Sweet Farewells

Who would think it would bring such joy to be getting ready to say goodbye to what has long been familiar and loved?

Ah, but it is a happy time for me.

One of my daughters called me pretty much out of the blue not too long ago; the call itself was not 'out of the blue' - we talk all the time - but the request was.

And so I'm keeping my eye on the old flowerbed that used to have scads of Lily of the Valley, in case there are survivors who would maybe flourish in a new home.

I'm also emptying out and getting ready to transport a couple of antique dressers that will be going along for the ride to that same new home (and probably makeovers).

It's entirely possible that, added to the collection, yet another antique dresser will make the trip, this one to get it one step closer to its final destination, which is the home of another daughter. With this one goes a heavy Victorian standing lamp base and a colored leaded glass lampshade (from my grandmother) to top it - and a quilt made by my grandmother for good measure. 

The things from my grandmother have come to me via my own mom, which makes them all the more special.

I'll likely throw in several more quilts for the girls to draw straws over, and a pair of pretty little cut glass lamps (also from my grandmother).

Rounding things out, into my beat-up little old truck will go the chiminea I so rarely use.

So how is it a happy thing to be saying farewell to these much-loved and oh-so-familiar things?

Well, they're moving on to the next step in their journey, where they're supposed to go. The whole point of me keeping them for all this time has been to pass them on to the children and grandchildren of the future. 

There are other things that I will keep for a time yet - because I am not ready to tell them goodbye just now. But in due time they too will go onward.

To have my daughters ready to accept them, that is a deeper joy to me than you might think.

And so there is no 'bitter' to go with this 'sweet'.

It is pure sweetness.

That dresser at the top of this post? It's been tucked into a cluttered corner of a mostly un-used room of my home for years, gradually collecting things that will go along with it one day (and that day seems to have come!)

I can't help but think it deserves a bit of a better fate than to be just stuck away like that, you know? It needs the TLC it will receive at the hands of my daughter and son-in-law ... and it will be lovely once more, put to good use and loved still.

No, it is not one that prior generations of our family has used. Its history is linked to that of this town where I and these daughters of mind 'grew up'. Some years ago, when they were children, a local family (friends of ours) had an auction of many of the contents of a Hotel that had been in their family for some time. 

My girls needed dressers. We went to the auction. Having almost no money, I knew I could not afford the 'really good' dressers. My heart sank within me as they did indeed go for many more hundreds of dollars than I'd ever had in my bank account. Would I fail to get dressers for my daughters?

Looking carefully at the collection, we found a couple that were in 'not-so-hot' shape. Surely these would go for less.

And so ... when the first one came up, I put in my bid.

Glancing around, I saw people quietly talking, gesturing in my direction but not talking to me exactly.

Nobody bid against me, not even the 'big dealers' who had flocked to this sale for its incredible collection of antiques.

When the other dresser came up, one person did bid against me. One. Once. So it cost me a bit more.

Even so, my daughters got the dressers that they needed, with pretty mirrors to boot!

And now that they are all grown up, with children of their own, they'll get them back again.

Tell me that ain't pure sweetness!

We're Trading

When something needs doing and there aren't enough people to do it, and you reluctantly have to take on a task that, as 'the boss', you don't think you ought to have to do ...

And then you see someone else finishing up with another task ... 

What do you expect to happen to any respect that person might have had for you when you say, 'We're trading,' and finish up what they had done the rest of while they get stuck with the task you don't want?

Just wondering.

Phi in the Sky

This is somebody's (don't know who; it showed up on line) rendition of a combination of a Hubble photo and a really pretty 'city' out there somewhere.

When my sister Mary saw it she immediately told me to do one of my 'high texture' paintings of it.

Well, that led me to look again at the photo - and my thought was, 'That's PHI in the SKY!'

The Hives our folk have colonized in the stars have to look like something, you know. Given that they're originating at Phi of Northwest, chances are at least some of them are going to resemble it ... one would think.

So I think I'll leave the alabaster cities to others and go for the gold. NASA puts out some great photos ... it will be fun to give them a search for the one(s) that start bells ringing in my head and use them as inspiration for the interpretive painting(s) I have in mind.

