernatural won the poll Ollis was hoping it would, and Misha told everyone to send him self-addressed envelopes.

Then, inspired by his time at a college where he participated in a scavenger hunt they did, he sent out puzzle pieces to the participants with scavenger hunt items on the back of them. The puzzle? A rhinocerous.😉

Some of the scavenger hunt items were accomplished, and that was the first, unofficial, GISHWHES. Misha ended up loving the idea so much & how it brought people together doing incredible things, he created a website and a name for the scavenger hunt the next year. (Source: Wikipedia!)

I will be participating in GISHWHES again this year and I’m soo looking forward to it. I currently have 4 people on my team named Team Paradox and would love for any of my readers to join my team!

If you were interested in doing gishWhes, giving it a try, or such-like, you are welcome. You can also ask me any questions at all you have.

Registration is $18.96, and although you can spend money completing items, I did not, last year. I also didn’t have transportation for many of the days, and couldn’t do anything for the first 3 days. These were my primary concerns, but it all worked out and I didn’t end up letting down the team.🙂

So there’s my plug!😄 If you have any questions lemme know, and I’ll try and answer them!

What kind of things might you do in GISHWHES? At the beginning of the hunt, we receive a list of around 200 tasks. No team has ever done all of them; the focus is on quality of submissions, versus quantity. The focus of GISHWHES is on creativity, kindness, or silliness or a mix of all 3.🙂

To give an idea of what you might do in GISHWHES, here are some of the things I did last year:

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Every year GISHWHES has a mascot that is a fictional blend of two animals. Last year was the Dinomite – half dino, half mite.

I created caped sugar cookies for Item 193: “Contribute the recipe for ‘Dinomite’s Fluffy Bites’ to Allrecipes.com and get at least 20, 5-star reviews from people who enjoyed the recipe.” I did not succeed on that last part, but the cookies were yummy.🙂

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This photo is not for a task, but one I took while we were out completing it. BT and I’d gone out to the park to finish item 174, and after I did it, he wanted to give the challenge a try. That was when he pointed and said, “Look a balloon!” and I have a picture of him pointing, and the balloon in one shot!😄 This is a picture of just the balloons, while it looked really cool floating in the approaching storm clouds and bright sun!

“Travel across the narrow part of a level football field (or the equivalent of 150 feet on level grassed ground). You cannot touch the ground with any part of your body and you cannot have anyone push or pull you. You’re only allowed to use a skateboard, two pieces of string or rope no more than 5 feet long each and a clothespin. (NOTE: You can’t use the clothespin as an extension of your hand or foot to push you along the ground.)” (We still haven’t found out the purpose of the clothespin!)

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(I know this picture is dark, but with my screen bright I can read all of it okay – hopefully that’s true on yours, too?)

This one was the most out of my element (haha, lol, I didn’t mean to do that).

“Create a short “Supernatural”-related horror story out of the abbreviations of the elements of the Periodic Table. You may only use each letter from each abbreviation once (so you’d have roughly – 225 letters to use). The more coherent the story, the better.”

This is where my research of watching Supernatural did pay off. While I was working my behind-the-scenes job, I furiously scratched away and counted & recounted numbers and letters until I had made this 2 sentence story.

I don’t even like horror! But I was pleasantly surprised at how this turned out. The next to-do was to take a good photo of it to submit.

The next night I was recreating the Lady and the Tramp scene on a “fancy date” (another item), but with my dog, because I don’t have a date!😄 Not exactly what the task asked for, but I thought the judges might enjoy it. BT, when he he heard my idea of substituting a date for dinner with my dog laughed and said, “Do it, do it!”

I’d put up the candles for the dinner, and it was then I had the idea of photographing the story by the light of the candle. I’m so glad I did, as this is the submission photo I’m most proud of.🙂 (Although I don’t like that term…)

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“Design and build a comfortable, functional piece of living room furniture made entirely from repurposed/recycled materials. Then show the family enjoying it.”

This is the picture I took of the half-throne, half-wingback chair (with ottoman) I made, before I covered it with repurposed tableclothes. I made it out of cardboard, broken ratchet straps, popcorn, plastic bags, and I covered it over with table cloths for upholstery.

It was surprisingly comfy!


If you want to join the silliness this year, I’d be thrilled to have you join Team Paradox. No pressure but I wanted to make sure I extended the invitation to you all, because I’d love to have you on the team.🙂

P.S. Why Paradox? I’ve always liked the word paradox, and out of the 4 team-names I was considering Team Paradox got the most votes – thus the name!🙂

Have a great weekend!!

P.P.S. – we’ve merged with a different team! I’m gishing with the Purkle Platicorns thiss year!😀