But the body's not even cold yet!

Dick Clark died yesterday.  Deaths of famous people like him always make me wonder about the media's insanely fast coverage.  I mean, within two minutes of announcing a celebrity death, any website or TV channel you go to is full of pictures and stories from the deceased's life.  In the case of Dick Clark, the poor man wasn't even cold yet and the Internet and news stations were running stories about him with more information than anyone could possibly ever want or need.  How do they do that so stinkin' fast?  Is there a person whose sole job is to sit by the phone waiting for a call announcing a celebrity death?  If and when the call comes, does this person jump to attention, pull out the "death file" marked with that celebrity's name and put together an entire montage of the life in three minutes flat?  I can understand the media posting a picture or two with a short blurb, but seeing their entire life splashed in front of us before the family's tears have even dried is akin to a vulture hovering over waiting for someone to keel over so they can eat.  I just find it wrong and a bit disturbing, but it happens all the time. 

Whitney Houston is another example, as is Michael Jackson.  In a way, it's like passing a horrible car wreck...I want to look but I know I shouldn't.  I just think that if it was my family member who was famous, I would want the inundation of stories, pictures, and skeletons in the closet to slowly make their way into the public rather than minutes after the death.  Wouldn't you?  I wonder...do you think that if you are famous or well-known for any reason whatsoever, there is a biography being written about you and updated often so that "just in case" you end up bereft of life without any notice, the media can get to the presses before rigor mortis even sets in?  I think that's how it works.  Sad but true.

With that being said, I think I'll start my own "death file" so that when I become rich and famous (because I will, you know!), my loved ones don't have to dig up pictures and stories about me.  Besides, I know which pictures I would want strewn across the TV and Internet and which pictures would need to be burned!  I think I'd rather have my fans and followers remembering me the way I was meant to be...thin, cute, and young!  So, basically, they won't be seeing any pictures of me taken after 1995.  Just so you know!

My Angel Mom

My mom died when I was 8 years old.  She suffered a stroke and a brain aneurysm.  I remember the day well, or at least I think I do.  I'm sure the "adult" version that my dad remembers is much different from what I remember, but that's okay.  What I remember is that it was the last day of school - the end of second grade for me.  I remember waking up to the sound of my mom throwing up.  Apparently she had suffered a horrible headache in the night.  The vomiting went on until after I left for school.  I helped change her soiled pillowcases before walking out the door for what would end up being the worst day and the turning point of my young life.  After school, a friend's mom picked me up and took me to her house where my dad met me.  I remember sitting on the couch with him wondering why he was so serious.  He was, after all, my "fun" parent.  I didn't really know my dad that well as my mom and I spent all of our time together while he worked both in and out of town.  My dad was the guy who played with me when he was home...catching frogs in the yard, teaching me somersaults, and tickling my feet.  He was anything but serious.  So, as I sat on the couch next to him that day, I knew something wasn't right.  That's when he told me Mom ("Mommy", as we called her) had died.  I remember thinking that this had to be the worst practical joke he could play.  But, still, there was no smile.  He started crying.  My dad doesn't cry...why was he crying?  Could he be SERIOUS about my mom?  I remember leaving the room and not crying.  That's what I remember.  I didn't cry.  I didn't cry for a long, long time.  I think I was hoping it wasn't real.

Dad and I sat on our balcony that night not saying much, from what I remember.  Again, I didn't know him very well, so what were we supposed to talk about?  People came with flowers and food and tears.  I still didn't cry...at least I don't think I did. 

I truly don't remember the first time I really let loose and let myself mourn.  I remember that not having a mom really affected me in high school.  I didn't have anyone to do "mother-daughter" things with.  My friends' moms did their best to fill the void.  My aunts sort of took over the maternal role, although they were thousands of miles away.  For the most part, I had the basic need for a mother-figure filled.  I missed her, but I would be okay. 

