Thoughts of Paradise

One of the engineering managers greeted me as I was going for my second cup of coffee the other morning and I asked him how he was doing. His response was, “Another day in Paradise.” That gave me such a chuckle! Although the folks here are great and the work somewhat interesting, this is far from a sea shell littered beach on the equator. And as I walked back to my desk I thought of how I’d much rather be strolling carefree on a beach sifting through shells, as I used to as a kid, than drinking my second cup of coffee at the office.

My mind wandered for the rest of the day to thoughts and memories of beaches from vacations past, Sigh, what great memories! Shells, sand, sea, sun, dolphins, pelicans, palm trees and did I mention shells? I was still waxing nostalgic that evening and reminisced about vacations in Paradise with my mother. Then my mind turned to another exotic family memory, and I asked her if she remembered the marlin. "Of course," she said, and we laughed! Years ago when I was in grade school my father had come home with a ten foot long sail fish. It was a vibrant looking beast, shiny blues and greens, with a long beak and a magnificent dorsal fin opened to its fullest. It was a piece of art crafted by a taxidermist who really took pride in his work. My dad, who was a builder, had done a job for someone and, because the fish no longer fit their decor they were throwing it out. True to form, as was the result of many a job, dad would bring home things that, although they were like new, didn’t “go” and weren't wanted any longer. He picked up a lot of good things over the years, but we kids thought this was la crème de la crème of finds!

So when dad brought home his catch of the day mom loved the fish so much it was relegated to the basement. The poor beauty was banished, but in support of mom’s decision it really didn't go with the Queen Anne style furniture we had in the house. And so he lived there for many happy years and became a fixture. Then the day came when our basement flooded (a few feet deep) and the poor fish feebly tried to swim, but to no avail, he drowned. He wasn't ruined, but he went out to the curb with the rest of the basement items that had suffered the water. Mom reminded me that when the garbage men arrived that morning, she was reading the paper on the porch and heard their comments. One of the guys exclaimed, "Man, a real sport must live in that house!!" We laughed as we thought about it, dad was a sport indeed.

What great memories of days past in Paradise.

CD