Monday, January 27, 2020

Short Answers to Questions on providing nursing care for clients

Short Answers to Questions on providing nursing care for clients Treatment provided to manage pain and alleviate suffering experienced by a person dying. Palliative care is a unique moment in life where emphasis is on the journey not the destiny. In adopting a holistic approach to care practice the nurse can support the essence of the individual by ensuring their comfort and needs are met within an environment conducive to stages of end of life living. (Harris, Nagy Vardaxis 2006, p.1274). b) How does the practice of palliative care differ from acute care for the nursing staff? Although death occurs in both practices, expectations of the client by the nursing staff would be significantly reduced in palliative care as the body is in a progressive degenerative state contrary to the acute setting where increases in body functions indicate recovery and expedite discharge (Harris, Nagy Vardaxis 2006, p.28 p.1274). c) What ethical issues may staff face while working in a palliative setting? Contradictions of core values, defining and segregating personal assumptions and professional development of nursing staff would be continuously challenged in a palliative setting. Politics, global economics and organisational constraints would also impinge on ethical issues faced by staff (Johnstone 2006, pp. 130-134). d) What personal care strategies may nurses need to employ to help them deal with the unique stresses related to working in palliative care? Strategies to reduce stress include regular physical exercise, maintenance of a nutritional eating plan, personal hygiene and routine sleep patterns-albeit shift work is disruptive. Acknowledge self-worth either by indulging in a regular luxury or personal time out. Participate in grieving, team de-briefing and grief counselling. Understanding human foibles and maintaining a sense of humour can improve coping skills required to deal with stress (McMurray 2005, p.101). e) How can reflective practice be of benefit to nurses in the palliative care settings? Observational skills are heightened when consciously aware of environment and subjectivity can increase the ability to improve outcomes by manipulation. Reflection allows for self and procedural evaluation and promotes resilience. Experience in the clinical care setting combines theory with practical knowledge which can increase coping mechanisms required by the nurse to evolve and adapt to perpetual change (Usher Holmes 2006, pp. 100-105). Q 2 a) List three pathophysiological changes that you may observe while caring for a client in the last few weeks or days of life care? Three changes that may be observed in end life care include; Anorexia-loss of appetite, Akinesia-absence of movement and Atrophy-decrease in muscle and body mass (Porth 2005, p.1501). b) How do palliative illnesses such as cancer affect a persons ability to perform ADLs? The presence of disease, retention of chemical therapy, controlled medication all exacerbate chronic fatigue alienating mind from body increasing frustration borne from the inability to perform activities of daily living. At all stages of disease the body is fighting to compensate perpetuating fatigue encouraging systemic changes that cannot be regulated to resonate throughout the system. One example would be the inability to swallow caused by either obstruction or medication affecting respiration and appetite, creating chemical imbalances in the stomach and along the gastrointestinal tract with further complications resulting in the bowel (Tollefson 2005, pp. 908-911) (Mott 2005, pp. 1379-1380.) c) What interventions and or equipment may be used to support palliative clients to perform ADLs? Equipment may include frames, walkers, lifters, trapeze bars, thickeners in fluids, pureed food, prompts with ablutions and routines. Enable continuity in care by providing succinct habits in documentation and communication with all staff members. Continuous assessment to identify pain, symptoms and recovery times following exertion will assist the nurse in educating and supporting client losses and create realistic alternatives to manage ADLs while encouraging client autonomy. (Mott 2005, pp. 1385-1396). d) How do palliative clients hydration and nutritional needs differ from acute clients particularly during end of life care? Nutrition and hydration needs of the palliative client fluctuate as the effects of anxiety, depression and futility of disease progress. Decline in the bodys need and tolerance for nutrition and hydration which eventuates to mouth swabs and ice chips is compounded by continual bed rest, medication and immobility, further disabling the bodys ability to secrete hormones required to regulate and balance homeostasis and avoid organ failure. Generally with acute care clients, the body is capable of compensating single organ failure by intervening with appropriate responses. Interventions by the body include mobilisation of body defences and an increase in metabolism which requires a balance of nutrition and hydration to promote healing (Tollefson 2005, pp. 1245-1252). Q 3 Case Study Mr Klamic a) What would be the benefits of offering a grief counsellor to Mr. Klamic and his family? Particular benefits of offering grief counselling is that it can allow all family members to address unresolved issues of disillusion and resentment associated with loss. A grief counsellor helps the family understand the processes involved by exploring coping mechanisms, strengthening communication skills, and forming allegiances (Griffiths Crookes 2006, pp. 185-189). b) What would be the benefits of discussing the spiritual and cultural aspects of Mr. Klamics care with Mr. Klamic and his family. Recognition and understanding of specific cultural needs by the nurse will encourage a therapeutic relationship with the client and his family which will facilitate in appropriate care for Mr. Klamic. Promoting inclusion can empower the family to actively participate in care. An example of benefits regarding discussing spiritual needs would be rituals associated with religion as in the administration of Holy Communion and Last Rites (Omeri 2006, pp. 277-280). c) Discuss the grieving process and how it might differ for each of the parties involved, Mr. Klamic, his wife and children. Experience associated with the transition of dying and death is unique and the impact on the surviving family members needs to be acknowledged and addressed. Although Mr Klamics children no longer live at home, the family structure is fractured, dynamics within the family will shift, behavioural changes may occur as perceptions of role in life, become displaced (Mooney 2005, pp. 559-568). d) What significant others or community services could the nurse access for support in the grieving process for Mr. Klamic and his family. Community support services could include, a senior member of the families religious affiliation which would offer pastoral care, Polish associations also