I have never owned a fish. Quite honestly, I just don’t get it. If a pet is for companionship, will someone please explain to me what anyone gets out of owning a fish? You can’t cuddle with them. You can’t really play with them. You can’t talk to them and have them look up at you attentively as if they understand when you know deep down that they don’t. You can basically just watch them. And I will acknowledge that some fish are beautiful, but your garden variety fish tank fish isn’t all that attractive if you ask me. So, what is it?
Dogs I do get. I have always wanted a dog, but I have never had the lifestyle to be able to take care of one on my own. I have always vowed I would get one when I get married and have kids. But it won’t be a little, yippie dog. No - it’s a big majestic dog for me, all the way. And for now, while I wait to finally become the dog person that lurks beneath the surface of my soul, I remain a single woman with two cats. But that is another post altogether. (Disclaimer: I love my cats very much, but I will never be seen wearing cat clothing, knowingly having cat hair all over me, or joining any cat clubs – e.g., I am not the “cat lady”). Maybe the reason one of my cats is so incredibly fat is because I subconsciously want to feed it until it becomes the size of one of the dogs I long for. She is pretty fat…
Now to the purpose of this post. So there is this woman who volunteers where I work. Her sole purpose in this setting is to clean out the fish tank. She diligently comes in every week and does this job, free of charge. She also does it for other tanks throughout the hospital as far as I understand.
This woman fascinates me. She is single, and she has about 10 dogs at home. I know this because that is the only topic I have ever heard her talk about – her dogs. She has posted a picture of herself and her 10 dogs on our fish tank. And I wonder, what is going on with this woman?
Part of me feels sorry for her. Does she have friends? Is this the only way she relates to people, much like the Star Trek fanatics that find community and fellowship through their common interest in all things Star Trek. If so, I find this sad. But why do I find this so sad? Here is a person that is relating to people around a common interest. Don’t I do the same thing? Don’t I gravitate toward people who can relate to what I relate to and who can talk intelligently about things that interest me? Why am I judging this woman as if she is so different in that basic desire? I have no idea. My way of expressing all of this may be more culturally and socially acceptable than hers, but it is still the same basic desire driving it.
So fish, dogs, Star Trek…who cares? I say here’s to anyone who is out there doing the things she or he loves and connecting with others through it. We were made to be relational creatures. The individuality in how that is expressed creates a human diversity that is rather beautiful. I am going to try to embrace and cherish that beauty.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Happy Birthday Steve
Yes, ladies and gentleman. This is it. The long awaited 29th birthday of Steve Fuller. We're going to celebrate this one for all it's worth, because we all know what comes next (some of us better than others). He, however, will probably just be watching NCAA basketball, but that's OK.
In celebration of our friend, you will find the many faces of Steve in the blogs of a number of his friends. You can check out the others in the links from this page. Does he have some great friends, or what?
So, Steve Fuller - this is your life (well, sort of).
Steve - here you are at what I'm guessing is about age 8. That look of excitement is the one that young boys across America get when they get to play our country's pass-time. Wait...that look is familiar. It's the one you still get for anything sports related...except figure skating (in public, at least). And what's that say on your shirt? "Fireballs?" OK, moving on...
And look...here you are around age 13 or so? Those are some serious bangs. Enough said.
Wow...Oh, Steve...were you the one just talking about you and the guys growing moustaches? Learn from your past, Steve. Learn from your past. :)
In all seriousness, here's to a wonderful birthday and an amazing new year of your life to come. May God continue to amaze you in all that he is revealing in and through you. Happy Birthday, Steve!!
In celebration of our friend, you will find the many faces of Steve in the blogs of a number of his friends. You can check out the others in the links from this page. Does he have some great friends, or what?
So, Steve Fuller - this is your life (well, sort of).
Steve - here you are at what I'm guessing is about age 8. That look of excitement is the one that young boys across America get when they get to play our country's pass-time. Wait...that look is familiar. It's the one you still get for anything sports related...except figure skating (in public, at least). And what's that say on your shirt? "Fireballs?" OK, moving on...
And look...here you are around age 13 or so? Those are some serious bangs. Enough said.
Wow...Oh, Steve...were you the one just talking about you and the guys growing moustaches? Learn from your past, Steve. Learn from your past. :)
In all seriousness, here's to a wonderful birthday and an amazing new year of your life to come. May God continue to amaze you in all that he is revealing in and through you. Happy Birthday, Steve!!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Enter Stage Left
You've gotta love those moments in life when you realize that you could actually star in your own sitcom, especially when they are so good that you know you would be like #1 in the Nielsens. These happen fairly often in my life. My friends back in St. Louis (back in the days of grad school and no money) used to say that I should have the show that comes on after Seinfeld - kinda like the female version. They probably weren't all that far off.
Anyway, last night was a sitcom night. I went out to dinner with some friends, and as usual I was taking very seriously the choice of what to order. So seriously in fact, that I didn't realize until too late that I was holding the menu over the candle flame, leaving a large burn mark on the menu and essentially melting two of the pages together. And then, of course, there was the pleasant smell of burning plastic that has probably led to some sort of toxic brain damage or something, but I will let that go. Helmets can't protect you from everything, I guess.
