It’s hard for me to believe that both of the boys already are old enough to ride the bus to school each day. I asked Creed some questions about Heath on the bus. Creed is used to riding a bus to daycare, but this is a new adventure for Heath.
First, Creed told me he doesn’t sit with his brother on the bus. He has a friend who boards shortly before he does, so second graders must stick together.
I wasn’t worried ... until then.
I thought about it the entire next day as I drove home to meet the bus. Heath ... just sitting there. Who does he sit with? What does he think about? Is he lonely?
He just sits beside somebody, he told me. He doesn’t even know the names. I asked him what he thought about on the bus. At first he said, “I don’t know.” Then, he smiled at me, “I think about you and how much I love you.” Oh, he so knows how to answer.
He told me he isn’t interested in making friends.
Creed claims that Heath does have friends on the bus and that he talks to him, as well.
Is this like one of those dropping the boys off at daycare instances. You know, the ones where they cry and hold onto their mother’s leg to make her feel terrible for going to work. Then, the moment she is out of sight they smile and start playing with friends. It’s a skill children have. I’ve seen many utilize this tool against parents to make sure they feel guilty for having employment.
I spent hours analyzing the bus incident. I decided Heath probably is okay or the bus driver would have notified me. After all, sometimes Heath does tell me it is fun to ride the bus. He never cries when he has to get on it. He smiles as he boards. He’s been waiting two years for his chance to get on a bus.
I also began to think about my bus riding days. It always seemed some of the best friends were those who sat beside you on a seat every morning and evening. I still miss some of my bus buddies.
Just as I was about to come to terms with my five-year-old son riding the bus, he threw another curve ball. He told me at dinner that same night that he was going to go into the army — “the camouflage army.” “Really?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “But I might get dead cause it’s dangerous.”
Oh my! I can’t handle this. I’m just coming to terms with riding a bus.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Seeing is Believing
If you can see every time you open your eyes, that is a blessing. Those with good eyesight often don’t realize the benefits of just looking at something.
I went to the eye doctor last week. I’ve been going to the same optometrist’s office since I was eight years old. Yeah, that’s been a while. I used to hear the same news every year. “Your eyes are a little worse than last year.”
I refused the glasses until fourth grade. Then, it became necessary. When I turned 16, though, I didn’t want a car for my birthday. I wanted contacts.
Some seven years ago, I became introduced to night and day lenses. That means they can be worn for a month and then just thrown away. I prefer it that way. Now, every time I open my eyes I can see. I don’t have to search for glasses in the dark. I don’t have to try and fumble my way through the house.
The truth is that my eyesight is terrible. Last year my doctor told me that if I would have lived in early America that I would have been dead by now. It’s not exactly the message one expects when going for an optometrist appointment.
He thought of two good reasons why my life would have ended early. For one, I couldn’t see well enough to know if someone was approaching from behind. And, secondly, he thought some clan would love to have my scalp.
Nice. A year later, I still remember the conversation vividly. He always wanted to have these in-depth discussions about my demise in another time and place when I could barely see him. Once arriving at the eye doctor’s office, contacts are removed so tests can be done for glaucoma, etc. From that point on, everything is a blur — seriously. I can only see for about six inches and then it all fades off into continual haze.
This year I kept my glasses in my car so I would have them to wear after taking out my contacts. It seemed like a good plan, until I drove the truck that day.
So here I sit again in a waiting room, not even knowing if the people a few chairs over have made eye contact or given me any signs of nonverbal communication. I gave an uneasy smile entering the room and pretended to read the paper on my lap. I could see their fuzzy outlines, but that was it. Luckily, the doctor called my name.
This time, it was the previous doctor’s daughter. I told her the story about my demise. She laughed, adding that he’d tell me the same if I ever had a caesarean delivery in childbirth. Apparently, he likes to remind people of the wonders of modern science and technology by constant reminders that the option years ago could have been death instead.
While she didn’t continue with his stories, she did confirm that I do have poor eyesight. She asked for my contacts. I told her I thought they were on the other side of the room, but she’d have to tell me.
Soon, she returned my “eyes” with a fresh pair of contacts. If you want to convince me about the wonders of modern technology, just put my contacts back. For me, seeing is believing.
As I think about the potential scalping I might have experienced at the hands of an expert hunter, I realize that it could have been different. I’m sure my excellent olfactory senses would have alerted me to dangers. It’s not like I would wander to the edge of the corn field anyway ... unless a squirrel might have crossed my path.
