Category Archives: me

The ‘Joy’ of the NHS

Posted on by

So I went to the Diabetes Clinic today. I don’t think I mentioned before about my having Type II diabetes. But I do.

I control it with diet and *cough* exercise. In other words, I watch what I eat and think about doing exercise.

Wasn’t too bad today, although they were running an hour behind. The Doc seemed pleased with my current levels. Last A1C was 6.3, which is very good. Under 7 is very good. Under 6 would be excellent.

So, what’s the ‘joy’? The fact that I never seem to get my most recent test results until I go back, 6 months later. That’s even with a rush put on the A1C results, as I am suppose to have those numbers the same day. But I never do.

And the waiting. I wait to be weighed. I wait to have bloods taken. I wait to see the doctor. Waiting waiting waiting.

I always go prepared, book in hand (and I bought a magazine today). But it is still aggravating. And they always run out of chairs.

On a good note, however, when I went to check in, I told the receptionist that my address had changed. She asked whether I was in University, because if my address changed regularly she’d be happy to send my letters and such to my mum’s address. I thanked her for thinking I was young enough to still be in University. She then noticed my age on her computer and laughed at herself. But I was very thankful!

More About Me – Part 3

Posted on by

Since I’ve just gotten back to work after being ill for a few days, I thought I’d talk about my job some.

My official title is Personal Assistant to the Senior Management Team (which is much neater than it used to be. It used to be Personal Assistant to the CEO and Two Other Executives. No joke, that was my title. Now you know why I don’t have business cards). But what does that mean, day to day?

It means I run the office. I type letters, take minutes, write Board papers, write minutes, ‘tart up’ (NISP definition, to tart up, verb, to fix a document so that it is in Science Park format and won’t make your eyes bleed. There is a severe lack of the ability to put full stops at the ends of sentences around my office!) papers, keep track of diaries, book travel, order supplies, make coffee, drink coffee, file, staple, collate, bind, post things, open post, book doctors appointments for the CEO, book appointments of all sorts for the other two Execs…basically anything that has to do with the smooth running of NISP, I do.

My day basically starts with email (as, I think, does most people’s these days). In my email will be instructions for the day. Drafts of letters, notes of meetings to be booked.  Then I check the Exec’s diaries for their appointments during the day, to see if they need taxis booked.  Then I get to work.  Of course nothing ever goes as planned and I am interrupted all day long by people needing things.  Asking questions.  Etc etc etc.

Oh, and I’m also the web mistress.

International Association of Buffy Fans

Posted on by

Some of you might have noticed the comment in yesterday’s entry by my friend Asta (sorry, hon, I have no idea how to get the accent over the first a!). If you clicked on her name, it will take you to her blog. Which you will only be able to read if you can read Icelandic (at least I assume that’s what she writes in!). That’s because Asta is from Iceland.

How do I know someone from Iceland? Same way I know my husband and quite a few of my internet friends. We met on The Buffy Cross and Stake posting boards, ‘lo these many years ago.

Once the show was over, most of us moved over to Live Journal and continued our friendships. As such I have friends from all over the world. Iceland, Germany, South Africa, United States, Canada, United Kingdom and probably other places I can’t recall at the moment.

And that, to me, is the true value of the internet. It brings people together who never would have met otherwise, in a way that has never happened before in the history of humankind. To be trite, the world is getting smaller and smaller every day. And I love it that way.

It isn’t only that I never would have met Simon without the internet, I never would have met a lot of people who are my closest friends. All of The Hussies, for one thing. Most of the people on my friend’s list on LJ, for another.

And, yes, I have met quite a few of them in person. They are my ‘true’ friends. Whether I have met them in person or not.

Maybe I can’t ring most of them up and say ‘meet me at our local’. Maybe there are some that I will *never* meet in person. Doesn’t matter. They are my friends.

And I love them all.

Just a Quick Post Today

Posted on by

As I have a urinary tract infection, feel like crap and am home from work.

Happy Valentine’s day, or, as many of my friends prefer to call it, Half Price Chocolate Eve.

Simon and I exchanged cards and are going out for dinner tomorrow night.

And now I am going to go take an amoxocillian (yayayayaya for doctors!) and crawl into bed.

More About Me, Part 2

Posted on by

My family is huge.  Thanks to divorce and re-marriage I have: –

1 biological brother, who is married and has two daughters.

3 step brothers, all of whom are married and between them have 5 children.

2 step sisters, both of whom are married and between them have 4 children.

A step, step niece who has a baby of her own, which makes me a step step Great Aunt.  (a step step is when one of your step siblings has a step child, in case you were wondering).

A dad and step mom.

A mom and step dad.

A mother in law and father in law

A sister in law who is engaged and getting married in September in Tuscany.  Can’t wait!

A husband.

Many many cousins, cousins in law, second cousins, third cousins and who the heck knows cousins.

We live all over the US, including Alaska (but not Hawaii) and in Northern Ireland, England and East Timor.

As my brother says, we are a nuclear family that exploded.  All over the world.

Memory

Posted on by

Memory is a weird thing.  Ask Simon and he’ll tell you I have a horrible memory.  I joke that I need to ask him his name all the time, because half of what he remembers, I don’t.

But on the other side, I have some very clear memories.  And I find that a lot of things I remember clearly, make me smile.

One is the memory of a time my brother, my niece and myself went out to dinner.  I don’t remember where my sister-in-law was, but she wasn’t with us.  We were walking down the sidewalk, after dinner, and my brother asked my niece, who must have been about 2 or 3, so not really good with the talking yet, who was being carried by him, if she wanted anything for dessert.  She grabbed his cheeks with her hands and turned his head so he was looking at her and stuck out her tongue like she was licking an ice cream.  Yeah, she wanted something for dessert!