Exactly when I'll be able to have the time to actually do the painting(s) I have no idea at the moment. I've got a bunch of horse sketches to get done, two books to finish writing and merging (about halfway through with that little project), and yada yada stuff like shifts to fill to finance everything else.

But the idea is firmly planted and I can vision it, so eventually we'll have our Phi in the Sky.

Looking Forward to New Schedule

I can't wait for my new schedule to kick in.

This week I work Monday, Tuesday, (Wednesday off), Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday before I get a day off again.

I Badly Want to Spill the Beans

Ullin of Iona

Incredibly frustrating to have to wait and not talk about the stuff our Characters are bringing into this book.

Grrrrrrr ... 

The First Draft of a Scene from COME HELL AND HIGH WATER

Their course takes them by sea to where the high mountains come down. Here too, rather far inland and uphill all the way, is a school they must visit. They want to be sure it is safe.

And so it is.

Andorra has survived better than most. The welcome our little wandering group receives makes their hearts sing. Here is a chance to stop and rest. 

Finally they can sit themselves down, relate their own experiences, and hear the stories of others who have found their way to this place of relative security, high in the mountains.

It is here, at Andorra, that they encounter some unexpected friends. From Southwest have come a handful of folk from one of Phi’s farthest flung outlying settlements. Theirs has been a journey even longer than that of our little group, but has been made quicker as they did not pause on their way at either Southisle or Morocco. Making their way eastward across the width of a violently heaving and burning Southwest, they had taken shelter in ancient underground dwellings when need demanded, but there they did not linger. 

Their sea voyage was guided mostly by luck and by instinct. None of the sea folk disturbed their journey. They had taken to the deeps. 

Shattered shards and broken bits of debris had burst into flame, scattered by the impact of the several huge pieces of space rock hitting the atmosphere of Earth. As the larger chunks, miles in diameter, nailed the northern hemisphere’s ice sheet of Northwest, others rained down on Northeast’s glacial ice.

The smaller bits and pieces, also aflame, scattered over the land masses of the northern hemisphere, setting them alight.

Likewise, into the waters of Earth came fire. Instincts intact, most of the sea folk headed for the deep before the upper levels were set to a boil by thousands upon thousands of flaming space rock fragments. Steam added itself to the smoke already in the air while boiling glacial meltwater rushed to the sea across whatever land got in its way.

The roiling meltwater put out raging fires as it went, picked up whatever wasn’t deeply rooted enough to withstand its power, pulverized and cut channels to clear its path to where it was going, and nothing stood against it. 

The shock of it hitting the seas rose wave upon wave upon wave to set the waters of Earth rocking. Shores far from Northwest were drowned as the waters of Earth blasted their way miles inland. Nothing could stand against them. 

What fire had perhaps spared, water, steam, smoke, and ash did not.

The sea folk who got deep enough fast enough were maybe spared the worst of it. At least they weren’t insta-boiled or flash-fried.

Ironically, it was the fate of the too-slow sea folk that saved the lives of the handful of folk from Southwest as they made their way across the still-bubbling-and-steaming sea. Unable to forage, and with nothing left to forage for, they would have died had it not been for their decision to go ahead and feed themselves with the well-cooked seafood that shared the surface of the water with them. The necessity would haunt them for the rest of their lives – but that they had lives to live at all they owed to the inability of some of the sea folk to escape their doom.

It is from these folk that our little group learns of the finality of devastation wreaked on their homeland.

Going by what they encountered in and on Southwest, the handful of survivors from there can only weep and shake their heads to questions concerning Northwest. The magnitude what they have seen and experienced is, they know, but a shadow of what happened to Northwest. Explaining as best they can what they have been through is hard enough. Trying to extrapolate from that to what it must have been like on Northwest is beyond what their hearts are able to bear.

‘Gone,’ is all they can bring themselves to say.

‘Gone.’

Stunned, Mamm has in one hand the hand of Clara. In the other is the big strong hand of Danann. In Danann’s arms is Ullin, who leans down to rest a hand on the Queen Harp. She stands next to Danann. 

Unable to speak, Mamm stares at the folk from Southwest.

Gone, gone, gone … the word rings in her head like the tolling of a big bell, a deep-voiced bell that won’t stop tolling.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Tightening her grip on both of the hands she holds, Mamm draws a deep breath.

‘So be it.’

