I am not too sure how to describe loving someone who lives 1,500 miles away, three hours by plane. A phone call away most of the time. I like to think I travel twice a year, to be with him for a week at a time, out of romance. In reality I am just bored. Sitting at an empty terminal yesterday, three hours early, I was only looking forward to the twenty to thirty minute drive to Iron Hill. Of course it didn't last long enough. I asked him to run by the store before heading home so I could pick up some lotion. I really just wanted that extra ten minutes alone with him in the car. When he took me to Italy that one summer I really just wanted to sit beside him on the Plane, the Train, and the Taxi. I miss being able to do Couple-ly things because we live so far apart. It is not so much attraction anymore, though I will promise him just about anything if he would just go around the block one more time "so I can listen to the rest of this song." He is an excellent cuddler too. He knows just how to position himself beside me and I instantly fall asleep, though I know that is not his intention. We've been dating for about five years now. I still don't tell people we met online.
Christmas seemed to have crept up on me this year, hiding behind my trip to Delaware on the 26th. I work the weekend of Christmas, oh...and the day of Christmas! My family has decided to open gifts Christmas Eve when I get off work. I don't particularly mind sitting at the Funeral Home on Christmas. I think I'll organize the chapel closet and disinfect the prep room. I think I just might straighten the rug in the back hall way, and while I'm back there I just might roleplay an Arrangement Conference in the Conference room.
Infront of me at the desk there'll be a middle aged woman, supported by her sister and her 23 year old daughter, it would be their mother that died, preceded in death only a year earlier by their father. The file for the father would be infront of me, as well as the empty one for the mother. I would tell them that we had handled their father's service a year earlier and I had the record of the service infront of me, if they were considering a similar arragement, "But tell me a little about your mother. I was told she was an avid Kayaker, is that correct?" Maybe they would laugh a little, or just smile behind the strain of suppressed tears. They would remember and tell me about the many years before when she would drag that kayak out of the garage and tie it down in the pick-up. Her husband was too afraid of what was under the water to accompany her down the river, but he waited at the end of the course with lunch waiting in the bed of the truck. Then they would remember how everything changed. By the time her husband died, their mother was under Hospice care and refused to be institutionalized. At her husband's visitation she sat in a chair beside the head of the casket until each visitor had left. She was presented with a flag at the Graveside Service the following morning, "On behalf of a grateful nation...". She cradled that flag in her lap for the rest of the day and lifted it slowly over her head to show the hospice nurse, proud of her husband's legacy. Her daughters wrung a few tissues in their hands and exclaimed how their mother did not look like herself. She spent her last year wasting away in her parlor. Her eyes were sunken and cold and her fragile bones were visible beneath her thinning flesh. They wondered if there might be anything we could do, because their father had looked amazing. I would explain to them that, with their permission, I was confident in the ability of the Service Center to recreate the natural fullness of her features that were present before her illness. I would explain to them the importance of personlization at a Funeral Service, that some families bring in dolls, blankets, books, or a favorite recliner to be displayed at the service. On the night of visitation the family would come to pay their respects an hour before the public viewing. They would exclaim how healthy she looks and remember how happy she was just to be with the family. As friends and distant family members arrived, they would point at the Kayak propped up against the backwall beside the casket and laugh, remembering how much she enjoyed the rapids.
I graduated at the tip top of my class yesterday. Sitting in the pew at the church I waited for my name to be called so I could walk across the stage and finally be rewarded for what I worked for so hard these past 15 months. The church was so warm and I was sweating bullets under my robe. I used my tassles to wipe sweat off my eyebrows and dab the excess oil from my cheeks. The tall one behind the podium called my name, annouced that I was being awarded an Associates Degree of Applied Science in Funeral Directing and that I was graduating with distinctions, Secretary and Treasurer of the Honor Society, and recipient of the McEwan and Moen Academic Achievement Award. I had already climbed the stairs and was halfway across the stage, standing infront of the bald one, and had to stall before shaking hands because the tall one had not finished announcing me yet. The awards were given out later and I was so proud of myself that I was not even disappointed that I didn't receive the Waltrip Award in which the class voted for the person they felt would make the best funeral director. Harris County Social Services awarded me and three other devoted students an award for volunteering at the Friday Funerals each Friday and providing outstanding support and services to those families who were not able to arrange or fund a Funeral Service. I was also awarded with the George R. Poston Scholarship. I think I am still suffering withdrawals from school and made myself alittle sick. I am still studying my butt off for the Boards next week.
