Angels with Bathing Suits

I've had a lot to say lately. See, I really am working more in our library (Professor Plum with the Rope)!

***CHEESE ALERT!***

I'm usually pretty snarky on this blog, so pardon my light-hearted gratitude. Hey, even I cannot forever hide behind my vinyl shower curtain of sarcasm.

I went to a corporate meeting today and the attendees are a fun bunch of pot-stirrers at their respective hospitals. Our job titles should be "Change Agent" because that's what we do...create organizational change. The meeting was fun, insightful, and I left with two pages of notes and threads to pull so we can unravel more problems to solve.

On the way back, I stopped by the mall. It was early and, hey, I don't get out much (especially during daylight hours). I ran into one store and St. Macy's smiled down on me. Everything that held my glance longer than .02 seconds was my size and I was tripping over sophisticated, appropriate gala dresses. I found two pantsuits, a pair of perfect jeans, several cute tops for work, AND a bathing suit (like, the bathing suit of my dreams, where I actually *feel* good in it) in a half hour. Plus, everything was half off. Is there a bigger adrenaline rush out there?! I was a bit shocked to see bathing suits out, but since we're heading to Florida soon, I stopped to browse. I'm glad I did. I should have bought four of them so I'd be stocked for a while. Seriously, what person in their right mind wants to hoard bathing suits?! Us womenfolk usually run the other way, cursing supermodels on our way out the door to the nearest gym.

Then I came home to work. I finished last night's Methotrexate paper (whohoo!) and fielded several scared phone calls from my one department that's under siege. They had their depositions this morning and I felt bad I wasn't there to lend moral support. We talked through everything and I kept wondering if it would be ethical to expense all those cell phone minutes (blech, probably not).

Then, one of my bestest buds called me to say hi. Not to vent, not to verbally vomit, not to ask my help in burying a body or concealing a weapon, but just to say hi. That...was nice.

And finally, as I refilled my Perrier and returned to the library (Ms. Peacock with the Revolver!), I heard the blissful mechanical hum of the Snowblower Fleet turning onto my street. We pay homeowner association dues at our new place...they mow our yard and shovel our snow. It is WONDERFUL to sit here in my warm house, bundled up in fleece, and know my walk and drive will be cleared of the 5" of snow in a matter of seconds. The Fleet of Snow Angels. Or maybe fairies. Yes, 6-foot tall, burly angels! It makes me almost not mind snow. WAIT! I DIDN'T SAY THAT! Strike that from the eternal transcript of all my words!

Why do I suddenly feel like watching "It's a Wonderful Life?"