ex(PR)essed

I was sad to hear the news that GM was going to eliminate the Pontiac brand in its efforts to reduce costs. My first two cars were Pontiacs, and if they held their value better, Jeff and I would be driving a Vibe now instead of a Honda Civic.

When I got my license, I was the fourth Bertram to sit behind the wheel of a 1985 (or was it an 86?) Pontiac Firebird. The car had been my Aunt Susan’s, and when she was killed suddenly in a car accident, my grandparents gave the car to my brother. He drove it throughout his time at Nyack College, and then got a new car –another Pontiac, by the way! By then, all of us were pretty attached to this car and the sentimental value of it having belonged to my aunt, so my dad started driving around town. When I got my license (after learning to drive on my mom’s Pontiac Grand Prix), I learned to drive a stick, and then I, too, drove (and loved) the Firebird until I got a new car — a 1996 (or was it a 97?) Pontiac Sunfire.

I loved my Sunfire. I cried, literally, when I traded it in for a Honda CRV. The people at the car dealership certainly thought I was a ridiculous, overly emotional girl. But, in the Bertram family, you love and cherish your cars. You don’t eat in them; you wash them on Sundays; and you care for them in ways that most people would never dream of. Therefore, after pouring all that time and attention into your vehicle, you tend to get a little attached!

It’s funny though — I never got attached to my CRV, and when I traded it in, I didn’t even look back. I guess there’s just something about Pontiacs.

I live in a neighborhood adjacent to a large retirement village called Bethany Village. The location has advantages, including plenty of areas to walk. Yesterday afternoon, my cute mom and I walked the trail around the newest section of the retirement community, and then stopped to visit the Koi pond so I could check on the fish.

Last summer, Jeff and I started taking our stale or moldy bread over to the small pond and feeding the fish. For those of you know me at all, you won’t be suprised to hear that I got attached to the little critters, and, off and on all winter, I wondered how they were surviving the cold. I looked forward to seeing and feeding them again in nicer weather. (And, I can hardly wait to take Baby Lorow on walks to see the fish this fall!)

Jeff and I “visited” the fish last week and found the pond looking a bit sparse (no vegetation), but the fish looking healthy. They swam right over to us and began begging…it was just like old times.

Yesterday afternoon, however, when my mom and I stopped to see the fish, we observed an orange one with a terrible growth on it, sunken to the bottom in an area all by itself. We watched it for quite awhile, noticing that it always avoided the others and seemed quite lethargic.

Now…I have a compassionate spirit when it comes to animals. I don’t like the circle of life. I don’t want to hear about deplorable conditions at chicken farms; I don’t like mounted animal heads on people’s living room wall; and I don’t support our youth group boys who think it’s “fun” to randomly shoot groundhogs and squirrels. I also don’t throw paint on people who wear fur, and I’m not a vegetarian, so I understand animals’ places in God’s kindgom. But I still don’t like to see them suffer (I don’t think God does either as they are his marvelous creation as well), and I don’t want to know anything about them being harmed. (Remember, empathy is one of my top five strengths. Apparently that’s not just empathy for humans but for animals as well!)

So, mom and I head home, and I tell both Jeff and my dad about this sick fish. Both are completely unconcerned. We eat dinner, and at the end of the meal, there is one piece of sourdough bread left. I decide that it might be a nice treat for the sick fish. It’s almost dark outside, but mom and I put on our shoes and jackets and bustle over to the pond. (My mom is a wonderfully good sport with a good, kind heart!) It takes us awhile to locate our sick fish — it’s so dark that we can barely see more than a foot or two into the pond. But, we do find the little guy — still off by itself — and start to throw bread its way. The poor thing would gobble up a piece and then spit it back out. It just didn’t seem to have the energy to eat. Heartbreaking.

When I left for work this morning, my mom was setting off to check on our fish. I’m not hopeful that she’ll find him in any better condition this morning than he was last night. I suspect he has an advanced case of ich, and I hope the disease won’t affect the entire pond.

I’ve loved a few fish in my time — in particular my college betas Hamlet and Naaman — who both eventually succumbed to ich, a prevelant disease in the fish community. I’m afraid that I will find that this sick Bethany Village fish will suffer a similar fate, though I doubt the maintenance staff will give the fish a proper burial like we did with mine. To this day, a small cross marks the burial of both Hammy and Naaman outside my bedroom window at home.

Well, it’s another dreary, rainy day in central Pennsylvania. Spring is certainly off to a slow start. The flowers are blooming and the trees are budding, but the weather has been mostly cool and wet. It’s safe to say that I’m not the only one with a major hankering for spring!

Let the randomness begin:

I have three lamps in my office. By using them, I avoid the unflattering and eye-straining glare of the overhead flourescent lights. On Monday, two of the bulbs burned out, and yesterday the third one gave out. Amazing timing, don’t you think?

Jeff and I had a pretty low-key, relaxing Easter weekend. This year, we enjoyed Easter dinner with a group of 13 other “orphans,” meaning those who were without biological family nearby to celebrate the holiday with. Let me tell you though, there was a definite sense of family around the table as we enjoyed a delicious Easter potluck at Ruth and Terry’s. What wonderful, gracious hosts to exchange a restful Sunday afternoon for a hectic house full of people. We felt blessed to celebrate the Savior amongst such loving friends.

I’m totally having one of those weeks where I’m feeling a bit overcommited. Of course, it’s all good stuff, but it’s taking its toll nonetheless. Evening commitments on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday and hosting company on Saturday might be a bit too much. Note to self.

One wonderful stress reliever about this week was the season premier of “Deadliest Catch” last night. Jeff and I have been anticipating the return on this show for months, and we were in place right at 9 p.m. to see the new season get started. I could hardly stand the suspense of whether Phil would skipper the Cornelia Marie this king crab season after this terrible health issues last season. I’m disappointed that the boat left the dock without him…it won’t be the same, for sure. And, while I certainly don’t wish Keith any harm (he had both a scare with cancer and a head injury last night), I could do with him and the Wizard getting considerably less air time. There, I said it. Mean? Maybe. Honest. Yes.