Ullin’s child voice comes.

‘It will be all right.’

‘Aye,’ agrees the heavy voice of Danann. ‘Aye it will. But it is not all right just now, Ullin.’

‘No. Not now, but it will be all right. We shall make it so.’

Clara smiles over at Ullin.

‘Are you so sure then, little one?’

‘Aye. I’m sure.’

And now comes Mamm’s smile, tentative.

‘So be it.’

And the Queen Harp begins a bit of a marching song, a hint for our little group to get on with it already. If they’re going to make it all come right, they have things to do, places to go, people to see.
…

Chestnut eyes darkened with pain make Mamm’s heart stop in her chest for a moment.

‘What is it, Ullin? What grieves you?’

‘Iona. She is beneath the waves and her folk are all dead. Only the eagle and the dolphin can find her now.’

Mamm does not ask how Ullin knows this thing. The pain in his eyes tells her that the child speaks true.

Gathering the slight boy close, Mamm kneels before him. This time it is her turn to murmur to him his own words.

‘It will be all right.’

‘Yes. One day she will rise once more. But for now we need to go to Brodgar’s Ring, Mamm. You know of it. It is near enough to Iona. I can perhaps go for a bit of a sail one day.’

‘Perhaps you shall do just that, Ullin. And I shall go along for the ride.’

From out of the herds of Andorra come a half dozen mounts to stand before our little group of travelers. Beauties they are, and as big and strong as they are beautiful, three stallions and three mares to match them.

Danann’s copper eyes take on an almighty shiny gleam as a huge red stallion steps up to him.

Mamm’s eyes are swiftly changing colors, bright with emotion, as a mare of gold steps up to her.

Ullin grabs the Queen Harp and gives a yank to Danann’s hand as a silver stallion comes up in front of him.

Danann, pulled from his reverent reverie by Ullin’s impatience, heaves the boy up onto the back of the horse, the Queen Harp twanging a bit in irritation at his roughness.

‘Cope as best you can, Queen,’ says Danann and his voice is rough, thick with emotion. ‘We have places to go, things to do, people to see. And our mounts wait.’

Clara smiles and climbs rather awkwardly aboard the silver mare that matches Ullin’s stallion.

Mamm is more graceful as she swings herself up onto the golden mare.

‘There are two horses who need riders,’ she says with a cheeky grin. ‘Who will they Choose?’

The red mare goes to Ellae, a girl of Andorra. Ellae glances around but she is standing alone. This mare has Chosen her. A shrug and a grin later, Ellae is mounted.

The stallion of gold heads out and through the gathered crowd, apparently looking for someone.

Whoever that someone is, they are not in the crowd.

The golden stallion rears to paw the air, and clear the area around him, then lets loose with a scream of impatience.

From out of a nearby home races a boy of about Ullin’s age, although not nearly as tall as the slender egg-bald Ullin.

‘What!’

The little boy with the golden curls puts his hands on his hips and glares at the horse.

‘I’m in the middle of something important here, you know. What do you want!’

Ullin grins at his friend.

‘Come on, we have places to go, people to see, things to do. Hurry up, you’re slowing us down.’

‘Ha. I’m going to finish what I started. It’s for you, you know. I’m almost done so hold your horses, willya? It’ll just take me another minute or two … or maybe three.’

The golden stallion follows the little boy right into the house and stands snorting over his shoulder as he fiddles with a bit of silver braid.

‘There. That ought to be good enough for now. Come on horse, we have things to do, people to see, and places to go, or so I heard.’

Scrambling up onto his work table, the boy hoists himself up onto the back of the tall horse, takes a look down, almost falls off as he leans over to see exactly how far up he really is, and grabs a hank of mane.

Ducking to avoid being decapitated by the doorway, he tosses the silver thing at Ullin.

Catching it, Ullin’s chestnut eyes swim for an instant. It is a circlet of silver, the first but not the last his bald head will wear.

‘Etan, come here,’ he says quietly.

The golden horse carries the blond-headed boy over to where Ullin sits his horse.

‘Thank you, Etan. It’s beautiful.’

‘Well, put it on your head to make sure it isn’t going to slide down over your eyes, and let’s get going if we’re going to go anywhere. Where are we going, by the way? Will we be back in time for supper?’

