I knew Monday would be like it developed. It’s hard to explain (as is anything that has to do with the government), but Medicare requires that we meet a certain quota of new patients a year based upon how much money we bill Medicare for. If we don’t meet that quota, Medicare charges us. Go figure. Well, our year to meet our quota ended on Sunday.

Our public relations woman ran circles this past week trying to get the three more patients we needed. (Well, she runs circles all the time, so it was relative.) My boss wasn’t that worried about it, though. Last year he fell short ten. What’s three to ten? I kind of had a feeling that as soon as the year ended, we’d have a busload of patients knocking on our door. And wouldn’t you know. Today alone we received three new patients.

Guess that goes for next year’s quota…

A Nobody from Nowhere

If I ever have any cause to write an autobiography, the title above is the one I will take. I think it describes my life rather well…and also explains why I will never have any reason to write an autobiography.

In the vast scheme of things, we are all nobodies. In our little worlds, among our friends and our families, we are somebodies, but to the world at large we don’t matter. But at least most people are from somewhere. I rather envy those people. They don’t have to think when a new acquaintance asks, “So, where are you from?” I, on the other hand, always pause and offer an answer that never seems like the truth. Because I’m from nowhere.

This reality hit me upside the head again this week. My license plate expires at the end of October, and so it is time to bite the bullet, obey the law, and register my car in Texas. I hate the very thought. I cried when I had to take my New Hampshire plates off my car. Now I’ll cry because I have to put Texas ones on it. And change my title – again. And my driver’s license – again. Not to mention registering to vote.

You may not be keeping count, but within ten months I have changed my driver’s license THREE times, my license plates FOUR times, and the title of some car under my ownership FOUR times. (And the residence where I vote THREE times – in fact, I never even got to vote in Indiana.) It’s a good thing the Lord blessed me in selling my old car this year because by the time I get everything straight in Texas, I will have spent half that amount on plates, titles, licenses and inspections.

I think there should be a special license plate for people like me. I mean, college students don’t have to change their plates. Military families pick a state and keep it. But I need a license plate that reads “Nowhere” – or, at least, “The United State of America”. That would settle this little habit I am forming. It will also save me from having to budget a little money every month towards changing my residency.

Being a pilgrim on earth is not a new thing. Abraham himself wandered about from place to place. David ran from Saul for years and didn’t have a home. Even Christ didn’t have a place to lay His head. I suppose, then, I am in good company.

But at least they didn’t have to license their camels or register their donkeys.

Happy Birthday, Katey!

This is one of those outfits that brings back memories – for it was one of the dozens we owned that looked alike.

Another Week goes by in Texas

It’s hard to believe but it has rained all week long. We had some sun – usually in the evenings – which brought cooler temperatures. Very nice for jogging, but I didn’t play tennis at all because both nights poured buckets. Yet no matter how much it rains, the people down here still can’t drive in it.

I still miss the license plates of New Hampshire, but I saw several interesting bumper stickers this week. One read, “If you can’t stand behind our troops, feel free to stand in front of them.” Another read, “I’ll keep my guns, my freedom and my life – you can have ‘the change’.” On that same truck was another sticker of the Texan flag with the word “SECEDE” plastered across it. It would have been better with a Confederate flag.

Since Wednesday I’ve been at my friend Jenny’s house. She’s my boss’s daughter, but he, his wife and their two sons are off in Virginia this week. So, I’m camping out there to keep her company and get her to work and stuff. We’ve had fun, although as we both work we haven’t had any late nights. But now it’s the weekend!

Yesterday the eight nurses had their in-service – a monthly “get-together” where they discuss new forms, procedures and blood-born-pathogens (reminds me of camp!). Some of the CNAs came and the social worker because we ordered pizza. A nice change to have them gabbing and laughing the afternoon away in the office.

That same afternoon a man in a suit walked into the office. He gave his name, said he was a private eye, and did we know this girl he’s looking for? He showed us pictures, but we didn’t. Apparently the girl is in trouble and gave the office building as her home address. I know there are hundreds of private eyes out there, but this was the first time I ever met one in person. I only ever read and watch movies or tv shows about their thrilling lives. One of the nurses remarked after he left, “Wow, isn’t this an exciting place to work!”