I am uber awesome! I aced all the finals (that I've receive grades for anyways). Like yesterday, I made a 100 on the Embalming Final, and the highest grade of the class on the Chemistry Final which is a 98. On the Computers Final I made a 97, because there were only 30 questions. Today I took the Restorative Art Final, and I know I aced it; the Grief Final, another A for sure; and Accounting....this one scares me a bit. But if I make a B on the Accounting Final, I'll still maintain my A average for the class because I still have a 100 average in Accounting. I am going to miss school so much. Today was my last day.
I left school pretty early today so I stopped by the Bead Shop and looked for something to give to my friends as A-Ness good luck charms. I found the PERFECT thing! They are Jade beads. Jade means Good Luck or Good Fortune and this store had the cutest shapes. I found a Jade elephant, a heart, a decorative square and an oval looking thing with decorative carvings all over it. The beads are pretty big too, about the size of a quarter. I'll give them as gifts to my friends at Graduation so they'll have the charms for the National Board test.
There are going to be many different kinds of people at Graduation on Friday. Some students are going to make wonderful Funeral Directors. Others, not so much. There is one man, Mr.Stone, who thinks he is above everyone else and indirectly lets everybody know that his shit, in fact, does not stink. Today he brought a huge canvas and placed it in the front offices as "A Gift From J. Stone and the Fall Class of 2006", as he was too kind to put on the bottom of the painting. He had commissioned a painter to paint the Patron Saint of Funeral Directing....it was hideous! It looked like an Anime character! The background was painted bright yellow, too, and looked horrible with the Office decor. I actually asked Mr. Christie, my accounting teacher who I absolutely love, where they were going to put the painting: "Probably in the back closet...". Thing is, Mr. Stone should have asked for the class' input and not take it upon himself to present the staff with a gift. A good friend of mine has always felt sorry for Mr. Stone and befriended him earlier in the school year. Since then she has been blind to his deception and manipulation. This morning she actually said that she thought the painting looked beautiful....Uh, Hello?!
This past week at school was full of tests. The last embalming and grief test then the Comprehensive Test. The Comps test is made up of thirteen tests, one for each class we took since the beginning of the Specialized courses. It is divided into two sections: The science section and the Art section. I really didn't study too hard until Wednesday night when the tests started at 8 Thursday morning. I went through most of my notes and wrote down anything that I had already forgotten or might forget. I felt prepared. I owned this test. So 8 finally came around and I was wedged between Stephanie and Christy, both chattering nervously. Was I nervous about the test? Nope. But I could feel my breakfast digesting and I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to take my Gas-X. The vitamins I take make me a bit gaseous than normal so I make it a habit to take Gas-X after my vitamins to prevent Stomach yetis. The test was two hours long and I blew through most of the questions on the Arts portion without any Gastro-intestinal problems. I had the option to take a break before taking the sciences, but I went ahead and finished those tests as well. My stomach growled a few times but nothing that the incessant shuffling of papers in the classroom couldn't mask. I left school on Thursday a little concerned for the Business Law, Mortuary law, and Accounting Subtests. I did not study those notes because I wasn't able to find that journal. The Texas Law test was yesterday, administered by a member from the Texas Funeral Service Commision. The Law test was what everybody was stressed out about, but not me. It was open book which guaranteed it to be difficult and fifty questions long. I finished it in less than an hour and was able to find all the answers in the book, word for word, except for about 2 or three. I know I passed it. It was ridiculously easy. When I turned in my test, one of my classmates beside me was only on question 12!
Yesterday was considered Judgement day. Mr. Moen had already graded the Comps Test from the day before and we were to meet him in his office individually to receive the grades. Julie and I were finished with the Law test pretty early so nobody was there to witness me go to Moen's office. "Ms. Camp, go ahead and have a seat," as he leafed through a large stack of papers. He handed me one with my name on it and the thirteen classes we were tested over the day before. All A's, except four B's. "Ms. Camp, I want to congratulate you. Your score was the highest out of the graduating class." I was in shock, and I guess he noticed, "As you know we grade the Comps alittle differently, taking the percentage score and converting it into a Letter grade." He told me that the B's were actually high B's. I couldn't believe it. My score was the highest. My average on the Comps was an A. Still nobody was in the hall to witness me walk out of his office holding my Cap and Gown and yellow tassles. Except for my friend Stephani (the liar) who walked into his office immediately after I left. She looked scared to death. I decided not to stay for the free pizza provided by the school, I knew that most of the people in class did not fair as well as I did and I didn't want to be plagued by emotional leeches when I had all the right in the world to be proud of myself and nauseatingly happy. Plus, I don't think I would have been very sincere or consoling had one of my good friends failed. Julie called me as I was heading home and told me that she had passed as well, but Stephani did not. If you failed then you don't get to walk at graudation (next Friday) unless you make up the portion of the test that you failed.
