I was going to use this entry to go ballistic and rail at my fellow Americans for being nincompoops. I was going to sarcastically thank everyone who has paved the dreary future for me and ruined the good jobs we used to have. I was going to rant and rave about everyone's stupidity and love of materialistic things. I was going to.
Lucky for you, America, Aunt Betty gave us our yearly copy of "Daily Guideposts", which I keep handy in the bathroom so that I'm sure to read it on a daily basis. (Because, if you think about it, the bathroom is the ONE place you are sure to go and sit for at least a few moments everyday.) The scripture for today was "God does not show favoritism" - Romans 2:11 (NIV)
No, indeed he does not. But he loves us just the same. So instead of fuming (oh, I'd still like to go ahead and let you have it) I'm going to concentrate on the blessings we still have instead:
I can still walk outside anytime I please. I can come and go as I wish. I can sit on the porch or take a walk. I can still put out birdfeeders and watch the animals fight over it. I can have a dog or a cat. I can have a guinea pig if I want to. (Scratch that, the animal nazi said no.)
I can apply for any job that's hiring. I may not get the job but I still have the freedom to make the choice to try. I can talk to whoever I want to. There's not a law yet that says I can't be friendly. I can smile whenever I want to. The muscles on my face still work so why not?
I can whistle (although it's a very poor excuse for a whistle) while I work. It's not the beautiful whistle my pap had (I didn't get all the good genetics) but it's a cheery little noise that indicates I am content. I can also hum, which sounds even more off key than the whistle.
I can go to church anytime I want to. Every Sunday, or every day. The church is there and I can go. I can send a Thank You card or Thinking of You card, or Hey How Are You card. My hands still work, the post office is still in business and it's always fun to get something besides a bill in the mail.
I can buy stupid things that make no sense. There is no law that says I can't buy fake dog poop to place strategically in other people's homes when I visit. I can go to the county fair or the yearly town carnival. I still have my teeth which means I can eat corn on the cob or a candy apple.
I can share what little I have with whomever I want. No one said I couldn't share. And anyhow, isn't sharing what it's all about? I can still try to set a good example.
I can still make small choices every day to make my life and the world a better place. We could complain and yell and write angry letters to the editor or we can start actually DOING something. It all starts with having a better attitude. Even if you have to fake it at first. So for today, let's start small. Just smile at someone.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Enslaved By Wildlife
I never even saw it coming. It happened slowly and gradually, like the glaciers when they came creeping across North America. I suppose looking back, this has been going on for most of my life but I never realized the extent of it until this morning. The animals have taken over my life.
As I poured my coffee a few minutes ago I paused to look out my kitchen window. There is a fantastic view of the yard, flower garden and bird feeders. Underneath those bird feeders, like hungry lions circling a fresh kill, were the ducks. They hang out like a gang of street thugs, waiting for the smaller birds to scatter down seeds to them.
My intent upon installing the bird feeders was not to feed ducks. In fact, we don't even have any ducks. These Muskovies migrated from up the creek and moved in with us like unwanted house guests. They've taken over the yard, they eat anything that grows in the garden, they poop on my sidewalk and porch, they eat Old Bud's dog food out of his dish. They will even swim in the water that collected on the winter cover of our swimming pool. The Muskovies have got to go. There is a new gang of ducks in town and I'm hoping there will be a territorial overthrow. The new ducks are black with green heads. They're domestic but I'm not sure what kind. (Not Mallards, we have those too from time to time. Er, that is, they have us.)
Sitting also underneath the birdfeeder I spotted my little buddy, Chippy. Chippy (a chipmunk, I'm sure you guessed) has decided that my flower planting skills are not up to par and so he made a few modifications of his own. Apparently in preparation for winter last year, Chippy squirreled away loads of sunflower seeds and buried them in random locations for later use. Those seeds have sprouted and the result is small clusters of sunflowers here and there. I have to hand it to Chippy, this was a wise investment. Perhaps instead of investing in my 401K I should have just given my money to Chippy. By not eating those seeds and planting them instead he will be the equivialent of a chipmunk billionaire when these flowers bloom in the fall. And my bees will be happy about that too. Yes. I have honey bees. Yet another creature to which I am enslaved.
