This is a picture of me, about to kiss the Blarney Stone. Please note that, firmly gripped in my right fingers, is an alcohol swab to clean the stone first. The guy who keeps the tourists from falling into the opening was dumbfounded, saying it's the first time in the thirty years he has worked the stone that anyone has done so. To his repeated 'But why?', the only answer that made sense to him is when I finally blurted 'I'm a nurse!' 'Oh, well, then, that explains it...'
In which a 50-something woman embarks on a new career in nursing in a newly empty nest with a newly retired husband, an old cat, a yard full of chickens, a field full of predators, a shotgun and a sense of humor. She is blogging and slogging her way through a wet Pacific Northwest winter...and spring and summer and fall.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Germophobe
This is a picture of me, about to kiss the Blarney Stone. Please note that, firmly gripped in my right fingers, is an alcohol swab to clean the stone first. The guy who keeps the tourists from falling into the opening was dumbfounded, saying it's the first time in the thirty years he has worked the stone that anyone has done so. To his repeated 'But why?', the only answer that made sense to him is when I finally blurted 'I'm a nurse!' 'Oh, well, then, that explains it...'
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