offer support with members volunteering their time to friendship visits, respite for family members, Centrelink financial support, Family Services can advise on government assisted funeral schemes, Domicillary help with house, garden and shopping (SA Community Connecting Up Australia 2009, website). e) Why is it important to consider language barriers when information needs to be discussed with a client and their family? Client confidentiality requires medically trained health care translators be appointed when there is a language barrier. Informed consent relies on the understanding of medical information received by the client and their family. Other obstacles that need to be considered with language barriers are loved ones protecting client or denial by client, cultural and religious beliefs, personal and or vested interests by other parties (Dowd, Eckermann Jeffs 2005, pp. 131-137). f) How does pain management in the palliative setting differ from in the acute setting? The goal in palliative care is to comfort and alleviate whereas the focus in acute care is on rehabilitation albeit pain management is ultimately directed by the opinion of the Doctors will. Managing pain with the palliative client requires administration prior, to prevent increases in suffering. Timing of administration when moderated appropriately may reduce dosage required for continual pain control. Generally in acute care initial aggressive pain management is required to stimulate the body, inducing healing processes. Increased homeostasis enables mobility of the body which is beneficial in reducing pain management as the clients body avails to strategies implemented (Tollefson 2005, pp. 1188-1189). g) Other than Opioid use what other strategies may be employed to manage Mr. Klamics pain? All forms of diversional therapy warrant investigation and use of if client is agreeable. Simple strategies of holding a hand, giving a gentle hug, listening, participation in a chat or debate of interest to client, encourage journaling-written or taped, arouse interest in unexplored possibilities. Initiate changes to environment so the client can absorb and enjoy the seasons or an excursion outside in the elements. Massage, aroma, visualisation and music therapy, are alternatives that may be offered to Mr. Klamic to increase his comfort. Guidelines for implementing therapies will probably vary between organisations, prior reference to policies and procedure is recommended (Taylor 2005, pp. 896-900). h) Other than patient statements, what are some of the observations and assessment nurses may use to gauge a patients pain level? Regular assessment of vital signs, deep sadness watery eyes, pallor of the skin, grinding of teeth, flinching and clenching of extremities, irregularities in breathing , inability to find comfort or solace and foetal curling. Listening to and enquiring with family members of noticeable pain. Reduce external irritants and monitor signs on skin; pressure areas, pallor, cyanosis, jaundice, heat and beads of sweat. Reference to medication, pain (Wong Baker) and behavioural charts and levels of participation in activities of daily living may help to gauge clients pain levels (Tollefson 2005, pp. 1183-1198). i) What are the Enrolled nurses responsibilities when caring for a patient with a morphine infusion? Responsibilities include ensuring machine is functioning and calibrated in accordance to pharmacy order and that pain is being controlled and frequently reassessed. Cannulation tube should be free of kinks and the area surrounding the site of insertion is devoid of redness, heat, swelling and pain. Co-signing record of use of a schedule 8 drug on register and reporting variants, adverse reactions and side effects to the Registered Nurse while implementing the five rights of medication are mandatory of the Enrolled nurse working within their scope of practice (Tollefson 2005, p.1210) (Davis, 2005, pp. 874-881) (ANMC, 2007 p.2). Q 4 a) How does Mr Klamics diagnosis affect his ability to be an organ donor? Although Mr. Klamics diagnosis impedes his ability to donate organs and tissue to a living recipient, it may be possible for him to donate himself in entirety to science. Criteria for scientific donation would be assessed on an individual basis by the receiving school of medicine and would require prior contact between Mr. Klamic and or his power of attorney and the particular institution. (The University of Adelaide School of Medical Sciences 2011, website) (Australasian Transplant Co-ordinators Association Incorporated 2006, website). b) When may an autopsy be required in the palliative setting? Who carries out the autopsy, who gives permission for the autopsy? Several occasions when an autopsy is performed include times when death occurred within 24 hours of seeking emergency treatment and or discharge from a hospital, residents of licensed residential facilities and residential homes where cause of death was unable to be certified by a doctor or qualified paramedic. An autopsy is performed by a medical pathologist under the direction of the State Coroner to establish precise cause of death. The Coroners Act 2003 permits the autopsy, delays can occur when objections raised by next of kin warrant consideration by the State Coroner (Courts Administration Authority of South Australia-Coroners Court 2011, website). c) What is an Advanced Health Directive? An Advanced Care Directive or Living Will is a legal document notarised at a time when a person is sound of mind, eighteen years or over in age. In this document the bearer states in advance how their future personal needs are to be met, if and when an event fails them to do so. Advantage of the ACD is it allows the person to control preferences of medical treatment while releasing others of decision making responsibility (Attorney-Generals Department 2011, website). d) Which legislation governs the provision of palliative care? Legislation governing palliative care in South Australia is the Consent to Medical Treatment and Palliative Care Act 1995 and Schedules under the Act 1995. Guardianship and Administration Act 1993, Power of Attorney and Agency Act 1984, Coroners Act 2003, Controlled Substances Act 1984, and Drugs of Dependence Regulations (Australasian Legal Information Institute 2011, website). e) Care delivery in the palliative care setting is governed by the policies and procedures of the Hospital. What kind of situations may these policies deal with? Situations that may be in Hospital policies include admissions, discharge and patient care documentation, client rights, dying with dignity, standards of care, clinical procedures, informed consent advanced health directives, death certification, code blue and met calls, do not resuscitate requests, bereavement, use of complimentary therapies, life prolonging intervention, organ donation, O.H. Safety, equity and diversity, grievances, cultural safety, risk management, staffing, nursing informatics and hospital emergencies (Royal Adelaide Hospital 2010, website).