I turned away from the kitchen and went into the living room. From there I peeked through the window onto my front porch. On my porch swing, a robin has built a nest and is now sitting on eggs. On my swing. Where I like to sit. When I first saw the nest I thought it was a joke. Kind of like a tester nest. For beginners. Low to the ground, easy to get to. But then she moved in and there she stayed. Her hubby stops by every now & then to check on her progress & see how the kids are doing. So no more porch swing till this bunch hatches & I can ditch the nest.
I turned around & tripped over the cat who was there to let me know that IT WAS TIME TO EAT NOW. For an animal that can't talk she can get her point across emphatically when she wants to. So I fed Fat Gladys. She more or less runs the house, I'm just here to dish out the food & change the litter.
My chickens in the hen house have staged a coup and will not let me collect eggs without a tussle. When I bend down to collect what's been layed under the roost, Meanie hops up on my back and sticks there. When I reach around to brush her off she pecks my hands. The best I can do is flail around until she decides the fun is over and hops off on her own. The other chickens think this is hilarious. I can hear them cackling the whole way back to the house.
My coffee is now gone and I'm thinking of going for a little run. I like to go for 3-5 mile runs but that has been limited lately. My dog went deaf but he still insists on going along. The problem is, he can only keep up for the first mile. I've tried sneaking away without him. Deaf as he is, he must be able to smell my sneakers because he still manages to catch me. I even made a clean break the other day and was a quarter mile down the road when I heard his toenails clicking on the pavement behind me. He looked at me and grinned as if to say "Hey Mom! Don't worry, I'm coming!" Great. There is no aspect of my life, save my job, that is not run by animals. Roll my eyes and grumble as I may, I must admit, I sort of enjoy it.
As I poured my coffee a few minutes ago I paused to look out my kitchen window. There is a fantastic view of the yard, flower garden and bird feeders. Underneath those bird feeders, like hungry lions circling a fresh kill, were the ducks. They hang out like a gang of street thugs, waiting for the smaller birds to scatter down seeds to them.
My intent upon installing the bird feeders was not to feed ducks. In fact, we don't even have any ducks. These Muskovies migrated from up the creek and moved in with us like unwanted house guests. They've taken over the yard, they eat anything that grows in the garden, they poop on my sidewalk and porch, they eat Old Bud's dog food out of his dish. They will even swim in the water that collected on the winter cover of our swimming pool. The Muskovies have got to go. There is a new gang of ducks in town and I'm hoping there will be a territorial overthrow. The new ducks are black with green heads. They're domestic but I'm not sure what kind. (Not Mallards, we have those too from time to time. Er, that is, they have us.)
Sitting also underneath the birdfeeder I spotted my little buddy, Chippy. Chippy (a chipmunk, I'm sure you guessed) has decided that my flower planting skills are not up to par and so he made a few modifications of his own. Apparently in preparation for winter last year, Chippy squirreled away loads of sunflower seeds and buried them in random locations for later use. Those seeds have sprouted and the result is small clusters of sunflowers here and there. I have to hand it to Chippy, this was a wise investment. Perhaps instead of investing in my 401K I should have just given my money to Chippy. By not eating those seeds and planting them instead he will be the equivialent of a chipmunk billionaire when these flowers bloom in the fall. And my bees will be happy about that too. Yes. I have honey bees. Yet another creature to which I am enslaved.
I turned away from the kitchen and went into the living room. From there I peeked through the window onto my front porch. On my porch swing, a robin has built a nest and is now sitting on eggs. On my swing. Where I like to sit. When I first saw the nest I thought it was a joke. Kind of like a tester nest. For beginners. Low to the ground, easy to get to. But then she moved in and there she stayed. Her hubby stops by every now & then to check on her progress & see how the kids are doing. So no more porch swing till this bunch hatches & I can ditch the nest.