It is apart of some unwritten law that Sundays are supposed to be uneventful. Not too long ago I remember Sunday as a day of last freedroms before returning to school. I would sit infront of the TV most the day watching either Hallmark or Lifetime movies and do nothing. But it was okay to do nothing because it was Sunday and at the end of the day, when the family was sitting at the table or in the car to pick up Fast-food for dinner, my dad would always complain because he felt like he accomplished nothing, though he had nothing he needed to get done. Things have changed quite a bit and now, at 10 am on a Sunday morning, I am sitting behind a desk speaking with a man over the phone who just lost his daughter, a still birth. Only an hour before this heartbreaking phone call I spoke with another man who lost his mother earlier this morning. As of right now I am waiting for the charge nurse to call me back with information concerning the infant. The parents are considering a traditional service and visitation with a viewing and have requested for their daughter to be embalmed. Just a few years ago when a couple lost their child during birth they were not given the option for a funeral and the fetus was treated as medical waste. Now, nurses and doctors are making the family aware of their choices for a funeral service and even provide copies of price lists for different funeral homes.
There was a problem this morning concerning the validity of the release information that I received from the first family that called this morning. The death occured at the family's residence and in order for the decedent to be taken into our care either a hospice nurse, physician, or police officer must be present at the home. I was not aware of that until I spoke with the embalming service, who are always very helpful, and the man helping me finally verified that the hospice nurse was at the residence and that the body was able to be transfered. Not even twenty minutes after resolving this problem the phone rang again. I picked up thinking it was probably the embalming service telling me they were enroute. On the other end of the line I heard a man choke and try to speak as if something was lodged in his throat. I listened quietly and was finally able to make it out "My wife and I...our daughter...she died in the womb. I was told to call you." I didn't know what to say. Did she have a name? A social security number? Is there a date of death if she was never alive? I am looking over the first call sheet and suddenly the 2nd line rings and the father is placed on hold (I hate doing that!). Now it's another family price shopping and I tell them that I am on the other line with a family and if I could call them back. They understand and tell me not to worry about it, that they'll call back later this afternoon. This gave me a few seconds to stall and come up with some questions. I take the father off hold: "Did you and your wife have a name for your daughter?" and I write it down. The name seemed to me to be the most valuable information to have. I was given the number for the nurse's station and was transferred several times till I got a hold of the Charge Nurse who was extremely helpful and will call me back as soon as she knows where the baby will be taken.
I have been here at the Funeral Home since 1 this afternoon and will not be able to leave until after 9, though I enjoy being here. I work both Saturday and Sunday this weekend, both 10 hours each, which is a god send since it will really give the the opportunity to study. It is the little things that make me appreciate working in a funeral home. Just a few minutes ago I was finishing typing up a practice test for Embalming III next week and all of a sudden I hear a choir in perfect harmony. Because the visitation was slowing down I had turned off the camera in the chapel, but as I hear the music I grow a bit concerned and turn it back on. I have a perfect view of the first few pews and Mrs. R laying in state in her beautiful mother of pearl casket with the rose corners. I notice a few people standing infront of their pews and Mrs. R's daughter at the podium. I venture out of the office and stand at the chapel doors behind the many family and friends that came to pay their respects. It was exactly seven o-clock and the family had evidently secretly arranged to hold their own service. The daughter led the congregation through several songs and prayers but it wasn't until the priest stepped up the mic that I wondered if they might appreciate the mic actually being on...I was debating wether to ask the daughter if she would like it on or not...then I just said "hell with it" and very sloooowly turned the volume up on the mic. To make it very subtle I turned it back down, till the woman tapped it, then I turned it back up again to make it look like technical difficulties. The rest of the service went smoothly. I have about an hour left tonight then I have to go take care of a few animals at my old job, my old boss still calls me every once in a while when they go out of town and I can get another 100 dollars just to talk to parrots.
I just cracked open three fortune cookies and, having relied on the short proverbs to guide me through life inbetween visits to chinese restaurants, I feel as if I have been let down tonight. I have so much going on these next few weeks and I was depending on atleast one of these three cookies to advise me that it is harder to conceal ignorance than it is knowledge; or that anybody with money to burn will easily find somebody to tend the fire; or at first if I don't succeed, to redefine success. All the fortunes tonight fixated on boosting my self-esteem, though it doesn't need boosting!