Danann lets loose with a belly laugh that has the whole crowd laughing with him.

‘Let’s go!’

As he clings to his suddenly running mount, Etan shouts over his shoulder, ‘We’ll be back when we get back! Don’t hold supper for us.’

And they are off.

'THE SILVERS' OF DUNNOTTAR

One of the most fun things about working on this book series has been digging around on line and in books/magazines for photos to use for inspiration in the development of the horses of our Characters.

Being able to envision them helps (more than you'd think) in the writing about them.

Because of their importance in the Story Line, I wanted a couple of criteria to carry through in the lineage of these horses.

1) I wanted a breed that would satisfy both my imagination and my logic. By that I mean they would have to 'fit' at least halfway logically with the 'lineages' of our Characters. Since I went with a germanic mother goddess (Perchta) who met my criteria on another front for the 'naming' of our folk as the Perchtanne it made sense (to me) to have horses that also fit that bill - so I went with the Percherons. Especially when I realized that all of the horses I was particularly liking a lot as I was browsing around for what I wanted seemed to all be ... umm ... Percherons. The name itself hit me like a ton of bricks - so really, I didn't have much choice in the matter  :) 

2) They have to be totally AWESOME. Well, they kind of really do have to be. They are Characters in their own rights. They are Warriors. They are big enough and strong enough to carry the Dananns of our family. They also carry our young Riders. They have 'mystical' traits. Percherons meet all of those requirements and then some. They are beautiful enough to fit the bill perfectly. They are strong. They are tall. They are agile. They are smart. They have personality plus. We need all of those things. They are the Chosen mounts of our human Characters. So we can thank the Holy Trinity for giving them to us in our hour of need, the Mother in particular.

In the course of the Story Line, it emerges that the different holdings of our family tend toward having herds that are rather distinctive. 

Tarnos, home of our tall, red, attitudinal Rogue and Ordha the equally temperamental golden mount of MammTwo, has herds predictably of red and gold.

The Lairdubh holdings of the Perth area breeds blacks to go with their traditional banner colors of black and silver.

Dunnottar's herds are silver. Silver? Yeah, silver. Don't ask me why. It just is.

The horses of Andorra are the 'original' herds and come in all colors. Being as there's something a bit mystical about Andorra in the first place, the horses that are born and reared there cannot be counted on to remain the same color from one day to the next. Don't ask ME how they do it, but (fictionally speaking) they are horses of a different color. Literally. They also wear bells, and I have no idea why that is either. It just is. While I'm yapping about Andorra, yes I realize it's only been 'independent' from The Church and France for a couple of decades and that Charlemagne 'created' it back in the day. That doesn't mean it wasn't 'independent' before that, nor that the people haven't always been 'independent' sorts. Just sayin'. 

The Chattan holdings near Inverness in Fortriu have horses that are also diverse but they don't change colors. They are also not always just one color. Davidson, brother to Mamm of Dunnottar, rides an appaloosa. Whether or not there are actually any appaloosa Percherons is moot. I write fiction and Plusa is black with a white rump covered with black spots. They have dapples and some have 'paint' markings. I betcha they can have a spotted rump if they want. While I'm yammering, yes I realize that 'Percheron' as a 'breed' is only as old as the practice of naming specific 'breeds'. However, Le Perche has apparently been producing horses since ... well, since at least well before the Crusades.

Aquitaine's horses are white.

Now, when it first started out, the horses were supposed to be just horses, right?

Right.

Then came Ordha and Rogue. Then the 'blooded stock' references. Then the matching - 'Choosing' - of Horse and Rider. Then the color coding thing per location. And the thing about them being 'The Chosen of the Mother' for our Sidhe folk.  And their ability to access the Gateways to the Realm of the Gentle Ones. By then it was obvious we were talking about Percherons, with their awesomeness and their mystic qualities (I find them mystical and I write the books, so ... ) and their associations and all that.

I had a moment of panic when Dunnottar laid claim to the Silvers. What the heck. White isn't silver. Was there even such a thing as a silver horse?

Well, kind of. Close enough for fiction.

Blue roans are a kind of dark silver. Dapples and the greys are silver.

Okay, we can live with this.