I turned around & tripped over the cat who was there to let me know that IT WAS TIME TO EAT NOW. For an animal that can't talk she can get her point across emphatically when she wants to. So I fed Fat Gladys. She more or less runs the house, I'm just here to dish out the food & change the litter.
My chickens in the hen house have staged a coup and will not let me collect eggs without a tussle. When I bend down to collect what's been layed under the roost, Meanie hops up on my back and sticks there. When I reach around to brush her off she pecks my hands. The best I can do is flail around until she decides the fun is over and hops off on her own. The other chickens think this is hilarious. I can hear them cackling the whole way back to the house.
My coffee is now gone and I'm thinking of going for a little run. I like to go for 3-5 mile runs but that has been limited lately. My dog went deaf but he still insists on going along. The problem is, he can only keep up for the first mile. I've tried sneaking away without him. Deaf as he is, he must be able to smell my sneakers because he still manages to catch me. I even made a clean break the other day and was a quarter mile down the road when I heard his toenails clicking on the pavement behind me. He looked at me and grinned as if to say "Hey Mom! Don't worry, I'm coming!" Great. There is no aspect of my life, save my job, that is not run by animals. Roll my eyes and grumble as I may, I must admit, I sort of enjoy it.
Monday, May 11, 2009
On The Road
I've recently begun a new endeavor as a flagger. That is, I am the person with the Stop/Slow sign that you see at one end or another of road construction. Or more commonly, in the middle of construction at an intersection safely letting people out onto the highway.
On my days off prior, I would go in town to run an errand and wonder to myself who all the people were who were driving around. Don't they have jobs? Why are there such vast numbers of vehicles on the road during business hours?
I am pleased to announce the answer. As I stood in the middle of an intersection for 14.5 hours the truth became crystal clear. Old people. The roads are covered in old people. And old people do not get along with road construction.
When the milling machine goes by, it rips up the old road and carts it off so that the new pavement can be put down. This causes a small drop off and when old people have to drive their car over it they go 3 miles an hour so they don't damage the precious undercarriage of their 1992 Buick. God forbid.
Some slow down to the point that they cannot get their car to get up over the milling hump. Their car actually stops when they hit it and then they sit & spin their tires which backs up traffic and pisses off all the welfare people (who are also out shopping for cigarettes in their beat up Cavaliers & Reliant K cars with the fantastic sounds system and booming bass.)
In addition to the Old People, Welfare People and the Working Class (vans, trucks, etc.) there are about 500 rich blond women who spend all day driving through our construction site in their white Cadillac Escalades. I'm not sure where they are going but I am positive that I flagged the same woman out onto the highway about 6 times the one day. Her purpose in life is to drive around & look pretty.
I've also discovered some pro's to flagging:
1. I get to wear the same thing to work every day if I want to. No one knows & no one cares.
2. No hair washing in the morning. Pony tail & hard hat. (I do use my Mary Kay & brush my teeth though.)
3. I can drink all the milk I want for breakfast. Because if I fart all day long no one is there to smell it.
4. Kids on the school bus think I am AWESOME and they all wave at me. Little kids in car seats yell Hello out the back window to me too. I am almost as cool as the truck drivers who honk their horn when you make the “blow the horn” signal with your hands.
5. I have the power to stop traffic.
6. People respect this power.
7. I get to laugh at horrible drivers.
8. I get to see the sun, when it comes out once a year.
9. The day sort of goes fast
10. They pay you a lot of money to stand there.
11. The hard hats are actually comfortable. And dry when it’s raining.
So far no one has thrown a milkshake at me in a frustrated rage. But the season is young.....
On my days off prior, I would go in town to run an errand and wonder to myself who all the people were who were driving around. Don't they have jobs? Why are there such vast numbers of vehicles on the road during business hours?
I am pleased to announce the answer. As I stood in the middle of an intersection for 14.5 hours the truth became crystal clear. Old people. The roads are covered in old people. And old people do not get along with road construction.
