I haven’t written yet about Finn having been here for two weeks, mostly because: the first week, he was busy at the IceCube Collaboration Meeting on campus, and the second week, we were both busy, together. Those were good weeks, and I’ll write about them, for sure.
Then, the day Finn left, I came down with a severe case of, “Fuck, That Pharmacist Gave Me the Plague, Not the Covid Vaccine.” And, then (sorry, I will get to my point), the day after was my birthday, which was blech.
It wasn’t a bad birthday as they go, but I still had a bad plague hangover, and the three old friends who remembered my birthday and sent me cheery texts must’ve assumed one and all that I’ve made friends here with whom I could share cake, or wine, or blow that little emoticon celebration horn. I have not. The two people I know here do not know it’s my birthday, and they do not know that I still get a case of Survivor’s Syndrome every year when I turn one year older, and Kim and Katherine do not. Doesn’t help that Katherine’s birthday is in a few days, and she is not here for another turn around the sun, as people cleverly say.
Tracy is a man of many talents, we all know that. He is also an island, a rock, a rocky island, even. Whatever. When I was feeling my worst, I texted him:
That’s evidence right there that, not only did I lose a full day to the vaccine (plus an hour to the time change), but I also lost Halloween. I freaking love Halloween.
So, I’m feeling better, sitting here eating fun-sized Mounds Bars. In the background is Star Trek the Original Series with the sound down, and I’m in my beloved robe, trying to distract myself from the midterm voting tomorrow. I’ve already voted, but the country is at the edge of our seats. Pass the Almond Joys.
Season Change
I read that I should be transferring the goldfish from the outside pond to the inside tank in the basement—gradually. The fish, however, have decided to try to wait out the season by hunkering down behind the rocks at the edges. I have news for them: that pond will freeze solid, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So, I need to get them out faster than gradually.
I caught two a week ago without much problem. When the sun came out and hit the water, I put fish food (they’ve hardly experienced the joy of that yet) on the surface, and they came up to gobble it, and I grabbed them.
A few days later, by standing in the pond and squatting like a small sumo wrestler, net in hand, I got two more.
Then I started emptying the water out to trap the remaining six in the bottom, was the plan, at least. I used the red nail-can thingy Tracy would hang over the fence as he was building it, whatever that is—it has a flat side, which works great to rest on the bottom of the pond and create a trap for fish to swim into it. Amazingly, I caught the one black fish, my Mirror Universe Moby Dick, by waiting for it to swim into the nail can. Five down.
Zombie Time for the Pond
The remaining five, though, just would not appear. The days have gotten colder, the pond keeps filling with leaves, and the fish are getting increasingly cold and still, retreating to the pockets of water at the edges, under the largest rocks, where we will never find them.
Tracy got in on the project and emptied the pond almost entirely. So much muck was at the bottom that we couldn’t see if we were scooping up goldfish with the nail cup, so we dumped every cupful through the net as it hung over a bucket, hoping fish would turn up in the net. Nope.
With a half-inch-deep, three-inch-wide puddle of mucky water left, I walked away to let it settle. When I came back, I found one last fish flopping around right there, waiting to be saved.
I’ve introduced nine of them now into the aquarium downstairs, including the weird black one, the big red one with the white eye, and the wee orange ones. I am checking the chemical levels, changing the water, yadda yadda, doing my best to keep them alive without worrying too much about it. I did buy them as feeder fish for 36 cents a piece. I like them, but egads, the midterms are upon us.
The state of the pond, on the other hand, is very bad. I told Tracy to just leave the difficult, denier fish in there, don’t pull up the rocks and reveal the fabric liner and risk the integrity of the pond. But, he didn’t want their bodies to freeze, then decay in the thaw next spring and spread disease throughout. We’re hoping for frogs next year.
So, he’s torn it all apart. We’ll look for the tenth fish tomorrow, then try to recreate the pond rock by rock, and refill it, so it can freeze tight soon and start again, fresh, with just one little goldfish body in there somewhere.
Meantime, good grief does this country need to start again, fresh, with one big freak of a goldfish, who’s more of a lame duck, all alone, no support left. Let’s not let him spread any more disease. Get him the hell out.