I went to the eye doctor last week. I’ve been going to the same optometrist’s office since I was eight years old. Yeah, that’s been a while. I used to hear the same news every year. “Your eyes are a little worse than last year.”
I refused the glasses until fourth grade. Then, it became necessary. When I turned 16, though, I didn’t want a car for my birthday. I wanted contacts.
Some seven years ago, I became introduced to night and day lenses. That means they can be worn for a month and then just thrown away. I prefer it that way. Now, every time I open my eyes I can see. I don’t have to search for glasses in the dark. I don’t have to try and fumble my way through the house.
The truth is that my eyesight is terrible. Last year my doctor told me that if I would have lived in early America that I would have been dead by now. It’s not exactly the message one expects when going for an optometrist appointment.
He thought of two good reasons why my life would have ended early. For one, I couldn’t see well enough to know if someone was approaching from behind. And, secondly, he thought some clan would love to have my scalp.
Nice. A year later, I still remember the conversation vividly. He always wanted to have these in-depth discussions about my demise in another time and place when I could barely see him. Once arriving at the eye doctor’s office, contacts are removed so tests can be done for glaucoma, etc. From that point on, everything is a blur — seriously. I can only see for about six inches and then it all fades off into continual haze.
This year I kept my glasses in my car so I would have them to wear after taking out my contacts. It seemed like a good plan, until I drove the truck that day.
So here I sit again in a waiting room, not even knowing if the people a few chairs over have made eye contact or given me any signs of nonverbal communication. I gave an uneasy smile entering the room and pretended to read the paper on my lap. I could see their fuzzy outlines, but that was it. Luckily, the doctor called my name.
This time, it was the previous doctor’s daughter. I told her the story about my demise. She laughed, adding that he’d tell me the same if I ever had a caesarean delivery in childbirth. Apparently, he likes to remind people of the wonders of modern science and technology by constant reminders that the option years ago could have been death instead.
While she didn’t continue with his stories, she did confirm that I do have poor eyesight. She asked for my contacts. I told her I thought they were on the other side of the room, but she’d have to tell me.
Soon, she returned my “eyes” with a fresh pair of contacts. If you want to convince me about the wonders of modern technology, just put my contacts back. For me, seeing is believing.
As I think about the potential scalping I might have experienced at the hands of an expert hunter, I realize that it could have been different. I’m sure my excellent olfactory senses would have alerted me to dangers. It’s not like I would wander to the edge of the corn field anyway ... unless a squirrel might have crossed my path.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
A Toast to Fewer Canker Sores
A friend of mine called with a rather excited message the other day. Finally, her braces are removed. I’ve never really seen cards for such occasions. But it definitely was a moment that deserved attention.
“Have fun licking your teeth tonight,” I told her.
She said, “Oh, I have been. How did you know?” Really I have no guide. I never wore braces. Yet, I would expect that one would eventually miss running the tongue along the teeth. Do you think I could have found a card with the same sentiments? Or perhaps “a toast to fewer canker sores” inside a card?
Years ago I had a dream of becoming a greeting card writer. Of course, I never pursued it. I just think a niche market exists out there of strange card reasonings.
Picture it: “Congratulations,” the outside of the card notes. Inside: “For taking six years to complete a two-year degree. That’s a valuable education for sure!”
The other day I went to the greeting card aisle of a local store looking for a thank-you note to provide to my god parents from my cat. My family took a few different trips this summer that required us to be away from home for multiple days. They agreed to feed Darrell, our cat. I never found a card from him to them, so I improvised. I just wrote a message from the cat to them. I signed with a paw print. I thought about trying to get him to actually sign with a print, but decided he really wouldn’t be in the mood for such an experience. Probably one can find cards from animals. I would expect those do exist in some stores.
The options for greetings have improved. During my husband’s birthday celebration this year, the inundation of cards included one that had a redneck sitting on his porch saying, “Bigger is better. Think about it.” Inside: “Trucks, dogs, etc. Happy Birthday, big guy!” He even had a card from the perspective of a roll of toilet paper. Sitting on the countertop by the toilet, it has a speech block saying, “And you thought your job was bad ...” I adore such creativity. A friend sent me a note the other day saying, “We’ll be friends until we can’t remember how old we are.” Inside: “In fact, that may be now. What are we? 26? Around 26. Maybe 25.” Well, not hardly on that whole age aspect.
As I listened to a cd today, I heard a wonderful song entitled, “The Time In Between.” The thought crossed my mind that we should create a greeting card for church goers. “For the time in between ... Sunday services...” Inside: “May you behave the same as you do while being nice at church.”