I can’t stand Obama’s healthcare reform plans, but I am all about a plan that would completely annihilate insurance companies. I am of the opinion that no one actually works in those places – they are all run by automated machines. At least I can’t seem to ever get a real person on the phone. That is quickly becoming the bane of my existence.

I got my first book in the mail that I will read and blog about in one of my “blogging for books” programs. I think I’ve got four others on the way and I’m thinking if I could juggle yet one more. I’m probably getting carried away, but even though I don’t get paid for this it’s my dream job: free books, reading and writing about them.

Since I went from work to pick up Jenny on Wednesday, I had my laptop with me and wrote some during lunch. That works! I had written a section I hated, but I rewrote it much better (well, in my opinion). Another opportunity to write once or twice a week is welcome. Along that line, I got a short e-mail from Moody where I sent a proposal for one of my books for them to look at. They want me to write up a more detailed synopsis for them and e-mail it back to them. Not a contract, but it’s a step in the right direction!

On Saturday evening, my great aunt Mary died. I met her only once, in Upper Peninsula Michigan on the family farm where my Grandmother Sturm grew up. A sweet soul, she lived a very difficult life with handicaps and great joy. She is not the last of her nine siblings to die. There is one left – my Aunt Julie. The last of a generation and a forgotten age.

In the back of my mind for the past two years, I have had a scene to a story dwelling in vivid color. Sometimes I think it will be my bestseller – if it ever becomes a complete story and I not only write it but sell it. The scene is of an attic. In the attic sits a row of old chests – maybe two, maybe three, maybe more. Inside those chests are stories. Stories of a family, of love, of loss, of joy, of sadness, of anger, of forgiveness, of conflicts never resolved. The story of my life – the stories of the lives of others. All contained in a chest.

Chests disappeared along with corsets and pinned hair with the Victorian era. With them went old letters, worn journals, collections of a lifetime that held memories of joys and sorrows. I never thought I would find a chest of my own, but on the Sunday after Aunt Mary died my grandfather asked me to move one. I discovered a treasure.

The chest has sat in the office of my grandparent’s home for who knows how long. I’ve seen it before – probably laid stuff on it before. Grandpa has been cleaning out the office and he wanted it moved a little further into the room. For the first time I gave it more than a passing glance and asked what was in it.

“It was your great-grandparents. It came from the farm. I’m not sure exactly what’s in it,” he answered.

Well, I had to make sure the lid could still be opened from where I pushed it along the wall, so I took a peek. I only glanced among one stack of letters for Grandpa said we could go through it some other time. But I found a letter to my Aunt Paula – a love letter Grandpa said. (My Great-aunt Paula never married.) There was an old insurance policy for Sister Melania (another great-aunt who became a nun). A ziplock bag contained an old coin purse and small pair of binoculars owned by my great-grandfather and Uncs (his brother). All that in only a passing look. I can’t wait to search through the other treasures.

“Want to write a book?” Grandpa asked me as I closed the lid.

Yes, I think I do…

Highlights from my Week

I got the office organized. Not only did I work Monday to do so, but it was wonderfully slow this week, so I got it all done by Friday. I feel so much better having the office neat and organized. Now I can really work.

On Thursday evening, I stepped outside to find a brisk wind bringing the temperature down to the 70s. And a rainbow graced the sky. I rolled down the windows of my car and enjoyed it. It didn’t last long. Less than two hours later, it reached back into the 80s with no breeze and more humidity.

Met with Haley for coffee Thursday night – great catching up with her. And an old friend from the summer I worked down at the Dallas Training Center called this Saturday. Hopefully we can get together soon.

Actually got some writing done! But it wasn’t very good. As I went to sleep that night, I thought of a much better way to do it. So now to go back…

Allyson had her baby Thursday evening!!!! Did I already mention that to everyone I know? But just in case, his name is Silas James. He weighed in at 6 pounds, 5 ounces and stretches 18 ¾ inches long. I talked to Allyson this afternoon, and she and Silas are doing well.

Opened a Twitter account. I still don’t do the Facebook thing, but I thought Twitter might actually be informative as far as publishers, news and history goes. Haven’t had a great deal of time to figure it all out though.