When the milling machine goes by, it rips up the old road and carts it off so that the new pavement can be put down. This causes a small drop off and when old people have to drive their car over it they go 3 miles an hour so they don't damage the precious undercarriage of their 1992 Buick. God forbid.
Some slow down to the point that they cannot get their car to get up over the milling hump. Their car actually stops when they hit it and then they sit & spin their tires which backs up traffic and pisses off all the welfare people (who are also out shopping for cigarettes in their beat up Cavaliers & Reliant K cars with the fantastic sounds system and booming bass.)
In addition to the Old People, Welfare People and the Working Class (vans, trucks, etc.) there are about 500 rich blond women who spend all day driving through our construction site in their white Cadillac Escalades. I'm not sure where they are going but I am positive that I flagged the same woman out onto the highway about 6 times the one day. Her purpose in life is to drive around & look pretty.
I've also discovered some pro's to flagging:
1. I get to wear the same thing to work every day if I want to. No one knows & no one cares.
2. No hair washing in the morning. Pony tail & hard hat. (I do use my Mary Kay & brush my teeth though.)
3. I can drink all the milk I want for breakfast. Because if I fart all day long no one is there to smell it.
4. Kids on the school bus think I am AWESOME and they all wave at me. Little kids in car seats yell Hello out the back window to me too. I am almost as cool as the truck drivers who honk their horn when you make the “blow the horn” signal with your hands.
5. I have the power to stop traffic.
6. People respect this power.
7. I get to laugh at horrible drivers.
8. I get to see the sun, when it comes out once a year.
9. The day sort of goes fast
10. They pay you a lot of money to stand there.
11. The hard hats are actually comfortable. And dry when it’s raining.
So far no one has thrown a milkshake at me in a frustrated rage. But the season is young.....
Monday, April 27, 2009
Humorous Poetry
And now for some humorous poetry written by my favorite local un-published poet- Kelly C. Baker:
"The following was written on January 11, 2006 as I was sitting in my cubicle trying to will the clock to move faster. It always seemed to me that the hours of ten and two were horribly slow and dreadful. And due to the time of year, I was having a little bout of Job-Hate-January. I give you "Ten and Two.""
TEN AND TWO
by Kelly C. Baker
Ten and two, I loathe to see those hours upon thy face,
For ever slow they seem to me, devoid a rythmic pace
Ten and two two, the seconds halt, the minutes cease to flow,
Suspended purgatory, a forlorn worker's woe
Eleven brings us lunch time, a recess for the grown,
And three brings four, the blissful hour when we can all go home
But ten and two, I shake my fist, you are the bane of me,
How dare you creep by dreadful slow, a long eternity.
(Pause for Applause) Thank you, thank you.
And now another fave, This one is dedicated to my good friend, Coffee, written December 3 2005:
MY SECRET LOVE
by Kelly C. Baker
Dear Coffee,
I love you, l love your smell
you wake me up & I feel swell,
After I chug your taste devine,
you warm me up and clear my mind
I love your chocolate covered beans,
I'd eat them until I turned green
You are my vice, my guilty pleasure,
my coffee mug at work I treasure
Without it, there'd be no You,
and nothing to look forward to
I'd be distressed, dismayed, upsot,
if not for your brimming pot
I grin each time I take a slug,
cause you're my favorite legal drug.
Love, Kelly
"The following was written on January 11, 2006 as I was sitting in my cubicle trying to will the clock to move faster. It always seemed to me that the hours of ten and two were horribly slow and dreadful. And due to the time of year, I was having a little bout of Job-Hate-January. I give you "Ten and Two.""
TEN AND TWO
by Kelly C. Baker
Ten and two, I loathe to see those hours upon thy face,
For ever slow they seem to me, devoid a rythmic pace
Ten and two two, the seconds halt, the minutes cease to flow,
Suspended purgatory, a forlorn worker's woe
Eleven brings us lunch time, a recess for the grown,
And three brings four, the blissful hour when we can all go home
But ten and two, I shake my fist, you are the bane of me,
How dare you creep by dreadful slow, a long eternity.