A whole series of “For the time in between” could be created.
“For the time in between ... entering WalMart and leaving it...” Inside: “May you remember to abide by your shopping list and not be swayed by falling prices.”
“For the time in between ... lunch and dinner...” Inside: “May you remember that your body knows such thing as ‘sneaking’ food. It tells all.”
“For the time in between ... the first piano lesson and the first symphony...” Inside: “Remember that ear plugs aren’t a bad sign from family members.”
“For the time in between ... school is out and school starts...” Inside: “Remember it is the favorite time of year for children.”
“For the time in between ... starting a job and finding another...” Inside: “At least you are getting a paycheck.”
Oh, I could go on and on. Some, however, should probably not leave my mind. So for the time in between this and the launch of my card series ... imagine for yourself.
“Have fun licking your teeth tonight,” I told her.
She said, “Oh, I have been. How did you know?” Really I have no guide. I never wore braces. Yet, I would expect that one would eventually miss running the tongue along the teeth. Do you think I could have found a card with the same sentiments? Or perhaps “a toast to fewer canker sores” inside a card?
Years ago I had a dream of becoming a greeting card writer. Of course, I never pursued it. I just think a niche market exists out there of strange card reasonings.
Picture it: “Congratulations,” the outside of the card notes. Inside: “For taking six years to complete a two-year degree. That’s a valuable education for sure!”
The other day I went to the greeting card aisle of a local store looking for a thank-you note to provide to my god parents from my cat. My family took a few different trips this summer that required us to be away from home for multiple days. They agreed to feed Darrell, our cat. I never found a card from him to them, so I improvised. I just wrote a message from the cat to them. I signed with a paw print. I thought about trying to get him to actually sign with a print, but decided he really wouldn’t be in the mood for such an experience. Probably one can find cards from animals. I would expect those do exist in some stores.
The options for greetings have improved. During my husband’s birthday celebration this year, the inundation of cards included one that had a redneck sitting on his porch saying, “Bigger is better. Think about it.” Inside: “Trucks, dogs, etc. Happy Birthday, big guy!” He even had a card from the perspective of a roll of toilet paper. Sitting on the countertop by the toilet, it has a speech block saying, “And you thought your job was bad ...” I adore such creativity. A friend sent me a note the other day saying, “We’ll be friends until we can’t remember how old we are.” Inside: “In fact, that may be now. What are we? 26? Around 26. Maybe 25.” Well, not hardly on that whole age aspect.
As I listened to a cd today, I heard a wonderful song entitled, “The Time In Between.” The thought crossed my mind that we should create a greeting card for church goers. “For the time in between ... Sunday services...” Inside: “May you behave the same as you do while being nice at church.”
A whole series of “For the time in between” could be created.
“For the time in between ... entering WalMart and leaving it...” Inside: “May you remember to abide by your shopping list and not be swayed by falling prices.”
“For the time in between ... lunch and dinner...” Inside: “May you remember that your body knows such thing as ‘sneaking’ food. It tells all.”
“For the time in between ... the first piano lesson and the first symphony...” Inside: “Remember that ear plugs aren’t a bad sign from family members.”
“For the time in between ... school is out and school starts...” Inside: “Remember it is the favorite time of year for children.”
“For the time in between ... starting a job and finding another...” Inside: “At least you are getting a paycheck.”
Oh, I could go on and on. Some, however, should probably not leave my mind. So for the time in between this and the launch of my card series ... imagine for yourself.
Back to Camp
I almost forgot what it was like to be a teenage girl. True, it has been quite a while. That reminds me of the upcoming class reunion I should help plan. No reason to say how many years.
Anyway, I spent a week this summer at camp, staying in the dorms with girls ranging in age from seven to 19. What an experience!
I used to say that girls are mean, especially teenage girls. They like to fight constantly. They like to judge one another. They rarely forgive, and never forget. I had to change my opinion.
The girls at this church camp were exceptional. Each age group helped the ones younger than it. They showed compassion on those who had less. They demonstrated patience with those whose mannerisms weren’t always suitable. And, most importantly, they requested forgiveness openly when they had frustrated one another.
The first camp rule was respect. One word. Simply stated. We should live each day of our lives with this as the number one rule to follow. Respect each other and each other’s belongings.
Any problems that resulted during camp were first sent through a mentor. All younger boys and girls had older teens to serve as their mentors. Talk about role models. If a problem needed to go beyond that mentor, it went before the entire camp.
