March of the Penguins

I never wanted to visit Antarctica until today. I sat in the movie theatre in awe watching what I thought at first were very tall creatures, only to find out, after the credits, they are only knee high. What an incredible story of survival. I loved watching them walk single file through the harshest of weather conditions. I loved watching them find a mate and bond, even if it was just for one year. I loved how they carry their young on the tops of their feet to protect them from the elements. But I especially love how the male penguin carries the egg while mom walks to find food. That's my kind of guy. They were constantly sharing the responsiblities of bringing a life into this world. That's how it should be. I'm blessed. I found a guy who wasn't afraid to change diapers, or to have baby spit up end up in his mouth. I found a guy who didn't mind that I took off for a week's vacation in Hawaii with some girl friends, and left him to care for two kids...one being just 6 months old. I figured I birthed the baby...I needed a break. Looking back, I was really doing the "penguin" thing. Going off for some rest and letting dad take over for awhile.

I've had a few penguin role models in my life. In fact, my teachers were penquins. At least that's what we called them in Catholic school. Sister Mary Clarence was the best role model. She was tall and lanky, ruddy skin, buck teeth and spit when she talked. She wore all black and white. She even waddled. And because I lived only 5 houses away from the convent and the school, I could see the nuns line up and waddle in formation back and forth to school and church. Sometimes they took walks in our neighborhood. Always in pairs....just like in the movie.

Grunting

What is it about tennis and grunting? Why do top athletes have to grunt so loud. Its quite disturbing. I can take once or twice, but every hit? I grew up in the old fashion tennis way. Proper white attire, proper manners. I was almost British in my demeanor. My shot selection was limited, but effective. Hit it in!

I can think of a few times that I would want to grunt, like stubbing my toe, or lifting something too heavy. Pigs grunt from just being alive. I wouldn't call tennis players pigs, but if I were to pass an open field and listen I might mistaken the sounds on the court for a farmyard.

It would make it a bit easier to take, if the pro grunters were ugly. But they aren't and they are seen on the covers of all the latest magazines. I think the headlines should read "She grunts like a pig and makes millions"

I was playing doubles the other day, and for the life of me, couldn't get my serve in. My timing was off. My opponents, who by the way were beautiful and could be on a magazine cover, were killing me with their serve, and grunting. So I started timidly to grunt. It took a bit of timing. I'd hit the ball, and then grunt. Or I'd grunt and then hit the ball. I felt like a pig trying to find her voice. And then it happened. I tossed the ball, grunted in perfect unison with hitting it, and it went in.

I'm a firm believer in grunting now. I don't know why or how it works, but it does. And I don't care who is listening.

The other day I had a match with a woman who whistled to herself as she prepared to hit the ball. I know for a fact, that I cannot whistle and grunt at the same time.

He Said My Name

For a brief moment, the cloudiness of my father's alzheimers cleared, and I heard words that haven't been spoken in years. "Hi Judy!" he said in the midst of sounds and words that made no sense. It didn't matter that my mom told him that I was on the phone. It didn't matter that it was repeated over and over again, before the receiver was handed to him. He actually held that thought long enough to repeat it. In the midst of our brief conversation, he mentioned both sisters by name. Then he was gone. The clouds came back, and the darkness of such a horrible disease took over. He's leaving us all, moment by moment, as we sit and watch, and try to be patient and do what's right.

He has brought out the best and worst of my family these past few years. My mom, who is the real hero in all this, is struggling to wear her halo proudly, when what she really wants to do at times is ring his neck. Her daily dealings with him, in his confusion and outburst of anger have given her reasons to take daily walks to ease the pain. Her body is in great shape, even if her soul is worn out. I'm convinced she is next in line for sainthood....after the pope.

I don't know when it will all be over, but last night, I prayed that it would be soon.