(Pause for Applause) Thank you, thank you.
And now another fave, This one is dedicated to my good friend, Coffee, written December 3 2005:
MY SECRET LOVE
by Kelly C. Baker
Dear Coffee,
I love you, l love your smell
you wake me up & I feel swell,
After I chug your taste devine,
you warm me up and clear my mind
I love your chocolate covered beans,
I'd eat them until I turned green
You are my vice, my guilty pleasure,
my coffee mug at work I treasure
Without it, there'd be no You,
and nothing to look forward to
I'd be distressed, dismayed, upsot,
if not for your brimming pot
I grin each time I take a slug,
cause you're my favorite legal drug.
Love, Kelly
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Three Wishes
If you had three wishes what would you wish for? This is a ponderable essay question that changes for me from day to day. There are days when I feel more compassion for my fellow man and would wile away my wishes helping people regenerate new livers, find kidneys and heal their health problems. Today I'm feeling more selfish.
In the sleep deprived state I am currently writing under, my choices may not make much sense and in a few weeks I will probably wish to amend them.(And I will.) Sitting here today, coffee in hand and facing a grueling day of putting on my happy face and being a people person because that's what I get paid to do, here are my three wishes.
Wish #1: I wish it were financially possible for me to be a fulltime housewife. There are lots of women who probably share my dream. I rue the day those doggone women's libbers screwed me out of my free ride. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the reason I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to stay home. But hey, who doesn't?
Wish #2: I wish I had a new Easter dress which will also be worn to weddings this coming summer. In the 10 years I have been married I have not once bought a new Easter dress for Easter Sunday. At best I have some very nice bridesmaid's dresses that sometimes double as my Easterwear. Stacy & Clinton would burn them, they are from the mid 90's. I wouldn't mind burning them either. And new shoes to go with the new dress. My shoes are as old as my dresses. They should never be allowed out of my closet but sometimes.......
Wish #3: I wish I had compression hose. Yes. Old people stockings. I think it would feel fantastic on my old tired legs and maybe help the blood get back up into my heart. My varicose veins would cheer. I'm not sure if I would like the knee highs or the famous T.E.D. hose thigh high's, hospital issue. At any rate, it would have to help.
And those, my friends, are my three wishes du jour. Pathetically sad, but true. Stay tuned, I'm sure I'll have three different wishes in a few weeks.
In the sleep deprived state I am currently writing under, my choices may not make much sense and in a few weeks I will probably wish to amend them.(And I will.) Sitting here today, coffee in hand and facing a grueling day of putting on my happy face and being a people person because that's what I get paid to do, here are my three wishes.
Wish #1: I wish it were financially possible for me to be a fulltime housewife. There are lots of women who probably share my dream. I rue the day those doggone women's libbers screwed me out of my free ride. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the reason I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to stay home. But hey, who doesn't?
Wish #2: I wish I had a new Easter dress which will also be worn to weddings this coming summer. In the 10 years I have been married I have not once bought a new Easter dress for Easter Sunday. At best I have some very nice bridesmaid's dresses that sometimes double as my Easterwear. Stacy & Clinton would burn them, they are from the mid 90's. I wouldn't mind burning them either. And new shoes to go with the new dress. My shoes are as old as my dresses. They should never be allowed out of my closet but sometimes.......
Wish #3: I wish I had compression hose. Yes. Old people stockings. I think it would feel fantastic on my old tired legs and maybe help the blood get back up into my heart. My varicose veins would cheer. I'm not sure if I would like the knee highs or the famous T.E.D. hose thigh high's, hospital issue. At any rate, it would have to help.
And those, my friends, are my three wishes du jour. Pathetically sad, but true. Stay tuned, I'm sure I'll have three different wishes in a few weeks.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Jeff Foxworthy Must Spy on Me
I've discussed this and am fairly certain Jeff Foxworthy has been spying on me. I have a copy of his desk calendar at work and more often than not, each daily "You might be a redneck.." seems to apply to my husband and I. For example, yes, the employees at McDonald's do recognize my voice when I roll through the drive thru at lunch time.