Sunday, January 19, 2020

Practical Demonkeeping Chapter 1-2

PART ONE SATURDAY NIGHT Like one that on that lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And no more turns his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 1 THE BREEZE The Breeze blew into San Junipero in the shotgun seat of Billy Winston's Pinto wagon. The Pinto lurched dangerously from shoulder to centerline, the result of Billy trying to roll a joint one-handed while balancing a Coors tallboy and bopping to the Bob Marley song that crackled through the stereo. â€Å"We be jammin' now, mon!† Billy said, toasting The Breeze with a slosh of the Coors. The Breeze shook his head balefully. â€Å"Keep the can down, watch the road, let me roll the doobie,† he said. â€Å"Sorry, Breeze,† Billy said. â€Å"I'm just stoked that we're on the road.† Billy's admiration for The Breeze was boundless. The Breeze was truly cool, a party renaissance man. He spent his days at the beach and his nights in a cloud of sinsemilla. The Breeze could smoke all night, polish off a bottle of tequila, maintain well enough to drive the forty miles back to Pine Cove without arousing the suspicion of a single cop, and be on the beach by nine the next morning acting as if the term hangover were too abstract to be considered. On Billy Winston's private list of personal heroes The Breeze ranked second only to David Bowie. The Breeze twisted the joint, lit it, and handed it to Billy for the first hit. â€Å"What are we celebrating?† Billy croaked, trying to hold in the smoke. The Breeze held up a finger to mark the question, while he dug the Dionysian Book of Days: An Occasion for Every Party from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. He flipped through the pages until he found the correct date. â€Å"Nambian Independence Day,† he announced. â€Å"Bitchin',† Billy said. â€Å"Party down for Nambian Independence.† â€Å"It says,† The Breeze continued, â€Å"that the Nambians celebrate their independence by roasting and eating a whole giraffe and drinking a mixture of fermented guava juice and the extract of certain tree frogs that are thought to have magical powers. At the height of the celebration, all the boys who have come of age are circumcised with a sharp stone.† â€Å"Maybe we can circumcise a few Techies tonight if it gets boring,† Billy said. Techies was the term The Breeze used to refer to the male students of San Junipero Technical College. For the most part, they were ultraconservative, crew-cut youths who were perfectly satisfied with their role as bulk stock to be turned into tools for industrial America by the rigid curricular lathe of San Junipero Tech. To The Breeze, the Techies' way of thinking was so foreign that he couldn't even muster a healthy loathing for them. They were simply nonentities. On the other hand, the coeds of S.J. Tech occupied a special place in The Breeze's heart. In fact, finding a few moments of blissful escape between the legs of a nubile coed was the only reason he was subjecting himself to a forty-mile sojourn in the company of Billy Winston. Billy Winston was tall, painfully thin, ugly, smelled bad, and had a particular talent for saying the wrong thing in almost any situation. On top of it all, The Breeze suspected that Billy was gay. The idea had been reinforced one night when he dropped in on Billy at his job as night desk clerk at the Rooms-R-Us motel and found him leafing through a Playgirl magazine. In Breeze's business one got used to running across the skeletons in people's closets. If Billy's skeleton wore women's underwear, it didn't really matter. Homosexuality on Billy Winston was like acne on a leper. The up side of Billy Winston was that he had a car that ran and would take The Breeze anywhere he wanted to go. The Breeze's van was currently being held by some Big Sur growers as collateral against the forty pounds of sinsemilla buds he had stashed in a suitcase at his trailer. â€Å"The way I see it,† said Billy, â€Å"we hit the Mad Bull first. Do a pitcher of margaritas at Jose's, dance a little at the Nuked Whale, and if we don't find any nookie, we head back home for a nightcap at the Slug.† â€Å"Let's hit the Whale first and see what's shakin',† The Breeze said. The Nuked Whale was San Junipero's premier college dance club. If The Breeze was going to find a coed to cuddle, it would be at the Whale. He had no intention of making the drive with Billy back to Pine Cove for a nightcap at the Head of the Slug. Closing up the Slug was tantamount to having a losing night, and The Breeze was through with being a loser. Tomorrow when he sold the forty pounds of grass he would pocket twenty grand. After twenty years blowing up and down the coast, living on nickle-dime deals to make rent, The Breeze was, at last, stepping into the winners' circle, and there was no room for a loser like Billy Winston. Billy parked the Pinto in a yellow zone a block away from the Nuked Whale. From the sidewalk they could hear the throbbing rhythms of the latest techno-pop dance music. The unlikely pair covered the block in a few seconds, Billy striding ahead while The Breeze brought up the rear with a laid-back shuffle. As Billy slipped under the neon whale tail and into the club, the doorman – a fresh-faced slab of muscle and crew cut – caught him by the arm. â€Å"Let's see some I.D.† Billy flashed an expired driver's license as Breeze caught up to him and began digging into the pocket of his Day-Glo green surf shorts for his wallet. The doorman raised a hand in dismissal. â€Å"That's okay, buddy, with that hairline you don't need any.† The Breeze ran his hand over his forehead self-consciously. Last month he had turned forty, a dubious achievement for a man who had once vowed never to trust anyone over thirty. Billy reached around him and slapped two dollar bills into the doorman's hand. â€Å"Here,† he said, â€Å"buy yourself a night with an Inflate-A-Date.† â€Å"What!† The doorman vaulted off his stool and puffed himself up for combat, but Billy had already scampered away into the crowded club. The Breeze stepped in front of the doorman and raised his hands in surrender. â€Å"Cut him some slack, man. He's got problems.† â€Å"He's going to have some problems,† the doorman bristled. â€Å"No, really,† The Breeze continued, wishing that Billy had spared him the loyal gesture and therefore the responsibility of pacifying this collegiate cave man. â€Å"He's on medication. Psychological problems.† The doorman was unsure. â€Å"If this guy is dangerous, get him out of here.† â€Å"Not dangerous, just a little squirrelly – he's bipolar Oedipal,† The Breeze said with uncharacteristic pomposity. â€Å"Oh,† the doorman said, as if it had all become clear. â€Å"Well, keep him in line or you're both out.† â€Å"No problem.