Here's the horse that stole my heart on behalf of the Percherons:

http://www.draftsforsale.com/ShowAd/index.php?id=5688671527b3e

What lucky folks those are! Nineteen hands, this guy was.

Here's a second photo:

I wouldn't call him 'Moose'. Ri maybe, but not Moose.

Every time I see these pictures, in my head that gal is our own Sass, and that is her mount Sampson, who gave his life to get her safely home from her journey. Yeah, I'm sentimental like that. This guy is gone from us, but in my head he's like the leader of the pack of the Horses of the Sidhe of the Ages.

Here are some other photos I'm finding pretty inspiring, from a simple web search:

How can a person not just fall totally in love with a breed that can produce so much beauty, grace, strength, and flat out Nobility?

What kind of makes me smile is that I found out in the course of the research for the 'old' time of COME HELL AND HIGH WATER (about 12,800 years ago, versus the 'new' time which is only a little over 1,500 years ago) that the horse as we know it originated in what we now call North America. Luckily for us, some had already found their way over to the other side of the world before 'Something Happened' that extincted North America almost entirely (and I mean that literally) about 12,800 years ago. The big mammals all just pretty much ... were gone ... 

WHOOOOP! The Young Ones - Here come the next batch of Younglings !!!!

Can't stay away from the horses, can I?  LOL Here's a photo I might want to use as inspiration since I have a feeling in my gut that the mounts of the Young Ones aren't likely to be any more hesitant to assert themselves than their riders. Oh boy. 

Here's a bit of a preview for you, so you'll kind of know what to expect from these 'new' Characters. I've snagged this out of the rough draft working copy of COME HELL AND HIGH WATER.

While our Younglings are heading into their young adult years, these Young Ones are picking up where their older cousins left off, and going them one better.

XXX

"It’s time to check in on the Young Ones of Dunnottar. 

They’re keeping themselves busy with their schooling, with Dedan and Saba coaching them along. Marra and Mamm the Younger are a pair of holy terrors, exponentially worse than even Rua ever was. These Young Ones are unrepentant rapscallions who charm their way out of trouble time and again.

Mounted [on the most rambunctious four horses that the Silver Herds of Dunnottar have ever produced, true throw-backs to Ordha and Rogue, with more than a dash of Oillt's attitude to top it off, I kid you not], they spread the joy of their escapades through the general vicinity.

In Stonehaven they go thundering along the main street scaring little old ladies and providing entertainment for littles and younglings who admire them greatly. Then they come back through from the other direction, sedate little saints come to share serenity and good works. They look around, find people who could use a hand, and pitch in with whatever tasks they can find. Then they do the thundering bit again on their way out of town.

In Northwest they helpfully clear the streams for a mile around and dig a well in the middle of town, pat themselves on the back, and then stock the well with fish when nobody’s looking.

In Forest they yell and scream their way along the paths, horns bellowing, thoroughly disrupting the peace that generally reigns in the quiet of the woods. The first few times they set the forest animals into panics, which in turn sets the Forest Folk into panics. Then everyone gets used to it. They order massive quantities of lumber and the other products produced by Forest, and pay for it in gold and silver and jewels. All of the stuff they ordered and paid for shows up on the doorsteps of the folk who most need it.

Out in the territory of Beyond, on the other side of the forest, they take to making loud appearances in the communities in the middle of the night, clanging and banging, hooting and hollering, then disappearing when lights begin to show in windows. When morning comes the folk of Beyond are surprised to find barns cleaned, haystacks in place that hadn’t been there the day before, cattle gathered, and new supplies for the making of their instruments piled neatly in the town square.

The basket-makers of Southwest get scared out of their wits when they hear moanings and groanings in the night, punctuated by sudden shrieks and wails. It’s darned spooky and the Young Ones take great delight in seeing who can create the most eerie sounds with their voices and their horns. Here too they order an amazing array of basketry, pay for it with the coin of Dunnottar, and show up with a huge wain pulled by all four of their silvers to collect their purchases. Even the wain has been a special order. It is a great big basket shaped like a boat. They drive their boat all over the place dropping off baskets to all and sundry. The wain-boat itself they give to South.