Each Monday my co-workers ask me what I did over the weekend and the answer is always something horribly uncommon. For example, on Valentine's Day I had just finished getting prettied up for a day of possible romance (I had on my best Walmart Bra and underwear with the least amount of broken elastic strings poking out of them)when I chanced to look out the window and saw plastic grocery bags with feet sticking out of them stacked up under my pine tree in the front yard.
Our friendly neighborhood hunter had shot some Canadian geese and dropped them off for my family & I to feast upon. However, the geese were in no way field dressed. They were complete with feathers, guts, feet, heads, etc. Not wanting such a bounty to go to waste, I spent the rest of Valentine's Day scalding, plucking & gutting geese. My husband helped by building the fire to scald the geese on and then chopped their wings and feet off when I was finished. No romance that day.
Another weekend we boiled maple syrup. The week after that we spent Sunday afternoon trying to catch ducks to take to the sale barn. In the summer we all look forward to Dog Shearing day when the neighbors come down with their dogs, or we go up to their place with ours & help each other clip them off using another neighbor's old cow clippers. The men do the clipping, us wives sit on lawnchairs and critique. An annual event not to be missed for sure.
Our dead Christmas tree stayed on the porch until it almost blew off at the end of February. That's when I put my foot down & asked that he at least throw it onto the lawn below. There is a beehive in my dining room. It's waiting for me to paint it. No, there are no bees in it, incase you're wondering.
My toilet has a Step-N-Pee pedal on it. Our very, very old house is crooked which caused the toilet seat to fall down at inopportune times for my hubby. He fixed that. Now you step on the pedal, the seat goes up. Take your foot off, the seat goes down.
My yard is littered with dead animal parts that my dear old dog found and brought back home to roll around on and chew. I can only imagine the horror we've caused those dear little children on the school bus who have to drive past each day and see the carnage. We clean them up & Bud brings home more.
The ducks we spent last Sunday chasing, think our pool is their pool. They enjoy swimming around on the rain water that has gathered on top of the winter cover. They perch on the railing around the deck and leave golf ball sized "presents". This is why we were having the Duck Round Up to begin with.
We still have a rotary dial phone. Our very first computer was purchased Fall of '08. Last year I hit a deer on the way home from work. Then I gutted it, butchered it & we ate it. (I hate to see food go to waste.) Yes, I'm pretty sure Jeff F. gets most of his material from spying on my house. But just to set things straight, I'm not a Red Neck. I'm a Hillbilly.
Each Monday my co-workers ask me what I did over the weekend and the answer is always something horribly uncommon. For example, on Valentine's Day I had just finished getting prettied up for a day of possible romance (I had on my best Walmart Bra and underwear with the least amount of broken elastic strings poking out of them)when I chanced to look out the window and saw plastic grocery bags with feet sticking out of them stacked up under my pine tree in the front yard.
Our friendly neighborhood hunter had shot some Canadian geese and dropped them off for my family & I to feast upon. However, the geese were in no way field dressed. They were complete with feathers, guts, feet, heads, etc. Not wanting such a bounty to go to waste, I spent the rest of Valentine's Day scalding, plucking & gutting geese. My husband helped by building the fire to scald the geese on and then chopped their wings and feet off when I was finished. No romance that day.
Another weekend we boiled maple syrup. The week after that we spent Sunday afternoon trying to catch ducks to take to the sale barn. In the summer we all look forward to Dog Shearing day when the neighbors come down with their dogs, or we go up to their place with ours & help each other clip them off using another neighbor's old cow clippers. The men do the clipping, us wives sit on lawnchairs and critique. An annual event not to be missed for sure.
Our dead Christmas tree stayed on the porch until it almost blew off at the end of February. That's when I put my foot down & asked that he at least throw it onto the lawn below. There is a beehive in my dining room. It's waiting for me to paint it. No, there are no bees in it, incase you're wondering.