† The Breeze turned and joined Billy at the bar amid a crunch of beer-drinking students. Billy handed him a Heineken. Billy said, â€Å"What did you say to that asshole to calm him down?† â€Å"I told him you wanted to fuck your mom and kill your dad.† â€Å"Cool. Thanks, Breeze.† â€Å"No charge.† The Breeze tipped his beer in salute. Things were not going well for him. Somehow he had been snared into this male-bonding bullshit with Billy Winston, when all he wanted to do was ditch him and get laid. The Breeze turned and leaned back, scanning the club for a likely candidate. He had set his sights on a homely but tight-assed little blond in leather pants when Billy broke his concentration. â€Å"You got any blow, man?† Billy had shouted to be heard over the music, but his timing was off; the song had ended. Everyone at the bar turned toward The Breeze and waited, as if the next few words he spoke would reveal the true meaning of life, the winning numbers in the state lottery, and the unlisted phone number of God. The Breeze grabbed Billy by the front of the shirt and hustled him to the back of the club, where a group of Techies were pounding a pinball machine, oblivious to anything but buzzers and bells. Billy looked like a frightened child who had been dragged from a movie theater for shouting out the ending. â€Å"First,† The Breeze hissed, waving a trembling finger under Billy's nose to enumerate his point, â€Å"first, I do not use or sell cocaine.† This was half true. He did not sell since he had done six months in Soledad for dealing – and would go up for five years if he was busted again. He used it only when it was offered or when he needed bait when trolling for women. Tonight he was holding a gram. â€Å"Second, if I did use, I wouldn't want it announced to everybody in San Junipero.† â€Å"I'm sorry, Breeze.† Billy tried to look small and weak. â€Å"Third,† The Breeze shook three stubby fingers in Billy's face, â€Å"we have an agreement. If one of us scores, the other one gets cut loose. Well, I think I found someone, so cut loose.† Billy started to shuffle toward the door, head down, his lower lip hanging, like the bloated victim of a lynch mob. After a few steps he turned. â€Å"If you need a ride – if things don't work out – I'll be at the Mad Bull.† The Breeze, as he watched the injured Billy skulk away, felt a twinge of remorse. Forget it, he thought, Billy had it coming. After the deal tomorrow he wouldn't need Billy or any of the quarter-ounce-a-week buyers of his ilk. The Breeze was eager for the time when he could afford to be without friends. He strutted across the dance floor toward the blond in the leather pants. Having wafted through most of his forty years as a single man, The Breeze had come to recognize the importance of the pickup line. At best, it should be original, charming, concise but lyrical – a catalyst to invoke curiosity and lust. Knowing this, he approached his quarry with the calm of a well-armed man. â€Å"Yo, babe,† he said, â€Å"I've got a gram of prime Peruvian marching powder. You want to go for a walk?† â€Å"Pardon me?† the girl said, somewhere between astonishment and disgust. The Breeze noticed that she had a wide-eyed, fawnlike look – Bambi with too much mascara. He gave her his best surfer-boy smile. â€Å"I was wondering if you'd like to powder your nose.† â€Å"You're old enough to be my father,† she said. The Breeze was staggered by the rejection. As the girl escaped onto the crowded dance floor, he fell back to the bar to consider strategy. Go on to the next one? Everybody gets tubed now and then; you just have to climb back on the board and wait for the next wave. He scanned the dance floor looking for a chance at the wild ride. Nothing but sorority girls with absolutely perfect hair. No chance. His fantasy of jumping one and using her until her perfect hair was tangled into a hopeless knot at the back of her head had been relegated long ago to the realm of fairy tales and free money. The energy in San Junipero was all wrong. It didn't matter – he'd be a rich man tomorrow. Best to catch a ride back to Pine Cove. With luck he could get to the Head of the Slug Saloon before last call and pick up one of the standby bitches who still valued good company and didn't require a hundred bucks worth of blow to get upside down with you. As he stepped into the street a chill wind bit at his bare legs and swept through his thin shirt. Thumbing the forty miles back to Pine Cove was going to suck, big time. Maybe Billy was still at the Mad Bull? No, The Breeze told himself, there are worse things than freezing your ass off. He shrugged off the cold and fell into a steady stride toward the highway, his new fluorescent yellow deck shoes squeaking with every step. They rubbed his little toe when he walked. After five blocks he felt the blister break and go raw. He cursed himself for becoming another slave to fashion. Half a mile outside of San Junipero the streetlights ended. Darkness added to The Breeze's list of mounting aggravations. Without trees and buildings to break its momentum, the cold Pacific wind increased and whipped his clothes around him like torn battle flags. Blood from his damaged toe was beginning to spot the canvas of his deck shoe. A mile out of town The Breeze abandoned the dancing, smiling, and tipping of a ghost-hat that was supposed to charm drivers into stopping to give a ride to a poor, lost surfer. Now he trudged, head down in the dark, his back to traffic, a single frozen thumb thrust into the air beaconing, then changing into a middle finger of defiance as each car passed without slowing. â€Å"Fuck you! You heartless assholes!† His throat was sore from screaming. He tried to think of the money – sweet, liberating cash, crispy and green – but again and again he was brought back to the cold, the pain in his feet, and the increasingly dismal chance of getting a ride home. It was late, and the traffic was thinning to a car every five minutes or so. Hopelessness circled in his mind like a vulture. He considered doing the cocaine, but the idea of entering a too-fast jangle on a lonely, dark road and crashing into a paranoid, teeth-chattering shiver seemed somewhat insane. Think about the money. The money. It was all Billy Winston's fault. And the guys in Big Sur; they didn't have to take his van. It wasn't like he had ever ripped anyone off on a big deal before. It wasn't like he was a bad guy. Hadn't he let Robert move into his trailer, rent free, when his old lady threw him out? Didn't he help Robert put a new head gasket in his truck? Hadn't he always played square – let people try the product before buying? Didn't he advance his regulars a quarter-ounce until payday? In a business that was supposed to be fast and loose, wasn't he a pillar of virtue? Right as rain? Straight as an arrow†¦. A car pulled up twenty yards behind him and hit the brights. He didn't turn. Years of experience told him that anyone using that approach was only offering a ride to one place, the Iron-bar Hotel. The Breeze walked on, as if he didn't notice the car. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his surf shorts, as if fighting the cold, found the cocaine and slipped it into his mouth, paper and all. Instantly his tongue went numb. He raised his hands in surrender and turned, expecting to see the flashing reds and blues of a county sheriff cruiser. But it wasn't a cop. It was just two guys in an old Chevy, playing games. He could make out their figures past the headlights. The Breeze swallowed the paper the cocaine had been wrapped in. Taken by a burning anger, fueled by blow and blood-lust, he stormed toward the Chevy. â€Å"C'mon out, you fucking clowns.† Someone crawled out of the passenger side. It looked like a child – no, thicker – a dwarf. The Breeze blew on. â€Å"Bring a tire iron, you little shit. You'll need it.† â€Å"Wrong,† said the dwarf, the voice was low and gravely. The Breeze pulled up and squinted into the headlights. It wasn't a dwarf, it was a big dude, a giant. Huge, getting bigger as it moved toward him. Too fast. The Breeze turned and started to run. He got three steps before the jaws clamped over his head and shoulders, crunching through his bones as if they were peppermint sticks. When the Chevy pulled back onto the highway, the only thing left of The Breeze was a single fluorescent-yellow deck shoe. It would be a fleeting mystery to passers-by for two days until a hungry crow carried it away. No one would notice that there was still a foot inside. PART TWO SUNDAY All mystical experience is coincidence; and vice versa, of course. – Tom Stoppard, Jumpers 2 PINE COVE The village of Pine Cove lay in a coastal pine forest just south of the great Big Sur wilderness area, on a small natural harbor. The village was established in the 1880s by a dairy farmer from Ohio who found verdant hills around the cove provided perfect fodder for his cows. The settlement, such as it was – two families and a hundred cows – went nameless until the 1890s, when the whalers came to town and christened it Harpooner's Cove. With a cove to shelter their small whaling boats and the hills from which they could sight the migrating gray whales far out to sea, the whalers prospered and the village grew. For thirty years a greasy haze of death blew overhead from the five-hundred-gallon rendering pots where thousands of whales were boiled down to oil. When the whale population dwindled and electricity and kerosene became an alternative to whale oil, the whalers abandoned Harpooner's Cove, leaving behind mountains of whale bone and the rusting hulks of their rendering kettles. To this day many of the town's driveways are lined with the bleached arches of whale ribs, and even now, when the great gray whales pass, they rise out of the water a bit and cast a suspicious eye toward the little cove, as if expecting the slaughter to begin again. After the whalers left, the village survived on cattle ranching and the mining of mercury, which had been discovered in the nearby hills. The mercury ran out about the same time the coastal highway was completed through Big Sur, and Harpooner's Cove became a tourist town. Passers-through who wanted a little piece of California's burgeoning tourist industry but didn't want to deal with the stress of life in San Francisco or Los Angeles, stopped and built motels, souvenir shops, restaurants, and real estate offices. The hills around Pine Cove were subdivided. Pine forests and pastures became ocean-view lots, sold for a song to tourists from California's central valley who wanted to retire on the coast. Again the village grew, populated by retirees and young couples who eschewed the hustle of the city to raise their children in a quiet coastal town. Harpooner's Cove became a village of the newly wed and the nearly dead. In the 1960s the young, environmentally conscious residents decided that the name Harpooner's Cove hearkened back to a time of shame for the village and that the name Pine Cove was more appropriate to the quaint, bucolic image the town had come to depend on. And so, with the stroke of a pen and the posting of a sign – WELCOME TO PINE COVE, GATEWAY TO BIG SUR – history was whitewashed. The business district was confined to an eight-block section of Cypress Street, which ran parallel to the coast highway. Most of the buildings on Cypress sported facades of English Tudor half-timbering, which made Pine Cove an anomaly among the coastal communities of California with their predominantly Spanish-Moorish architecture. A few of the original structures still stood, and these, with their raw timbers and feel of the Old West, were a thorn in the side of the Chamber of Commerce, who played on the village's English look to promote tourism. In a half-assed attempt at thematic consistency, several pseudo-authentic, Ole English restaurants opened along Cypress Street to lure tourists with the promise of tasteless English cuisine. (There had even been an attempt by one entrepreneur to establish an authentic English pizza place, but the enterprise was abandoned with the realization that boiled pizza lost most of its character.) Pine Cove's locals avoided patronage of these restaurants with the duplicity of a Hindu cattle rancher: willing to reap the profits without sampling the product. Locals dined at the few, out-of-the-way cafes that were content with carving a niche out of the hometown market with good food and service rather than gouging an eye out of the swollen skull of the tourist market with overpriced, pretentious charm. The shops along Cypress Street were functional only in that they moved money from the pockets of the tourists into the local economy. From the standpoint of the villagers, there was nothing of practical use for sale in any of the stores. For the tourist, immersed in the oblivion of vacation spending, Cypress Street provided a bonanza of curious gifts to prove to the folks back home that they had been somewhere. Somewhere where they had obviously forgotten that soon they would return home to a mortgage, dental bills, and an American Express bill that would descend at the end of the month like a financial Angel of Death. And they bought. They bought effigies of whales and sea otters carved in wood, cast in plastic, brass, or pewter, stamped on key chains, printed on postcards, posters, book covers, and condoms. They bought all sorts of useless junk imprinted with: Pine Cove, Gateway to Big Sur, from bookmarks to bath soap. Over the years it became a challenge to the Pine Cove shopowners to come up with an item so tacky that it would not sell. Gus Brine, owner of the local general store, suggested