One calm night they sneak down to South and set all of their fishing boats adrift so they aren’t there come morning when the South Folk want to use them. In their own little currachs, out far enough to not be visible from South, they’ve got the boats corralled by dolphins Called for the purpose by the girls. When a hue and cry is raised by South at daylight, the naughty Young Ones ride some of the dolphins back to shore while the others push the boats back AND herd an astonishing catch of fish along with them.

Yes, these Young Ones are busy. They are wild and reckless but so well-loved that they get away with whatever they can think of to do.

Dunnottar herself is not spared.

They go into the smithy when Thann is called away to help somebody with something or other, probably something they rigged up their own selves to get him out of their way. They want to forge a sword that even Thann can’t wield. The fire they get started is so big and so hot that it goes right up the chimney where the wind catches it and sets fire to the thatched roof of the roundhouse. Quickly extinguished, it causes no real harm but the Young Ones have to work their tails off mending the burnt place on the roof.

And they’ve just taken themselves over the line,  yep. They’ve gone too far this time.

They have to face the wrath of Dunnottar, not a pleasant prospect for anyone involved.

Dedan and Saba are in tears over the whole thing. They’re supposed to be the Guardians of Dunnottar and the roundhouse could have gone up in flames. To make it worse, it is their own charges, the Young Ones, who have caused this trouble.

Said Young Ones don’t feel all that bad about the roof of the roundhouse,  truth be told. That's something that is fixable even though with great effort. 

But when they realize how badly they have hurt Dedan and Saba they are for the first time in their lives truly repentant. This has in no way been their intent – yet they have harmed the ones who perhaps love them at least as much as their own parents do, maybe more at times.

The tears of Dedan and Saba do what nothing else has been able to accomplish.

Those tears bring the Young Ones to their knees.

Finally, just as Merri is about to drag them off to the disciplined life of the Fienne, Ullin himself shows up and carts them off to Iona, lock stock and barrel."

XXX

If you've read the short story books, you'll have met this batch briefly.

They are Colum and Saorsa, born kin-twins to Caileen and Aine of Dunnottar (born at the same time, and in close proximity, to full sisters), and Marra and Mamm the Younger, the fire-headed twin daughters of Sass. The two pairs are born within a year on Dunnottar. 

When we meet them in the short story, and again now, they are 12/13 years old.

This is the only group within our story line that doesn't have a shorty among them, although with Dedan and Saba as their teachers, mentors, guides, guardians, and friends they do have a couple of short folk closely associated with them. The four cousins are all long-legged and tall. 

They are the collective 'baby of the family' and maybe a little over-indulged.

Colum is the son of Caileen and Talorc - teachers, diplomats, and leaders of Dunnottar. 

Caileen has long thick hair of brown generously streaked with copper and gold, with the copper eyes of her father Danann of Dunnottar that go back in our lineages to David of Chattan.

Talorc is a powerfully built man of 'normal' height with short dark hair and very dark eyes.

Saorsa (whose name means 'freedom' in Scots Gaelic) is the daughter of Aine and Kalann, half sister to Aine's son Brann.

Aine and Kalann are scholars, warriors, and general cut-ups but very serious about what's important in life.

Aine has light brown curls and blue eyes; Kalann is, like Talorc, a powerfully built man with dark hair and eyes, although their facial features are pretty different.

Marra and Mamm the Younger are the twin daughters of Sass and Thann (who adopted the brother-pair of the Old Ones, Dedan and Saba)

Sass is tall and slender with blonde hair and sea-eyes that change to and from all of the colors of the waters of Earth. She is our Healer.

Thann is what we call 'Danann sized' - which is to say he is six and a half feet tall and well-muscled. Thann is our smith.

Marra and Mamm the Younger would be the spittin' images of the 'original' Warrior Twins Sass and Saille except that their eyes are the deep blue of their great-great-grandfather Alaric instead of bright grass-green.

We don't have physical descriptions (yet) of either Colum or Saorsa, except for their height and long legs. I'm thinking that Colum will carry the dark eyes and dark hair of his father Talorc while Soarsa might be blonde and green-eyed.

At any rate, the Young Ones welcome you to our midst, and we welcome them (most of the time) to our Story Line.

SURVIVING STRESS AIN'T A WALK IN THE PARK

Today, for the first time in almost half of a year and a day, I woke up relaxed, calm, and smiling.

I had almost forgotten what that was like.