My toilet has a Step-N-Pee pedal on it. Our very, very old house is crooked which caused the toilet seat to fall down at inopportune times for my hubby. He fixed that. Now you step on the pedal, the seat goes up. Take your foot off, the seat goes down.
My yard is littered with dead animal parts that my dear old dog found and brought back home to roll around on and chew. I can only imagine the horror we've caused those dear little children on the school bus who have to drive past each day and see the carnage. We clean them up & Bud brings home more.
The ducks we spent last Sunday chasing, think our pool is their pool. They enjoy swimming around on the rain water that has gathered on top of the winter cover. They perch on the railing around the deck and leave golf ball sized "presents". This is why we were having the Duck Round Up to begin with.
We still have a rotary dial phone. Our very first computer was purchased Fall of '08. Last year I hit a deer on the way home from work. Then I gutted it, butchered it & we ate it. (I hate to see food go to waste.) Yes, I'm pretty sure Jeff F. gets most of his material from spying on my house. But just to set things straight, I'm not a Red Neck. I'm a Hillbilly.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Why I Do It
I usually go to Apheresis (platelet donating) every two weeks or if that's not feasible then at least once a month. It's a pretty cushy experience provided by the American Red Cross. All I have to do is sit there on a recliner, covered in a blanket with a heating pad under my back & watch t.v. for 70 minutes and not move move my arms. When it's over I get to partake of snacks, drinks and sometimes sandwiches that the dear ladies who work on me (Peg & Deb) make & bring in for all of us donating patrons.
Your body will replenish these platelets in about 72 hours as opposed to the 53 days it takes to replenish whole blood. This allows for more freqeuent giving.
Now, you may ask, what is the point of just donating platelets? Why not donate whole blood? I used to donate whole blood. This is a wonderful thing and when I die I hope someone has a blood drive in my honor. The reason I donate platelets is because there is an unwillingness in the general public to give platelets. And they are sorely needed in the medical community. Do you know someone who has cancer, or leukemia? Someone with a blood disease that requires a lot of transfusions? Someone who had to undergo an emergency operation? Most likely these people needed platelets at some point or another.
Receiving platelets is like giving a little adrenaline shot to your blood. It gives it some pep, it keeps you going. It gets you over the bad spot you find yourself in. It keeps you alive to see your loved ones again.
Due to the path my life has taken, I will probably never get to serve in the armed forces. I will probably never get to be the intervening force between an innocent bystander and harm's way.
So donating platelets is my alternative, my way of standing in the gap for someone else. If two hours of my time once or twice a month is all it takes to keep someone alive, then it's worth it. Who knows, maybe you've had to receive platelets. If so, you might have a little Gretta in you.
Anyone with questions about Apheresis and how to give, please leave a comment. I would be more than happy to answer any and all questions.
Your body will replenish these platelets in about 72 hours as opposed to the 53 days it takes to replenish whole blood. This allows for more freqeuent giving.
Now, you may ask, what is the point of just donating platelets? Why not donate whole blood? I used to donate whole blood. This is a wonderful thing and when I die I hope someone has a blood drive in my honor. The reason I donate platelets is because there is an unwillingness in the general public to give platelets. And they are sorely needed in the medical community. Do you know someone who has cancer, or leukemia? Someone with a blood disease that requires a lot of transfusions? Someone who had to undergo an emergency operation? Most likely these people needed platelets at some point or another.
Receiving platelets is like giving a little adrenaline shot to your blood. It gives it some pep, it keeps you going. It gets you over the bad spot you find yourself in. It keeps you alive to see your loved ones again.
Due to the path my life has taken, I will probably never get to serve in the armed forces. I will probably never get to be the intervening force between an innocent bystander and harm's way.
So donating platelets is my alternative, my way of standing in the gap for someone else. If two hours of my time once or twice a month is all it takes to keep someone alive, then it's worth it. Who knows, maybe you've had to receive platelets. If so, you might have a little Gretta in you.
Anyone with questions about Apheresis and how to give, please leave a comment. I would be more than happy to answer any and all questions.
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