It could have been as simple as cutting line on multiple occasions. As one teenage boy discovered, it resulted in an apology to the entire camp ... and the opportunity to lead worship circle that night.
Other apologies came from smacking someone when they wouldn’t listen, or threatening to stab someone’s hand at dinnertime with a fork. Of course, some were in jest but the idea was sincere. If in any way I have hurt your feelings, I apologize. If in any way I have publicly or even privately embarrassed you, I apologize. If we simply had a misunderstanding, I apologize.
Why do we find it so hard to say we are sorry or to admit that we are wrong? I saw the benefits of it last week. I saw masses of youth flock to an altar to say the same to God. The result was beautiful.
No, we are not perfect. Yes, we may hurt someone’s feelings each day. That is no reason to become calloused to our actions. It is not a permission slip to just keep on doing it because it is too late to stop now.
It is never too late to change. It is never too late to ask for forgiveness. It produces a refreshing attitude that one just has to share with others.
While I had little sleep last week, I didn’t even feel tired. The enthusiasm of the activities and the learning that was involved in this camp provided enough momentum to allow me to be fully energized.
I spent hours studying so I could teach others. The greatest lessons, however, were shown to me by those who some would have thought knew the least. We can learn so much in humility. I am thankful for the opportunity I had to serve these youth and maybe teach them a thing or two along the way. I can guarantee you that they taught me so much more.
Anyway, I spent a week this summer at camp, staying in the dorms with girls ranging in age from seven to 19. What an experience!
I used to say that girls are mean, especially teenage girls. They like to fight constantly. They like to judge one another. They rarely forgive, and never forget. I had to change my opinion.
The girls at this church camp were exceptional. Each age group helped the ones younger than it. They showed compassion on those who had less. They demonstrated patience with those whose mannerisms weren’t always suitable. And, most importantly, they requested forgiveness openly when they had frustrated one another.
The first camp rule was respect. One word. Simply stated. We should live each day of our lives with this as the number one rule to follow. Respect each other and each other’s belongings.
Any problems that resulted during camp were first sent through a mentor. All younger boys and girls had older teens to serve as their mentors. Talk about role models. If a problem needed to go beyond that mentor, it went before the entire camp.
It could have been as simple as cutting line on multiple occasions. As one teenage boy discovered, it resulted in an apology to the entire camp ... and the opportunity to lead worship circle that night.
Other apologies came from smacking someone when they wouldn’t listen, or threatening to stab someone’s hand at dinnertime with a fork. Of course, some were in jest but the idea was sincere. If in any way I have hurt your feelings, I apologize. If in any way I have publicly or even privately embarrassed you, I apologize. If we simply had a misunderstanding, I apologize.
Why do we find it so hard to say we are sorry or to admit that we are wrong? I saw the benefits of it last week. I saw masses of youth flock to an altar to say the same to God. The result was beautiful.
No, we are not perfect. Yes, we may hurt someone’s feelings each day. That is no reason to become calloused to our actions. It is not a permission slip to just keep on doing it because it is too late to stop now.
It is never too late to change. It is never too late to ask for forgiveness. It produces a refreshing attitude that one just has to share with others.
While I had little sleep last week, I didn’t even feel tired. The enthusiasm of the activities and the learning that was involved in this camp provided enough momentum to allow me to be fully energized.
I spent hours studying so I could teach others. The greatest lessons, however, were shown to me by those who some would have thought knew the least. We can learn so much in humility. I am thankful for the opportunity I had to serve these youth and maybe teach them a thing or two along the way. I can guarantee you that they taught me so much more.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Learning to Save
I thought about the responsibilities of parenting earlier today while listening to the radio. Apparently today is Teach Your Children to Save Day, a time when parents are encouraged to teach their children about saving money.
One lady told of her strict guidelines. Her children receive a dollar a week for every year of their age. So a seven year old would get seven dollars a week. From that money, she requires the child to put 10 percent back as tithes, another 30 percent away for college, and 40 percent is allocated for savings. That leaves the child with 20 percent “for fun.” What this means, though, is that the child only gets $1.40 per week to spend at will.
It is an interesting idea, but I am not capable of being that strict with my own funds. If I only had 20 percent of my paycheck left each week, I wouldn’t even have enough money to go to the grocery store, let alone pay bills.
I will agree, though, that teaching one’s child to save is part of that responsibility as a parent. Money cannot be simply thrown away or spent on useless items. It should be invested into something.