Sometimes, I think, we don't realize what a load of stress we're carrying, nor the toll it takes to carry it, until part of it is lifted from our shoulders.

Sometimes (most often, actually) we're the ones who have to do what it takes to throw off part of that load. 

We might not really want to. 
We might not really be able to afford to. 

But to continue with it weighing us down, and to continue to pay that price - those are going to bring us to our knees ... and we want that even less.

So we do what we have to do.

Me, I just dropped my shift-work hours down to something I think I'll be able to manage.

I had no sooner done that than the scheduling person also snagged from off of my shoulders the majority of the burden that has made the bearing of it so intensely expensive for me. 

Finally, after all this time, she has assigned me (FOR A WHOLE WEEK!) to ONE, JUST ONE of the five hallways she's been randomly putting me on for God only knows what reason. When I went back full time she asked me if I have a preference about placement. Because I honestly do love all five hallways equally I said that no I don't, thinking that she was just going to assign me to one of said hallways. Ha. SHE apparently interpreted what I said as meaning that I was giving her carte blanche to do that flip-flop random thing at her pleasure. 

With almost everyone on my 'team' having had at least one major life-affecting event over the past couple of weeks, on top of job-related stressors, we're all reeling. Already well on the road to burnout, we've all been struggling. 

When I tried to talk to someone in management about it, she told me that it's up to me to give her solid ideas and suggestions about what to do about it.

That kind of sounds like a bit of a slap in the face, but in reality it's something I've been waiting for. And waiting. And waiting.

On line I went and on line I stayed for the duration of a full night (when I ought to have been sleeping) doing someone else's homework. 

Really.

People whose educations SURELY included training about things related to their chosen career fields have to tell a lowly bottom-of-the-ladder employee to come up with 'solutions' to a problem that is rampant in their industry? 

*laughing*

It's not like I didn't know where to look, being as it's been on my mind for all this time, right?

Anyway, I wrote up a piece that addresses burnout.

I did it my way. Eighteen pages.

Then I did it her way. A page and a half. 

There's no way in Hades she would have made it through even the first paragraph of 'my way'. Her personality type is probably the exact opposite of mine. Fortunately for both of us, my type is a lot more flexible about communication styles. While she cannot flex far enough to even try to 'get' communications offered in 'my' style, I most certainly can flex far enough to offer said communications in 'hers'. 

Being as (with any luck) she might take said suggestions further up the ladder, giving them to her in a format she can understand makes sense. The ones she'd maybe pass them on to would be even less able to grasp the finer points of my narrative than she would. Not for any lack of intelligence, mind you, but only because their brains don't work the way mine does. While I am okay with accepting that difference, they are not. 

We don't speak the same language. I can learn theirs; they cannot learn mine. So it is theirs I have to use if I want to communicate with them at all. Sad but true.

At any rate, today I woke up smiling, which will likely make me smile all day just remembering it.

It's a chilly gloomy rainy day, a good one to get some writing done on COME HELL AND HIGH WATER. I set out Duke's water barrel to collect rain water for him as our tap water is rather on the toxic side, so hopefully at least he will benefit from this day's rain.

As for me, I can't get anything done on my outside projects so may as well spend the day writing - and maybe at long last getting the leather outers for my felted wool boots worked on. 

Writing and doing my projects are stress-relievers for me.

A vicious cycle kicks in without mercy when I get to a certain point.

When the stressors in my life consume all of my internal resources, the load really does take me to my knees. I can't even stand up, let alone take any steps.

When it gets to the point that I have to carry Pepto with me to my shift-work job because the stress of it creates physical symptoms, and live with headaches for the same reason, and resort to adapting my required 'real shoes' to accommodate at least a modified version of my 'happy feet boots' in order to try to minimize the effects of not being able to wear the actual footwear ... and when my 'off' time consists of futile efforts to reconcile myself to the fact that I'm actually doing what I'm doing with (to) myself and my life here ... I have to shake my head at myself.

It's time to ditch the hope of writing a success story about that place. Maybe one about the value of silver linings would work, though.

But first things first, right?

For this day, at least, I've got a reprieve from at least some of the stress, physical, intellectual, and emotional. 