The memory of the sight of her little hands on her daddy’s big face is so precious to me.  Makes me smile every time I think of it.

Going back further was the day she was born.  I was there, at first in the room and then they took my sister-in-law in for an emergency c-section so I was kicked out.  The first time I saw my girl (and she’s been my girl her whole life) she was yelling her head off being held up to the window of the nursery by her head and heels by a nurse while my brother beamed beside her.  Also makes me smile.

Or the first time I saw her sister, who is also my girl, although I moved to Belfast not long after she was born.  That time I wasn’t at the hospital.  I was in a bad place mentally at that point and didn’t really feel like I could handle it, so I didn’t go.  I met my brother and sister-in-law at their house the day they brought her home.  I had a key so I was already there when they pulled up.  And I went back to the garage entrance to say hi and there was a tiny little human in the back hall in her car seat, fast asleep.  I took her out of her car seat and introduced myself.

There are so many more that are bright and sharp in my mind, like the first time I saw Simon in person, at San Francisco International Airport.  Our first kiss, also at the airport.  And other, more, shall we say, intimate moments.  No, those weren’t at the airport, you hussy!

So I might not always remember your name.  But I remember the important stuff.  And I think that’s all that really matters.

Do You Speak English?

Posted on by

The other day I had to call Cannes, France, to confirm a hotel reservation for one of my bosses, as he has a conference there the middle of March (yeah, tough life, the company sending him to the South of France for a conference. I am still trying to convince him he needs me there to carry his bags).

I find there is nothing more awkward then dialling another country, hearing their opening spiel in their language and having to ask them if they speak English. But I do not speak French. I can read it a bit and say a few words, but at the speed a native goes? Not gonna happen. Luckily both of the people I spoke to at the hotel did speak English and I confirmed the reservation with no problems.

But it got me thinking. Do I speak English? Or do I speak American?

I actually speak a combination of both. My mother and sister-in-law have both pointed this out to me. I say lorry, not truck. I say lift, not elevator. But I still call it a sidewalk, not the pavement. Pavement is what you drive on.

I’ve also picked up a little bit of an accent, but not too much of one. One of the other English things I say is ‘sorry’ rather than ‘excuse me’ when I nearly bump into someone. And I say it with a bit of a lilt.

And there are difference in expression that get me in trouble or make me blush. ‘You blew me off’ has a totally different meaning here (figure it out, you’re all intelligent people!). And one day the following conversation happened at work:

Boss is patting all of the papers on his desk, obviously looking for something.

Robyn: What did you lose?

Boss: My rubber.

Robyn: ::blushing furiously:: I have more in the supply cupboard, do you need one?

Boss: FOUND IT!

Co-Worker: We do have more rubbers?

Robyn: ::still blushing:: Yes, do you need one?

CEO: You really shouldn’t ask Robyn for a rubber.

Co-worker: Yeah, because I am sure she keeps condoms in the supply cover.

Robyn: ::Flees to get Co-worker an ERASER!!!::

And I really don’t embarrass easily. But that got me.

The other thing that gets me on occasion is pronunciation. I was taking minutes in a meeting not too long ago and I could not figure out what a ‘clark of works’ was. So we finish the meeting and I say to my boss “A what of works?!”

“Clark.”

“Clark?”

“Yes, c-l-e-r-k, clark.”

“Ooooh, CLERK!” You would have thought I’d have figured that one out by the context, but the pronunciation was so different, I just couldn’t get my head around it!

And when my mother, or sister-in-law, point out what I’ve said is English, rather than American, I point out to them that I live here now. I need to speak the language.

Ahem….

Posted on by

Today is my birthday.

In celebration, I have awoken at 0328. Yip and may I add, eee. I took the day off work already, but I have a ton of stuff to do! Still unpacking, for one. Getting my hair cut, for another.

Need to ring the doctor and see about changing my address. Need to ring the building management and see about getting our phone hooked into the front door system.

Need to hang up my work clothes, and possibly iron some of them, as they have been packed since last Friday.

Oh, wait, we don’t have an ironing board. Darn, guess I’ll have to stay wrinkled.

Anyway, Happy Birthday To Me.

And in case you’re wondering, I’m 39.

Sorry For Not Updating For A Couple of Days

Posted on by

This week, the last week of the month, is pure hell at work.

You see our Board of Directors meets the first Thursday of the month.  So our papers for the meeting go out the Friday before.  That’s this Friday.

And these days, I write them.  I proof them.  I bind them.  I post them.  And next week? I minute them.

So, yeah, updating not so much happening when I get home from work.  Pretty much when I get home from work, I pack and then fall into bed.

Move – 2 days. YIPPPEE!

My Accent

Posted on by

Its really very strange. I will go months and months without a single person asking me where I am from. And then 10 people will ask me in two days.

I don’t really have an answer to that question. I mean, obviously, I am from the United States. But then people ask me what part. The real true honest answer is:

I was born in Massachusetts. I grew up in Connecticut. I went to Boarding School and 1 year of University in NY. I finished University in Iowa. I lived in California for 7 years. I’ve spent several summers in Ohio. I’ve also spent several summers in Maine.

I usually just give the shorter answer: Connecticut, but I lived in California for 7 years before I moved here.

And then I get asked where ‘home’ is. If home has to be in the US, then home is California, hands down. San Francisco Bay Area, to be specific. Where my brother and his wife and my two nieces live.

So what I really want to say when I am asked where I am from? Belfast.

And what is home? Belfast.

And I really don’t see myself ever going back ‘home’ to the US.