College was tough.  I went out of state to go to school...it was the first time I was really away from my dad.  My Aunt Joyce became my surrogate mother, and she is still that to this day. We shopped, talked, laughed, cried, gossiped, cooked...all the things mothers and daughters do, or so I imagined.  It was wonderful. 

When it came time to plan my wedding years later, it really hit me hard that I didn't have a mother to help me plan, to fight with me about what I want or don't want, to go dress-shopping with, and to talk to when Tim and I got into those inevitable pre-marital fights.  Aunt Joyce, once again, stepped up to the plate and stood up for me in place of my mom at our wedding.  She and Tim's mother lit the "family unity candle", thus joining our families together.  I know my mom was there.  I felt her there. 

The next noticeable gaping void came when I found out I was pregnant for the first time.  I could not fathom having a baby and not having a mother.  How could I BE a mother when I didn't HAVE a mother?  I was completely clueless.  By now, my dad had met his future wife, Nancy.  She and I took some time bonding, but after I accepted that my dad could love someone other than my mom, Nancy and I became very close.  Both she and Joyce were there for me when Daniel was born.  Joyce came to Alaska for Daniel's first week of life to help me and to bond with him.  Nancy took on the role of  "grandma" like a natural. 

Giving birth a second time without my mom was a little easier because I believe that she had placed people like Joyce and Nancy in my life to fill the hole she left in my heart when she died.

It has since occurred to me that I may have lost a mom, but I have also gained my very own personal guardian angel.  She is always with me, Tim, and my kids.  I think she is also with my dad.  There have been a few times, one in particular, where my dad should have been taken from us.  There is truly no explanation for why he wasn't...except that my mom sent him back because she knew he was still needed here by me, my boys, and Nancy.  For that I thank her every day.  I wish she was here so I could thank her in person, but I will just rest assured knowing she hears my prayers everyday and knows how much she is missed.

When is my appointment?

I have a question.  I work in a doctors' office where we see patients every 28 days so that they can get their prescriptions filled within a certain time frame.  This means we see them every four weeks.  When they leave the office after their appointment, we give them a reminder card.  We also make reminder calls the day prior to the appointment, which to me seems silly because I feel that people who have made it this far into adulthood shouldn't need other adults reminding them of their obligations, but I digress.  Anyway, my point here is that these "adults" leave this office after making their own appointment with reminder card in hand.  Several of them also put the appointment into their Smartphone or their appointment book. Herein lies my question:

Why is it that over half of the phone calls I take at work each and every day are from these very same patients who are calling simply to ask, "When is my appointment?"  OK - REALLY? 

And here's the best part!!  After a reminder card, a reminder call, AND their own call to us inquiring about their appointment, several of them FORGET TO SHOW UP!  Of course, for a "no-show" there is a fee, and undoubtedly, when they show up the next time around for their appointment to find they have a fee, they argue with me that they shouldn't have to pay it.  Umm...yeah, I'm afraid you do!

Why does this happen?  It's not like these patients come in once a year and the appointment slipped their mind.  They come every 28 days...it's not rocket science. It should be routine!

There are times, albeit not frequently, that we are simply too busy to make all of the reminder calls, but what puts me completely over the edge is when patients call to ask when their appointment is only to find that they missed it...and then they blame ME for not calling to remind them!  It is all I can do not to ask them who reminded them to get up and go to work today, or who reminded them to meet their friends for drinks last night, or who reminded them to make their car payment. 

I know it may seem like a silly pet peeve, and I realize we've all forgotten an appointment now and again, but the people I'm talking about are the people who blame others for their mistakes and who feel the world owes them something.  I do all I can to help them "remember" their appointment.  All they have to do is show up. 

Or don't.  I just don't care anymore. 

If I was at home....

