Penguin Song

I witnessed an amazing sight today. While at work, I took a minute to watch the king penguins. All 11 were stationed loosely around the penguin exhibit. Then suddenly, one raised his head and sang a little tune. After he stopped, another took up the verse. One by one, the king penguins took turns throwing their heads back in song. This went on for about five minutes.

In watching this sign, I discovered a profound sense of unity and belonging. They are not the most social birds. They don't put on fancy displays with feathers or flying, kind of like us. But even after one gave up on his song, there was another penguin to add to it, and continue until the song found its way back to him.

Please know we are all interconnected. The actions we define ourselves with will send out songs. Someone on the other side of the world is listening in their heart, nodding in approval, waiting to join in.  Worldwide, we belong.

Sign You Weren't Meant to Get Ahead (Manatees)

Every now and then one of those comes along and just knocks us off our feet. Because if we had seen it coming, oh say in this form, we might have found a way around it.

No such luck. Here I am at the drawing board of my life again, and I find myself erasing, probably senselessly, all the things I see disappearing. But it's okay. My excuse: I wasn't meant to get ahead. And for the next few days that's how it will be. You don't just get up and waltz away from one of these wrecks. There are vertebrate and self-esteem to make sure are intact.

I suppose if I were to muse on it, the wreck I find myself in is probably my fault. Shouldn't have been in cruise control, applying lipgloss, singing to the radio, and arriving promptly at my long awaited destination looking marvelous.

Maybe I didn't see the signs. Maybe I didn't count my blessings. 

Or maybe this is a good sign. If I had flown by this in one piece, I might have missed the manatees. Sure they are not the cutest of creatures but HEY people used to think they were mermaids. And that's a good luck sign, right? And if I missed the manatees, I might have missed the dolphins, limbo happy hour, and who knows what else?!

It'll be a few days until I see those harbingers of good news, those manatees. Right now I'm busy at the drawing board, futilely attempting to reconstruct myself. There's not much else I can do right now in this ditch I'm in.  But perhaps once the rain eases, I'll be able to see the silver lining. And a rainbow? That's the best time to see manatees, so I've heard...

It Takes the Shirt Right Off Your Back

Life has some pretty high demands of me of late. But it's okay, I rise to the challenge.

http://www.newportaquarium.com/exhibitsshows/rainforest.aspx

One of the birds at my job forgot about the invention of glass, and how it isn't even slightly semi-permeable to birds.  She tried to fly through it with atomic force. In a stunned panic and unable to fly, she proceeded to scream and try to bite everyone around her. Knowing full well she could get hurt or stepped on, I raced over and tried to grab her. She wasn't able to fly to get away, but she was able to bite and yell. Knowing I couldn't leave her there, and seeing the crowd going, there was only one thing to do.  Off came my shirt (now everyone knows I like lacy purple undershirts and sharing secrets with Victoria), which I bundled the bird in and raced off to radio the biologists.

Sometimes life takes the shirt right off your back.  Sometimes there aren't any other options. Sometimes it is the only thing you have left to give. But I'd rather be without my shirt, in public, having done the right thing.  Perhaps there is someone watching, wearing two shirts, and ready to do the right thing as well.

Signs to learn from Mo, part I

One of my plethora of jobs is at an aquarium. I learned to love the fish, the cool touch of the acrylic behind my fingers, the moist air that encompasses me as I walk through the tunnels. First thing in the morning, before the aquarium opens to the public, before the ambiance music is turned on, there is a peacefulness.  It surrounds me and takes me in, like a secret.

I have almost an addiction to that tranquility. And I bought my very first (and then second) fish ever. He is a red crown tail betta named Mozart. Mo for short. He has a one gallon tank on my desk, with a color changing LED light. And now I have that peacefulness at home.  I turn off my lights, draw my black light curtains, turn up my fan, and turn on his light.  It's like magic.

People familiar with a certain popular kid's movie know the motto "Just keep swimming."  Mo has a different motto. He blows bubbles. (I assure you, this is very natural of betta fish, don't be concerned for him!) If I am not feeding him fast enough, he blows bubbles. When he entertains himself, he blows bubbles. The first thing he does when he is in a tiny holding tank while I clean his, is blow bubbles.

And I think it is very zen of him. He takes whatever it is that is getting his gills in a bundle, and just blows it out. Makes him feel better, even happy. If I could let go as easily as he does, just blow it all out, I'd probably enjoy the tank I'm residing in a little more. 
So tonight when I turn off all the lights, and watch the colors change in Mo's tank, that's what I'm going to do. And Mo will nod at me in response, and blow me a kiss, in the form of a bubble.