once at a Chamber of Commerce meeting that the merchants, without compromising their high standards, might put cow manure into jars, imprint the label with Pine Cove, Gateway to Big Sur, and market it as authentic gray whale feces. As often happens with matters of money, the irony of Brine's suggestion was lost, a motion was carried, a plan was laid, and if it had not been for a lack of volunteers to do the actual packaging, the shelves of Cypress Street would have displayed numbered, limited-edition jars of Genuine Whale Waste. The residents of Pine Cove went about their work of fleecing the tourists with a slow, methodical resolve that involved more waiting than activity. Life, in general, was slow in Pine Cove. Even the wind that came in off the Pacific each evening crept slowly through the trees, allowing the villagers ample time to bring in wood and stoke their fires against the damp cold. In the morning, down on Cypress Street, the Open signs flipped with a languid disregard for the times posted on the doors. Some shops opened early, some late, and some not at all, especially if it was a nice day for a walk on the beach. It was as if the villagers, having found their little bit of peace, were waiting for something to happen. And it did. Around midnight on the night that The Breeze disappeared, every dog in Pine Cove began barking. During the following fifteen minutes, shoes were thrown, threats were made, and the sheriff was called and called again. Wives were beaten, pistols were loaded, pillows were pounded, and Mrs. Feldstein's thirty-two cats simultaneously coughed up hairballs on her porch. Blood pressure went up, aspirin was opened, and Milo Tobin, the town's evil developer, looked out the front window to see his young neighbor, Rosa Cruz, in the nude, chasing twin Pomeranians around her front yard. The strain was too much for his chain-smoker's heart, and he flopped on the floor like a fish and died. On another hill, Van Williams, the tree surgeon, had reached the limit of his patience with his neighbors, a family of born-again dog breeders whose six Labrador retrievers barked all night long with or without supernatural provocation. With his professional-model chain saw he dropped a hundred-foot Monterey pine tree on their new Dodge Evangeline van. A few minutes later, a family of raccoons who normally roamed the streets of Pine Cove breaking into garbage cans, were taken, temporarily, with a strange sapience and ignored their normal activities to steal the stereo out of the ruined van and install it in their den that lay in the trunk of a hollow tree. An hour after the cacophony began, it stopped. The dogs had delivered their message, and as it goes in cases where dogs warn of coming earthquakes, tornadoes, or volcanic eruptions, the message was completely misconstrued. What was left the next morning was a very sleepy, grumpy village brimming with lawsuits and insurance claims, but without a single clue that something was coming. At six that morning a cadre of old men gathered outside the general store to discuss the events of the night before, never once letting their ignorance of what had happened interfere with a good bull session. A new, four-wheel-drive pickup pulled into the small parking lot, and Augustus Brine crawled out, jangling his huge key ring as if it were a talisman of power sent down by the janitor god. He was a big man, sixty years old, white haired and bearded, with shoulders like a mountain gorilla. People alternately compared him to Santa Claus and the Norse god Odin. â€Å"Morning, boys,† Brine grumbled to the old men, who gathered behind him as he unlocked the door and let them into the dark interior of Brine's Bait, Tackle, and Fine Wines. As he switched on the lights and started brewing the first two pots of his special, secret, dark-roast coffee, Brine was assaulted by a salvo of questions. â€Å"Gus, did you hear the dogs last night?† â€Å"We heard a tree went down on your hill. You hear anything about it?† â€Å"Can you brew some decaf? Doctor says I've got to cut the caffeine.† â€Å"Bill thinks it was a bitch in heat started the barking, but it was all over town.† â€Å"Did you get any sleep? I couldn't get back to sleep.† Brine raised a big paw to signal that he was going to speak, and the old men fell silent. It was like that every morning: Brine arrived in the middle of a discussion and was immediately elected to the role of expert and mediator. â€Å"Gentlemen, the coffee's on. In regard to the events of last night, I must claim ignorance.† â€Å"You mean it didn't wake you up?† Jim Whatley asked from under the brim of a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap. â€Å"I retired early last night with two lovely teenage bottles of cabernet, Jim. Anything that happened after that did so without my knowledge or consent.† Jim was miffed with Brine's detachment. â€Å"Well, every goddamn dog in town started barking last night like the end of the world was coming.† â€Å"Dogs bark,† Brine stated. He left off the â€Å"big deal† – it was understood from his tone. â€Å"Not every dog in town. Not all at once. George thinks it's supernatural or something.† Brine raised a white eyebrow toward George Peters, who stood by the coffee machine sporting a dazzling denture grin. â€Å"And what, George, leads you to the conclusion that the cause of this disturbance was supernatural?† â€Å"Woke up with a hard-on for the first time in twenty years. It got me right up. I thought I'd rolled over on the flashlight I keep by the bed for midnight emergencies.† â€Å"How were the batteries, Georgie?† someone interjected. â€Å"I tried to wake up the wife. Whacked her on the leg with it just to get her attention. I told her the bear was charging and I have one bullet left.† â€Å"And?† Brine filled the pause. â€Å"She told me to put some ice on it to make the swelling go down.† â€Å"Well,† Brine said, stroking his beard, â€Å"that certainly sounds like a supernatural experience to me.† He turned to the rest of the group and announced his judgment. â€Å"Gents, I agree with George. As with Lazarus rising from the dead, this unexplained erection is hard evidence of the supernatural at work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have cash customers to attend to.† The last remark was not meant as a dig toward the old men, whom Brine allowed to drink coffee all day free of charge. Augustus Brine had long ago won their loyalty, and it would have been absurd for any one of them to think of going anywhere else to purchase wine, or cheese, or bait, or gasoline, even though Brine's prices were a good thirty percent higher than the Thrifty-Mart down the street. Could the pimple-faced clerks at the Thrifty-Mart give advice on which bait was best for rock cod, a recipe for an elegant dill sauce for that same fish, recommend a fine wine to complement the meal, and at the same time ask after the well-being of every family member for three generations by name? They could not! And therein lay the secret of Augustus Brine's ability to run a successful business based entirely on the patronage of locals in an economy catering to tourists. Brine made his way to the counter, where an attractive woman in a waitress apron awaited, impatiently worrying a five-dollar bill. â€Å"Five dollars worth of unleaded, Gus.