-My feet, legs, back, shoulders, neck, and arms got a whole night of 'full-body heating pad' so they're limber and happy with me for the moment. 
-My eye is appreciating the break from all those spotlights. 
-My mind is at ease, having gotten that narrative written and then translated. That burden is no longer mine. What she/they choose to do with it is not up to me. 
-I've got a bit of a supply of the protein my body needs, so I'm good on that front. 
-I'm not running out of any of my vitamins. 
-My friends and I are making it through what we've got to get through, one way or another, together. 
-Duke is lying by my side while I patter. 
-I have enough project supplies to keep me busy doing basically whatever I want for a while. 
-I can look forward to some stability at that shift-work job for at least the coming week. 
-And, as soon as the new schedule comes out, I can maybe look forward to a few more days like this!

All of the above contribute to the sense of well-being that has me (finally) relaxed on this day.

And so ... it's off I go to find out what sorts of trouble the Young Ones are going to get themselves into and out of, what might be going on in the lives of our Characters, and try to keep the book shorter than the Mamm of Dunnottar one of the Mamm Books. Wish me luck with that. The century of the 500s CE was a busy one, not to mention what happened 12,800 years ago.

OH.

Lest I forget, here's the translated version of that narrative:

Bottom line:

Burnout is going to show up in terms of people: 
coming in late, 
leaving early, 
calling in, 
taking vacations, 
cutting their own hours, 
being less productive than they want/ought to be, 
dragging rather than bouncing, 
developing stress-related illnesses, 
being physically and emotionally drained and showing it, 
not caring as much, 
becoming grouchy, 
and there being a high turnover rate.

Things an individual can do include:
-getting a good solid physical including bloodwork to rule out physical reasons for their malaise and determining whether or not their symptoms are stress-induced, 
-going to a counselor, 
-getting a prescription for stress and anxiety alleviation or using more traditional remedies, 
-taking personal health days, 
-pursuing and developing interests and activities outside of the work realm, 
-eating and sleeping right, 
-using positive self-talk and positive team-talk on a regular basis, 
-taking a vacation, 
-switching divisions or shifts, 
-cutting hours, 
-trying to talk to management about what’s going on, 
-or quitting if none of the above work.

Things a facility might try include: 
=offering said physicals/health screenings and encouraging their people to get them if they’re feeling ‘off’; 
=training staff and management to recognize and respect the signs of impending burnout and/or compassion fatigue without assigning guilt in either direction so that it can be dealt with in an efficient and effective manner; 
=adapting scheduling and assignments when needed; 
=giving credit where credit is due and appropriate compensation; 
=avoiding ‘talking down to’, ignoring, threatening, minimizing, or otherwise insulting staff; 
=taking care when hiring and giving people opportunities to do what they do best without micro-managing; 
=recognizing that there are times that are going to be particularly stressful for staff and offering support and understanding; 
=including healthy shift meals; 
=developing and nurturing core teams; 
=hiring an impartial professional to do an evaluation of the entire functioning of the facility to identify strengths and weaknesses; 
=having someone staff can trust available for them to talk/vent to confidentially without fear of reprisals, either direct or subtle; 
=using all forms of media for recruitment purposes; 
=management picking up shifts rather than making their staff work short (then chastising them) –  
=volunteering to come in during notoriously difficult times (or hiring someone *short shift* for those few hours every day/evening) –  
=providing what is needed to minimize ‘behaviors’ during those same hours … generally a reduction of sensory stimulation for those sensitive to it; 
=ASKING staff (sincerely and nicely) what is needed and then PROVIDING it; 
=discovering and maximizing the unique talents and strengths of individuals; 
=without de-emphasizing the rights of residents, making it clear that staff also have rights which may not be infringed on; 
=recognizing, accepting, and acting on the fact that you cannot get to the root of a problem by blaming the leaves that get sick and fall from the sick tree that made them sick in the first place. 

Or, as an old cowboy would say, ‘You don’t ride your workhorse until it drops – and then blame the horse.’

Also: you can catch a lot more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. 

And: an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Just Sayin'

I am NOT going to stay up all night, like I did last night, doing research for people who 1) ought to have gotten training on the topic in the course of their educations, and 2) are as perfectly capable of doing a simple web search as I am.

Just sayin'.

I Am So Grateful For My Boring Life

Yep.

That about sums it up.