Rain. It rained Friday night a bit and then Friday morning on my way to work. Texans don’t know how to drive in rain. It might as well be snow to them. Then it rained most of Friday night and all day today. A messy day to be out, but it reminded me of when I was a little girl down here and Dad would take me to the hardware store on rainy Saturday mornings.

Attended a writer’s group this morning. Much more formal than the one in Indiana. As a chapter of the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers), they have business to conduct, dues to pay, motions to make, and minutes to keep. A little odd. They also have a speaker every time – this time the husband of the Vice President of the chapter who is an insurance claim adjustor for natural disasters. He should write a book! But I was told they have smaller critique groups as well, and I got pointed in the direction of a possible children writer’s group. I’ll have to check that out.

And I think I have found a church. Actually, the Lord led me to it the second Sunday I was down here, but I visited one other church and then went back to it this last Sunday. I’ll go again tomorrow. It’s 40 minutes away, but worth the drive. You can find them on sermonaudio.com if you’re curious (which is how I found them). The church is called First Baptist Church of Richland Hills. The funniest thing last week was the choir sang the hymn Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven the “right way”. (If you attend Grace Free, you’ll know what I mean…)

I know it's not good to use lots of exclamation points when writing, but I just can't help it today...

My dearest friend Allyson had her baby yesterday afternoon!!!!!!!!!! A healthy little boy!!!!!!!!! His name is Silas James!!!!!!!!!!

I wish I could jump into an airplane and fly up there and see them right now. Sigh.

I’m sure homesickness is a considered a real mental disease by some psychologists. It certainly does hit some people harder than others. I think I’m on the low end of this mental disorder. I have bouts of it, but it goes as quickly as it comes. I’ve realized this weekend, though, that it’s a little hard to be homesick when you’re not sure where home is.

I was talking to a friend in New Hampshire this weekend who told me she couldn’t wait until I got home for the holidays and could we get together then? As I won’t be going home to New Hampshire for the holidays, a cup of coffee together might be a little bit difficult. But don’t get the idea she’s crazy to think New Hampshire is my home. I think that, too. You don’t know how often I almost ask my mom or one of my siblings how someone in New Hampshire is doing as if they saw them yesterday. Or I think I will be flying there for the holidays and can see my friends. At church yesterday, I had another twinge of homesickness for New Hampshire. The choir sang Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven during the offertory – and they sang it “the right way”. Which means they sang ladies on the second verse, men on the third and everyone on the chorus, first verse and last verse. We usually sung it that way in New Hampshire.

But then some days I’m homesick for my family which I know is in Indiana. (I can’t say I’m exactly homesick for Indiana – although at least it’s cooler there!) I miss walking into a house and being greeted by dogs. I wasn’t there when Abby earned her learner’s permit this Saturday and Grace posted a sign on the driveway that reads “Abby’s Speed Limit: 5 MPH”. I miss my pale purple bedroom (bright yellow isn’t very similar…). I especially hate living in a room with no bookshelves and only about a hundred books piled on my floor or bed frame.

I’ve often thought it quite unfair that I can never really be homesick. That’s because my home is always changing. Nine years in New Hampshire was a record – now it seems I’m on the road again. In fact, I calculated up the other day that I am now averaging a different address every two years again. I wonder what its like to have a home for a long time – and I wonder if I would like it.

So, I go through my days humming the old gospel song I used to listen to as a kid:

This world is not my home; I’m just passin’ through…

And some days I can’t wait until this passin’ is over!

Only in Texas...

…do you walk into your bathroom and there is a lizard crawling on your mirror. Thankfully it falls into the rinse cup so you can take it back outside to its natural habitation. It’s not exactly a lizard – more like a two inch gecko creature. Maybe it was trying to sell me insurance.

…do trucks rule the roads. Pick-ups everywhere! My favorite is the one that says on the back “Silly little boys…trucks are for girls.”

…do people say when for two days it just hits ninety degrees (although it sits there all day long), “Isn’t it nice out? Fall is in the air.” Apparently my definition of fall is quite wrong.

…do you answer the phone and the reply is, “Do you speak Espanola?” I want to say, “No. I live in America, and in America we speak English.” Kind of scary that I need an interpreter in my own native country. Of course, Texas isn’t my native country.