Do you ever find yourself at work wishing you were at home because, as you tell everyone who will listen, you have "so much to do" there?  I do that a lot...I sit at my desk, day in and day out, doing my job, dealing with the public, just doing what I do...all while thinking about all the "stuff" I need to do at home.  The part I find amusing is that when I get home, I put on my sweats (or jammies, if it's been a particularly icky day), start dinner, and then sit my butt on the couch to....umm....watch TV!  All of a sudden, all those ever-so-important things I wanted to be home doing aren't so important.  American Idol, however, is of life-stopping importance, as is Modern Family, Two & a Half Men, and pretty much anything on TruTV.  I've even had days off from work where I secretly plan to "tackle" all those "things" that need to get done...! Knowing my co-workers are at the office muddling through their day wishing they, too, were at home taking care of business!  Yet, there I sit, unmotivated to do a damn thing!  Why is that?  While I sit at work, I have visions of me in my kitchen making banana bread, getting caught up on my scrapbooks (I'm still working on the 2005 scrapbook!), going through the kids' closets, organizing my junk drawer...you get the picture.  Maybe I need to make a list.  Maybe staring at a list of things I need to do will give me the get-up-and-go I need!  It will feel great to cross things off as I do them.  I think that's what I'll do...I'll have a list on my desk at work where I can write down all the things I need to do at home. I'll start the list with "MAKE A LIST."  That way I've already accomplished the first thing on the list, right?  Right! 

Alaska.  The Last Frontier. Yeah, whatever! 

I've been here most of my life...going on 34 years now, with the exception of the 3 years I spent in Southern California going to (and barely passing) college.  After deciding that the smog, traffic, crime, and "school" wasn't for me, I came back to Alaska with the intent of finishing college at U.A.A. and then flying off into the wild, blue yonder of "who-knows-where" to live my life...anywhere but in Alaska.  Well, none of that worked out the way it was supposed to, of course, because life isnt' that simple.  I went to U.A.A. for  few semesters fully intending on finishing my degree in Journalism, but I became frustrated when I learned that most of my credits from my 3 years in California didn't transfer to Alaska.  I felt like I'd have to start all over - and I hated it the first time - I would only hate it more the second. 

In the meantime, I got a job at a law firm in a huge, beautiful, 17-story building in mid-town Anchorage.  I was the legal receptionist, and I loved the job.  I got to dress up everyday, rub elbows with several of Anchorage's hoity-toity political figures, and learn a lot about the legal field.  That's when I met Tim (also known as THE REASON I STILL LIVE HERE!), the paralegal/investigator for the firm.  He was not my type at all...I was in the midst of my "wild child" phase since I was anything but wild back in high school.  I was dating a guy who did some male stripping on the side...something, to this day, I am not proud of. 

Anyway, long story short, Tim and I became friends...work buddies...platonic lunch partners...confidants.  Little did I know, he was hoping for more.  I was too busy dealing with my stripper-boyfriend-drama to notice.  Finally, one night I invited him over for dinner.  I made spaghetti, he brought wine, and the rest is history.  From that moment on, we were in love.  He was (still is) everything I thought a good man should be.  He was funny, honest, considerate, a gentleman, a hard worker, and I just knew he was "the one."  And he liked my cooking...a big plus for any girl, right?  Of course, dating a co-worker was not looked highly upon at the law firm where we worked, so after no longer being able to keep our romance a secret, I found another job. We became engaged about 9 months after our first date (sappiest engagement story ever...I'll save it for another time).  We were engaged for a year and a half before we tied the knot in the single-most-beautiful wedding in the history of mankind.  No really!  It was! 

So, now that we've been married almost 19 years and have two boys (16 years old and 12 years old), a lovely home (that we've completely outgrown), five cats (yes, we're a little crazy), a huge Malamute, and Tim's job with the State of Alaska that he's had almost 20 years, I'm STUCK in this cold, dark, frozen chunk of ice they call "The Last Frontier." 

We WILL move out of here one day...you just watch.  It will NOT, by any means, be MY "Last Frontier."