Thinking on Willy and his Kin

When my son, Jarom, was 7 years old, we went to see the movie "Free Willy". He loved it so much that we bought the movie. We bought shirts with Orca whales on them. He had Orca whale curtains in his bedroom. He ate, slept, breathed, and dreamed Orca whales.



My how time flies.

At any rate, at the end of the movie there was a short documentary on Orca whales with information about adopting a whale. My little son thought he would really like to adopt a whale, so we mailed off $35.00 then checked the mail every day.

Finally, it came. A huge packet arrived with information about "his" whale, including a picture of her and the exciting news that she was a new mommy whale. Her name was "Princess". She was beautiful.They were holding a contest to name her baby. Jarom named him "Cody".

...we had a small problem over a big whale...

But, in spite of all the excitement, Jarom was a little emotional over the whole thing. In fact, he was downright hysterical.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't you like your whale?"

"I didn't get a whale", he said. "You told me I'd get a whale and all I got was a picture."

There are moments when you realize that there's been a misunderstanding. There are other moments when you realize there's been a BIG misunderstanding.

This was one of those times. My sweet little seven year old son thought that he was getting a whale. A REAL whale. And he was having nothing to do with any explanations about the realities of where we would keep such a thing, much less what we would feed it. I appealed to his compassionate side. A whale wouldn't be happy in Idaho. No, even a swimming pool in the back yard wouldn't be big enough.

Honestly, to this day, I think he's still upset that he didn't get a real whale.

So, all this news about Tillicum, the whale that killed his trainer this week, has made me think about how much my son loved (loves?) Orca whales. He loved everything about them. He wanted to swim with them. He wanted to go see Shamu. He wanted one to have and to hold from this day forward.

Now, we all know that the whole reason Sea World keeps whales in swimming pools in the back yard is for the money. And, we faithfully shell out the money to see a magnificent creature that, if not captive, would probably never be seen by most of us. And I can't help but think that those trainers that work with them are very much like my son. Enthralled. Mesmerized. Giddy at the thought of it all.

But, with all that said, I'm re- hearing again in my mind the conversation my son and I had years ago. I know you love Orca whales. I know you want one. It would make you happy.

But the whale wouldn't be happy.

And isn't that something to consider?

I've got the music in me

 

As a product of the 70's, I'm a fan of Styx, Boston, and on days where the Rocker Mom (as my son calls me) is feeling mellow, I enjoy a little Barry Manilow, Carpenters, England Dan and John Ford Coley, etc.

...what if I find myself in the Metamucil aisle?...

Which is why I was surprised this evening to find that, as I was driving down the road listening to KGTM (Good Times, Great Music Oldies Station) I was irritated by the music. It was making me anxious and annoyed. I didn't want to listen to it.

So, I dialed on over to KBYI where they were featuring songs by Tony Bennett. Ah......that's better. It reminded me of my grandmother who always had her radio on and tuned to the Easy Listening station in Savannah (who, by the way, loved Percy Faith and his orchestra).

I wasn't sure how to feel about turning off "my" music because it was bothering me and listening to my grandmother's music because it was, well, just less bothersome. Does this mean I'm getting old?

I'm having a little Chronological Crisis here. I'll be a grandmother in about a month. Does that mean that some chemical change has started to happen in my brain that I want to listen to my grandmother's music?

What if the chemical change gets out of hand and I start wearing sensible shoes and support hose? What if I find myself in the Metamucil aisle? Do they still sell Geritol? And why am I asking!?!?

I suppose I'm over-reacting a little. (Just a little.) Perhaps I just needed to get away from it all for just a moment and go back to a friendlier place where my grandmother was sitting at her kitchen table, building her floral arrangements, and listening to Percy Faith. Now that is a sweet memory.

However, I'll be sure to let you know if my hearing starts to go.

Copy Madness

So, Friday I was working away, getting lots of stuff done and had to fax a document to another department in the hospital. No big deal, right? Just put the document in the fax machine, dial the number (7035), and walk away. Easy as pie.

Unless it's a combination fax/copier and you forget to hit the "fax" button.

Twenty minutes after hitting the start button, I hear someone say "who's big copy job is this? 7035 copies????".

Uh-oh.

I go running out there and, sure enough, the copier is 800 copies into faithfully doing what I told it to, which is to make 7035 copies.

The worst part is - no one is ever going to let me live it down.

A rose is a rose....or maybe it isn't.