My elder son, Creed, is seven. Last year, he spent nine months saving money to buy himself a Nintendo DS. I gave him plenty of opportunities to earn money, but it was up to him to decide if he wanted to earn it and whether or not he would save it back for the video game player he wanted. It was a very good lesson for him. He didn’t always want to make his bed or put away his clothes. On those days, he didn’t receive any financial reward, just as most adults don’t when they decide they don’t want to go to work. And, sometimes, he decided to buy something with his money – like a toy he only played with a few times. Eventually, he began to realize that saving for something bigger and better that definitely had a longer life expectancy might be the right choice.
When the day came for him to buy his DS, I fronted extra cash to get him a game to play in it. He handed the money to the cashier himself and told the cashier just how long he had been saving. For that reason, he takes better care of that game system than what he would if he had not earned it.
Even his younger brother realizes the effort. For that reason, my four-year-old son is now saving for a DS. He doesn’t plan on waiting until he is seven to get it.
I decided to try this approach when thinking about the times that I earned money to make purchases in my younger years. I once saved enough pennies to buy myself a garment bag for traveling. On another occasion, I saved every bit of money possible to buy myself an expensive pair of tennis shoes. I soon realized the shoes weren’t worth the $130 it cost to have them as my own. I never again spent that much money on shoes.
As a society, we seem to believe that debt is okay and not saving is the norm. It isn’t the way to a successful future, though. Nor is it a way to be a good steward of money.
Recently, I was encouraged by Creed’s ability to use money properly. I guess the DS lesson continues to stick with him.
I sent Creed to the circus with $20 last week. He asked for the money so he could buy himself something. I granted his wish as a result of good behavior (the whole rewards system). I actually thought to myself after he had gone to school that I hoped a lot of the merchandise wasn’t over the $20 limit Creed had. When I picked him up that evening, he confessed he didn’t buy anything for his brother. I told him that was fine, as I didn’t even expect him to do so. He said he used his money on someone else instead. I questioned to find out more. He said he bought a tiger cub-shaped cup with ice cream in it for $10. When he realized someone else watching the circus only had a nickel, he bought that young friend the same thing he had. After all, he told me, 10 plus 10 equals 20. He shared half of what he was given with someone else. I was extremely happy with him.
I may not be strict in forcing him to save for college or putting 40 percent of his money into a savings account, but the objective of teaching him to be a good steward of money is definitely a productive one.
One lady told of her strict guidelines. Her children receive a dollar a week for every year of their age. So a seven year old would get seven dollars a week. From that money, she requires the child to put 10 percent back as tithes, another 30 percent away for college, and 40 percent is allocated for savings. That leaves the child with 20 percent “for fun.” What this means, though, is that the child only gets $1.40 per week to spend at will.
It is an interesting idea, but I am not capable of being that strict with my own funds. If I only had 20 percent of my paycheck left each week, I wouldn’t even have enough money to go to the grocery store, let alone pay bills.
I will agree, though, that teaching one’s child to save is part of that responsibility as a parent. Money cannot be simply thrown away or spent on useless items. It should be invested into something.
My elder son, Creed, is seven. Last year, he spent nine months saving money to buy himself a Nintendo DS. I gave him plenty of opportunities to earn money, but it was up to him to decide if he wanted to earn it and whether or not he would save it back for the video game player he wanted. It was a very good lesson for him. He didn’t always want to make his bed or put away his clothes. On those days, he didn’t receive any financial reward, just as most adults don’t when they decide they don’t want to go to work. And, sometimes, he decided to buy something with his money – like a toy he only played with a few times. Eventually, he began to realize that saving for something bigger and better that definitely had a longer life expectancy might be the right choice.
When the day came for him to buy his DS, I fronted extra cash to get him a game to play in it. He handed the money to the cashier himself and told the cashier just how long he had been saving. For that reason, he takes better care of that game system than what he would if he had not earned it.
Even his younger brother realizes the effort. For that reason, my four-year-old son is now saving for a DS. He doesn’t plan on waiting until he is seven to get it.
I decided to try this approach when thinking about the times that I earned money to make purchases in my younger years. I once saved enough pennies to buy myself a garment bag for traveling. On another occasion, I saved every bit of money possible to buy myself an expensive pair of tennis shoes. I soon realized the shoes weren’t worth the $130 it cost to have them as my own. I never again spent that much money on shoes.
As a society, we seem to believe that debt is okay and not saving is the norm. It isn’t the way to a successful future, though. Nor is it a way to be a good steward of money.
Recently, I was encouraged by Creed’s ability to use money properly. I guess the DS lesson continues to stick with him.