Anyway, back to the ordering ordeal. So, I absolutely love the Black and Bleu Tuna salad at the restaurant where we were, but here's the clincher. They keep making it smaller and smaller EVERY time I go. It used to be a dinner salad, and it has shrunk to closer to side salad size. No big deal if the price shrunk as well, but it didn't. So I have a problem with this. And when I have a problem with something, I say something about it. I am a matter o' fact kinda gal that way.
So I sat the waiter down to have a little chat. And he is very nice and actually agreed. He gave me some inside info about how it depends on which chef is making the salad that night. He offered to request that the more generous salad chef construct my salad for the evening, and I accepted the offer. In fact, salads went all around at our table, and we all got in on the deal. We were very excited. One of us (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) actually ordered two meals because she was so swayed by the whole salad thing - how hilarious is that?
While waiting for our salads, we engaged in your typical, friendly dinner conversation. Now, others may tell you differently, but don't believe them. I will maintain that OUT OF NOWHERE, my whole soda glass sliiiiid across the table, off the edge, and tumbled into my lap. I have no idea how this happened because I am not lying when I tell you I didn't do it. Of course, this happened just as the waiter entered the scene from stage left, and he, like all of us, found this to be - shall we say - amusing. He tried to keep a straight face, but all hope was lost. What is really interesting (not to mention speaks to my incredible coordination and grace) is that I managed to catch the glass right-side-up in my lap - not a drop spilled. I am, as many of you know, a woman of many talents this way. The others at the table didn't appreciate this talent as much as I did, but they were probably just jealous.
Well, we moved past this moment and went on with our conversation. I enjoyed a bit more soda as we talked. So much, in fact, that I was ready for a refill. I thought to myself that I would ask for one when the waiter came back. But, it turned out I didn't need to. He apparently already noticed my drink deficiency and brought another for me - but with a twist. He decided to put it in a sippy cup of sorts. Very clever, Mr. Waiter, very clever. I actually had to give him that one - I wish I would have thought of it myself. I do appreciate a clever retort as much (probably more) than the next guy.
So, those are highlights from my evening last night. What makes the whole thing even funnier is that, after making such a big deal that I needed a bigger salad, I wasn't able to finish the whole thing. And the waiter noticed. And the waiter also noticed that two of us at the table (including the one who burned the menu, required a sippy cup for safe drinking, and advocated for a larger salad that she didn't even eat) are doctors. But as the First Officer said, "at least you're not a real doctor." Thanks, First Officer. Otherwise, they might revoke my license.
Anyway, last night was a sitcom night. I went out to dinner with some friends, and as usual I was taking very seriously the choice of what to order. So seriously in fact, that I didn't realize until too late that I was holding the menu over the candle flame, leaving a large burn mark on the menu and essentially melting two of the pages together. And then, of course, there was the pleasant smell of burning plastic that has probably led to some sort of toxic brain damage or something, but I will let that go. Helmets can't protect you from everything, I guess.
Anyway, back to the ordering ordeal. So, I absolutely love the Black and Bleu Tuna salad at the restaurant where we were, but here's the clincher. They keep making it smaller and smaller EVERY time I go. It used to be a dinner salad, and it has shrunk to closer to side salad size. No big deal if the price shrunk as well, but it didn't. So I have a problem with this. And when I have a problem with something, I say something about it. I am a matter o' fact kinda gal that way.
So I sat the waiter down to have a little chat. And he is very nice and actually agreed. He gave me some inside info about how it depends on which chef is making the salad that night. He offered to request that the more generous salad chef construct my salad for the evening, and I accepted the offer. In fact, salads went all around at our table, and we all got in on the deal. We were very excited. One of us (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) actually ordered two meals because she was so swayed by the whole salad thing - how hilarious is that?
While waiting for our salads, we engaged in your typical, friendly dinner conversation. Now, others may tell you differently, but don't believe them. I will maintain that OUT OF NOWHERE, my whole soda glass sliiiiid across the table, off the edge, and tumbled into my lap. I have no idea how this happened because I am not lying when I tell you I didn't do it. Of course, this happened just as the waiter entered the scene from stage left, and he, like all of us, found this to be - shall we say - amusing. He tried to keep a straight face, but all hope was lost. What is really interesting (not to mention speaks to my incredible coordination and grace) is that I managed to catch the glass right-side-up in my lap - not a drop spilled. I am, as many of you know, a woman of many talents this way. The others at the table didn't appreciate this talent as much as I did, but they were probably just jealous.
Well, we moved past this moment and went on with our conversation. I enjoyed a bit more soda as we talked. So much, in fact, that I was ready for a refill. I thought to myself that I would ask for one when the waiter came back. But, it turned out I didn't need to. He apparently already noticed my drink deficiency and brought another for me - but with a twist. He decided to put it in a sippy cup of sorts. Very clever, Mr. Waiter, very clever. I actually had to give him that one - I wish I would have thought of it myself. I do appreciate a clever retort as much (probably more) than the next guy.
So, those are highlights from my evening last night. What makes the whole thing even funnier is that, after making such a big deal that I needed a bigger salad, I wasn't able to finish the whole thing. And the waiter noticed. And the waiter also noticed that two of us at the table (including the one who burned the menu, required a sippy cup for safe drinking, and advocated for a larger salad that she didn't even eat) are doctors. But as the First Officer said, "at least you're not a real doctor." Thanks, First Officer. Otherwise, they might revoke my license.
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