† She thrust the bill at Brine. â€Å"Rough night, Jenny?† â€Å"Does it show?† Jenny made a show of fixing her shoulder-length auburn hair and smoothing her apron. â€Å"A safe assumption, only,† Brine said with a smile that revealed teeth permanently stained by years of coffee and pipe smoke. â€Å"The boys tell me there was a citywide disturbance last night.† â€Å"Oh, the dogs. I thought it was just my neighborhood. I didn't get to sleep until four in the morning, then the phone rang and woke me up.† â€Å"I heard about you and Robert splitting up,† Brine said. â€Å"Did someone send out a newsletter or something? We've only been separated a few days.† Irritation put an unattractive rasp in her voice. â€Å"It's a small town,† Brine said softly. â€Å"I wasn't trying to be nosy.† â€Å"I'm sorry, Gus. It's just the lack of sleep. I'm so tired I was hallucinating on the way down here. I thought I heard Wayne Newton singing ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.'† â€Å"Maybe you did.† â€Å"The music was coming from a pine tree. I'm telling you, I've been a basket case all week.† Brine reached across the counter and patted her hand. â€Å"The only constant in this life is change, but that doesn't mean it's easy. Give yourself a break.† Just then Vance McNally, the local ambulance driver, burst through the door. The radio on his belt made a sizzling sound as if he'd just stepped out of a deep fryer. â€Å"Guess who vapor locked last night?† he said, obviously hoping that no one would know. Everyone turned and waited for his announcement. Vance basked in their attention for a moment to confirm his self-importance. â€Å"Milo Tobin,† he said, finally. â€Å"The evil developer?† George asked. â€Å"That's him. Sometime around midnight. We just bagged him,† Vance said to the group. Then to Brine, â€Å"Can I get a pack of Marlboros?† The old men searched each other's faces for the right reaction to Vance's news. Each was waiting for another to say what they were all thinking, which was, â€Å"It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,† or even, â€Å"Good riddance,† but as they were all aware that Vance's next rude announcement could be about them, they tried to think of something nice to say. You don't park in the handicapped space lest the forces of irony give you a reason to, and you don't speak ill of the dead unless you want to get bagged next. Jenny saved them. â€Å"He sure kept that Chrysler of his clean, didn't he?† â€Å"Sure did.† â€Å"The thing sparkled.† â€Å"He kept it like new, he did.† Vance smiled at the discomfort he had caused. â€Å"See you boys later.† He turned to leave and bumped straight into the little man standing behind him. â€Å"Excuse me, fella,† Vance said. No one had seen him come in or had heard the bell over the door. He was an Arab, dark, with a long, hooked nose and old; his skin hung around his piercing gray-blue eyes in folds. He wore a wrinkled, gray flannel suit that was at least two sizes too big. A red stocking cap rode high on the back of his bald head. His rumpled appearance combined with this diminutive size made him look like a ventriloquist's dummy that had spent a long time in a small suitcase. The little man brandished a craggy hand under Vance's nose and let loose with a string of angry Arabic that swirled through the air like blue on a Damascus blade. Vance backed out the door, jumped into his ambulance, and motored away. Everyone stood stunned by the ferocity of the little man's anger. Had they really seen blue swirls? Were the Arab's teeth really filed to points? Were, for that moment, his eyes glowing white-hot? It would never be discussed. Augustus Brine was the first to recover. â€Å"Can I help you with something, sir?† The unnatural light in the Arab's eyes dimmed, and in a humble, obsequious manner he said, â€Å"Excuse me, please, but could I trouble you for a small quantity of salt?†

Friday, January 10, 2020

What is a Monster? Are We Monsters? Are Humans Monsters?

When we become envious of our friend's belongings, vengeful toward those who hate, or selfish when we have plenty. Monsters strike fear within our hearts because they are giant, monstrous, ugly and uncontrollable beings. Humans strike fear in their peers because of their vengeance, race or politics. In Beowulf, readers are exposed to these monsters who are uncontrollable through the ways that they fight each other. By analyzing Beowulf, the concept of monstrosity is parallel to some flaws of humanity. Although Beowulf is seen a deviant God-sent savior by the people of Heorot and Hrothgar, he is not exempt from the equivalence of humanistic flaws in the natural world. Through the use of many parallels between the characters of Beowulf representing monsters and the natural world humans, the reader is left questioning what it is to be a hero and what it is to be a monster. The story uses symbolism such as supernaturalism as the model to create specific roles for the characters in Beowulf that parallel humans. In this paper, I will discuss the ways in which Grendel, Grendel's Mother and Beowulf are parallel to humans in the natural world by looking at the ways in which monsters and humans are similar. The epic poem, Beowulf, describes each of the monsters to be supernatural except Grendel and his mother who are understood to not be supernatural. He is one of three monsters in the story that is ornamented with monstrous traits such as â€Å"heathen talons, terrible spikes† (Beowulf 987). Although he is described with these monstrous features, it is humanistic and emotional instinct that propel his actions. For example, in the beginning of the story, Grendel is angered by the joyous celebration of the men of Heorot (Danes), crawls out of his underground swamp and creates a deathly disturbance. This ambiguous monstrosity gives mixed views of the role of humans and monsters, allowing for overlapping representations. He lives underground with his mother that is recognized by readers as the unnatural world-living in swamps and darkness. The grumpy Grendel attacks the Hall because it â€Å"harrowed him to hear the joyful din loud in the hall† (87-105). He is envious of Hrothgar and his people because they live in civilization-unlike Grendel-who lives in isolation. Words like â€Å"harrowing,† â€Å"misery† (105), â€Å"unholy creature,† and