I sent Creed to the circus with $20 last week. He asked for the money so he could buy himself something. I granted his wish as a result of good behavior (the whole rewards system). I actually thought to myself after he had gone to school that I hoped a lot of the merchandise wasn’t over the $20 limit Creed had. When I picked him up that evening, he confessed he didn’t buy anything for his brother. I told him that was fine, as I didn’t even expect him to do so. He said he used his money on someone else instead. I questioned to find out more. He said he bought a tiger cub-shaped cup with ice cream in it for $10. When he realized someone else watching the circus only had a nickel, he bought that young friend the same thing he had. After all, he told me, 10 plus 10 equals 20. He shared half of what he was given with someone else. I was extremely happy with him.
I may not be strict in forcing him to save for college or putting 40 percent of his money into a savings account, but the objective of teaching him to be a good steward of money is definitely a productive one.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
To Freeze or Not
A news report the other day declares that we are getting ever closer to cryogenics becoming a common choice for those who die.
Don’t bury me. Don’t incinerate me and then spread my ashes over the ocean or my favorite tree. Instead, freeze me until a different period in time.
I would never choose such an option. I just don’t have the same desire as Walt Disney.
But, as I thought about this story, my mind began to consider Jack on Titanic. It still bothers me that he froze in that cold water. Sure, his relationship with Rose most likely would have been short lived. He was her liberator. He helped her leave the riches of life to become what she always wanted. Part of her would always love him for that, but she might have just viewed him as a passionate rebound relationship and moved on to other men. Who knows? We never had the opportunity to see that part of their lives or even imagine it. Instead, he never left the ocean. His liberation was the boat and his moments of happiness with Rose.
All these years after that movie came out, I wonder if she could have saved him. The scene where she breaks his frozen hands from the driftwood on which she was floating in the ocean frustrates me. He might have been frozen, but the boat was there to save them. Why didn’t she drag his frozen body with her. He might have been able to thaw.
You see, I had guppies one time that froze when we left home for the weekend. Such is the joy of having a wood stove for a heat supply. Soon, when the fire goes out, everything becomes quite cold in the blistery winter temperatures. My guppies didn’t die. They seem to have just been dormant for a time.
I also froze a bird one time. Same situation. Heat supply gone. Bird freezes. Don’t call PETA on me. The bird lived. He seemed to be fine, until a cat tempted him to come a little too low to the ground. The cat did not have the bird’s best intentions in mind.
So, what about Jack? I would have attempted to thaw him. They could have had many more wonderful experiences together ... at least an opportunity for them. Regardless, I just didn’t like the part where she knocks his hands off the driftwood and pushes him down into the ocean waters to be gone forever.
Cryogenics ... I wouldn’t choose it ... but Jack could might have been a good candidate.
Don’t bury me. Don’t incinerate me and then spread my ashes over the ocean or my favorite tree. Instead, freeze me until a different period in time.
I would never choose such an option. I just don’t have the same desire as Walt Disney.
But, as I thought about this story, my mind began to consider Jack on Titanic. It still bothers me that he froze in that cold water. Sure, his relationship with Rose most likely would have been short lived. He was her liberator. He helped her leave the riches of life to become what she always wanted. Part of her would always love him for that, but she might have just viewed him as a passionate rebound relationship and moved on to other men. Who knows? We never had the opportunity to see that part of their lives or even imagine it. Instead, he never left the ocean. His liberation was the boat and his moments of happiness with Rose.
All these years after that movie came out, I wonder if she could have saved him. The scene where she breaks his frozen hands from the driftwood on which she was floating in the ocean frustrates me. He might have been frozen, but the boat was there to save them. Why didn’t she drag his frozen body with her. He might have been able to thaw.
You see, I had guppies one time that froze when we left home for the weekend. Such is the joy of having a wood stove for a heat supply. Soon, when the fire goes out, everything becomes quite cold in the blistery winter temperatures. My guppies didn’t die. They seem to have just been dormant for a time.
I also froze a bird one time. Same situation. Heat supply gone. Bird freezes. Don’t call PETA on me. The bird lived. He seemed to be fine, until a cat tempted him to come a little too low to the ground. The cat did not have the bird’s best intentions in mind.
So, what about Jack? I would have attempted to thaw him. They could have had many more wonderful experiences together ... at least an opportunity for them. Regardless, I just didn’t like the part where she knocks his hands off the driftwood and pushes him down into the ocean waters to be gone forever.
Cryogenics ... I wouldn’t choose it ... but Jack could might have been a good candidate.
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