You have so much to be thankful for.
You have a great ability to focus on the big picture and not get lost in the details.
You will soon be reminded of a fond memory.
But I did find a fortune laying on the floor in my bedroom and it was perfect! Very little is needed to make a happy life. It's exactly what a fortune should be. Since I just found this one on the floor then it must be valid,too. I must have received it at the chinese restaurant last time I went and on the way out, in order to initiate the cookie's fortune, I rubbed the Buddha belly. I know there must be like a 24 hour limit to the fortune and I probably can't recharge the same fortune unless I found the same one in a seperate cookie and rubbed the Buddha belly, but maybe if I just hold on to this particular fortune it will regain its power. I don't know if fortunes do that. It couldn't hurt. OH! Even better! I can give it to my friend at graduation as an A-ness token.
I might have to explain the A-ness token thing. Okay. So when we first started school in the general education courses I made all A's on the tests and in order to pass this good luck to my closest friends they would touch my writing hand (right) to receive a smidgen of my A-ness. Now, in class, it formed into a huge joke because it sounded like I was saying "Christi, do you want my Anus?" And to this day, the second to the last week of school, my A-ness remains lucky. Christi told me that, since she'll probably take her Board Exams after graduation which is the last time I see her, I will have to give her my A-ness in the form of a goodluck token. I think this fortune that I found on my floor will be perfect. There is a laminating machine at work, I could probably even laminate it.
Look at this virtual fortune cookie, now it probably won't work unless you can find a Buddha belly to rub. Happy Buddha hunting.
The girl I sit beside at school, Stefani, is always lying. Some are little lies that she'll say just to get some attention, such as pouring soup on her ex-boyfriend's lap (if she even had a boyfriend to begin with). Other lies are real extravagant with many details that she forgets real easily. I feel alittle sorry for her because I know she is craving attention, but she really doesn't need to lie because I like her just the way she is. Her lies are very creative though. Here are some of my favorites!
- She came to school real late one morning which isn't too surprising cause she had missed school practically the entire week. She lives only 8 minutes from the school and has to drive down 1960FM, one of the more congested roads in the morning. I asked if she had slept in again and she looked at me as if she might burst into tears at any second. "I ran over somebody's head this morning." For a second, all I could do was stare at her until I finally asked her to explain. She told me that a motorcyclist had been weaving in and out of her lane until finally settling infront of her and behind a U-haul van in which he could not see around. Just when the cyclist was looking behind him to change lanes again the U-haul made a quick stop at a red light. The motorcycle did not even have a chance to tap the breaks and the guy was thrown off on collision. Stefani, trying to swerve the motorcycle, accidently rolled over the guy's helmeted head. I sat down beside her and tried to console her, thinking the lack of emotions is actually shock. I stayed up past my bedtime of 9:00 to watch the news that night, knowing that the collision would be somewhere on one of the local news channels. Nothing. Stafani told me the next day that the guy was trying to sue her. A few months later after she stopped talking about it, another classmate asked her whatever happened to the motorcyclist. I was told that she looked confused and said "He died. I ran over his head. I killed him." She told me, that same day when I asked, that he was still trying to press charges.
- She told me once that she was attending court appointed therapy sessions because she had set someone on fire when she was younger.
- Today I had just got off the phone with my boyfriend, whom I call "poodle", and we go through this ritual of saying "Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, Bye bye" though of course I don't like to say it in public. I didn't really care about who heard today and I said it with only a bit of hesitation. Not two minutes after hanging up with Poodle, Stefani answers her phone, which didn't ring or light up or anything. I listen to her, since she is right beside me and she begins to laugh softly and say things like "Noo...not now. I don't want to", as if somebody on the other end is trying to get her to say something mushy. Then! She begins to say things in french, and at this point I am positive that she isn't talking to somebody because she has a Motorola Razor and Poodle does to and I can also understand the person that Poodle is talking to without being close to the phone. Then she says "This is america, speak english" and turns to me and Christi and asks "How do you say Dog in French" (Christi: "Poodle?" HAHA!) Christi has a better view of the phone's screen and assures me that the phone is off.
What is your stupid human trick?
Submitted by Scarlett.
I can make my arse vibrate. I can isolate my gluteus muscles while in a sitting position and the strain causes them to vibrate. This butt has not saved a life, nor has it performed any miracles. If deserted on an island I can't think of anyway this talent would save my life. There is no feasible way to harness my butt vibrating powers, therefore no evil mastermind would give a toot about my powers. If you have any questions about what else my vibrating butt cannot achieve, please leave a comment.