â€Å"ravenous† (120-121) are all used in the beginning of the story which alludes readers that Grendel is monstrous and envious of the Danes. The human characteristic Grendel is portraying in the story is envy. He wants to fit in with the Danes but since he is a Cain (who kills kin) he is unable to. His physical form confuses readers in terms of categorizing him as man or beast. He has many animal attributes, a grotesque and monstrous appearance such as â€Å"beast† (425), â€Å"heathen talons† and â€Å"terrible spikes† (985), but his actions and emotions prove otherwise. When Grendel is gravely injured from the battle with Beowulf at the Hall, he is doomed to die in his underground home. When Beowulf describes the win over Grendel, he states, â€Å"death is not an easy thing to escape-try it who will-but compelled necessity all must come to that place set aside for soul-bearers, children of men, dwellers on earth†¦Ã¢â‚¬  (1012). This further blurs the line between natural world humans and monsters because of the vernacular Beowulf chooses, â€Å"earth dwellers†, â€Å"children of men†. These words with specific intent towards Grendel, can overlap with descriptions of death towards humans in the natural world that death is hard to escape. Grendel's mother in the story is relatable to every mother in the natural world. Her intent to avenge her son's death (Grendel) to kill Beowulf is a very similar instinct mothers have in the natural world humans feel remorse for the loss of their loved ones. She symbolizes the natural quality of revenge. Grendel's mother comes into play and described as, â€Å"a woman's warfare, is less than an armed man's when a bloodstained blade, its edges strong, hammer-forged sword, slices through the boar-image on a helmet opposite† (1283). The line, â€Å"a woman's warfare, is than an armed man† to describe Grendel's mother as weak is a direct parallel to mothers in the natural world. In today's world, people assume that women are weak and less harmful than a man. In the story, the men in the hall are not afraid of her because she is a woman. Even though she is a mother, a female, to a â€Å"weak†, â€Å"emotional† monster (Grendel), she can still be violent and dangerous to others. This parallels mothers in the natural world. They can be terrifying when you make them mad. Grendel's mother is also ornamented with monstrous descriptions, â€Å"her hostile claws, that she-wolf of the sea swam to the bottom† (1505). This puzzles the reader when trying to categorize Grendel's mother as (wo)man or â€Å"beast†. Along with Grendel's monstrosity and his mothers', Beowulf's humanity is called into question. His call for attacking and killing Grendel is only for the fame he receives from the men of Heorot, â€Å"he trusted his strength, the might of his handgrip-as a man should do if by his warfare he thinks to win long-lasting praise: he cares nothing for his life† (1535). In this scene, the reader sees how he possess supernatural qualities of abnormal strength. This is the epitome of so many men in the natural world. Men are greedy for praise to impress a woman they like. The description of Beowulf here can again confuse the reader as to what to categorize him as, man or â€Å"beast†. Men try to be heroic when a tragedy happens most of the time to gain praise from the public. This is what Beowulf does in the story, to be the hero by stopping the attack on Heorot by Grendel. Beowulf is the example of the â€Å"tragic hero† in the story. He comes from being known as nothing but an ugly strong monster to a praised monster who killed the bad guy. He has many animal attributes and a monstrous appearance, but he seems to be guided by vague human emotions and impulses. For example, the impulse to kill Grendel for glory and fame is a remorseful killing act, Beowulf uses it as adrenaline to keep killing and attacking the â€Å"beasts† who harm Heorot. These different monstrous personalities are seen in the natural human world which need to be addressed today when reading and exploring one's own life. Humans are monsters too. Grendel is portrayed as the man who takes the bus to work every day and is envious of happiness in people's life-maybe someone with depression. Grendel's mother is portrayed as everyone's mother who wants revenge for a loved one's death and Beowulf is the greedy white American who wants to be praised for saving blacks in a burning house. Each of these portrayals in the human world is scary to see and understand. But it is all real. Concepts of monstrosity, heroism, and supernaturalism in Beowulf are complex due to the parallelisms between humanity and the monsters in the story. It is easy for readers to neglect the looming allusions on humanity that Beowulf offers through its use of subtle comparison. The ambiguity of â€Å"monster† and â€Å"hero† are intermixed in both the story and world of common man. Beowulf reminds readers to question the flaws and norms in humanity and its longing labels. We must yearn to understand human motivation before asking and claiming self-righteous glory. The difference between Grendel's mother and Beowulf is that his mother was avenging the death of her son and Beowulf kills for glory and fame. Humans are monsters.

Thursday, January 2, 2020

Analysis Of James Wright s The Blues Essay - 2277 Words

As Bryan Crable notes, Burke and Ellison had the closest intellectual and social relationship when Burke was writing A Rhetoric of Motives—and, I would add, when Ellison was writing Invisible Man. Crable points out that the Rhetoric is â€Å"the only one of Burke’s books to cite Ellison,† in large part because Ellison’s 1945 essay â€Å"Richard Wright’s Blues† (which called Wright’s just-released memoir Black Boy â€Å"a nonwhite intellectual’s statement of his relationship to western culture† that illuminates a â€Å"conflicting pattern of identification and rejection† à   la Joyce, Nehru, and Dostoyevsky) had a major influence on Burke â€Å"only one month into serious work on his now-canonical text† (â€Å"Blues† 263–64, Crable 47–48). The claim that the friendship was important for both Burke and Ellison is certainly true, intervening in a longstanding scholarly conversation on the Burkean influences apparent in Invisible Man (and other works of Ellison’s) that paid little attention to the ways in which Ellisonian ideas in fact inspired Burke’s work as well. Even with this helpful addition of Crable’s, though, the scholarly consensus seems to suggest that Ellison employed Burke’s philosophies of literary form in his composition of Invisible Man, while Burke developed his â€Å"thoughts on the rhetorical dimensions of race† based on Ellison’s insights about the conflicts between â€Å"individual identity† and â€Å"racial identity† (Crable 47–48). 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