Some days things happen and they really are without explanation. Like today.



(Note: this post does not need viewer discretion, although it may seem that way at first. Just bear with me....)

One of my "other job duties as assigned" is releasing bodies out of the hospital morgue to funeral homes. It sounds worse than it is, really, other than the fact that the funeral home folks always - and I mean always - show up at lunchtime.

Most of the funeral homes will send big guys in black suits to do the job. Historically known as undertakers or morticians, they have fancy names now like Funeral Home Directors and Death Care Coordinators. Whatever they're called, they get paid to bring a skinny little gurney with a red velvet zip-up bag, package up the deceased, and roll him/her out the loading dock and into their hearse.

At this point I think to myself what a weird place I work in. I mean, think about it. Where else can you work where dead bodies get rolled out the back door on a regular occasion? Maybe a Las Vegas casino....but nowhere else I can think of. 

But I digress.

At any rate, they're always extremely dignified and respectful and I truly stand in admiration of these people who have made it their living to deal with dead people. I'm thinking I'd be a little freaked out by that, but they don't seem to mind it.

...what's a girl to do?...

One of our local funeral homes has a tradition that probably originally seemed like a good idea but it has trouble in the execution. They send the pick-up guy with the traditional accessories (zip-up bag and gurney) but they also send him with a long-stemmed red rose. My thinking on this is that someone back at the funeral home thought it would be a really nice gesture to do this but there needs to be an inservice or something because the guys in the suits that come get the body never have any idea what to do with it. Usually, they get the body all packaged up then they remember the rose. They pick it up, look at it, then (with a shrug) toss it on top of the red zip-up bag and out the door they go.

Today, that particular funeral home showed up to pick up a body. We got everything taken care of then, as usual, the big guy in the black suit remembers the red rose.  He picks it up, looks at it, then holds it out to me and says, "Here. This is for you."

Ummmmmm.......

What's a girl to do? I couldn't NOT take it, so I graciously accepted it, gushing "oh, that's so sweet....thank you!". Oh, gosh. Now that I'm remembering it in detail I feel like such an idiot. I wonder if he looked at my reaction, then thought how pitiful this poor woman must be. And it wasn't even a real rose. It was a fake one.

So, I took the rose back to my office and pondered what in the world I should do with this fake flower, intended to, in some fashion, ride out of the hospital with a deceased person, and presented to me as a gift across a dead body while standing in a morgue.

You'll be glad to know that I threw it away. I couldn't keep it. It had too many memories attached to it.

So, I've been laughing at myself ever since. It used to be that cute guys who were truly interested in me gave me REAL flowers. Now my romance consists of being handed a fake rose by a weird undertaker in the ambience of a morgue.

If I said it was better than nothing, you'd really start worrying, now wouldn't you?

Endless Winter

All summer I spend every free moment outside, soaking up the sun, feeling the warmth. I love, love, love walking out of an air conditioned building into the heat. Oh, it feels so good.

I should have been a cat. Or a lizard. Love that warmth.

Around August I start getting that feeling of dread. I know what's coming. While fall is beautiful in Idaho, winter isn't far behind. And, while I don't mind winter during winter,it just lasts so long here. A friend of mine said once that each season is given three months. It's rude and inconsiderate for any season to take more than it's share. In Idaho, winter is a greedy girl, taking much more than it's allotted three months.

Really,I can only take so many gloomy, gray days and so much windy, snowy weather. My spirit starts to wither. I feel like the old brown leaves on the bushes outside my house, covered in ice.

Let's see....this is February, so I figure we've got a good month of winter left, then it's supposed to be spring but Idaho spring is really just more winter.  It's cold. It's blustery. It snows. And the snow turns to muddy slush.

So, here I am. Quite frankly, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the snow. I'm ready for the sun to come out. But winter in Idaho just seems so e...n...d...l...e...s...s.

I'll admit it  - I'm whining and complaining and I'm not much fun to be around. I'm trying to find the beauty in it but it's hard to find beauty in day after day where everything is gray - the sky, the ground, the trees, my mood.

I know it will eventually warm up. I just have to be patient. Maybe that's the lesson.....be patient. Live the day. Have hope. I found this video that helped me remember that winter is a time for quiet, for stillness which we all need. And spring and summer will come again.  So, if you're like me and are pining away for some warm, sunny weather, I hope this video lifts your spirits. It did mine. At least a little bit.