Burying Fish, Flushing Sponges and Riding Bikes
We lost The Great Googly Moogly today. (aka Bubbles III) He was a seven pound gold fish (only, black) with Marty Feldman eyes and a tail as long as his body. Towards the end of his life he’d gotten so big that instead of swimming all the day long from one end of the tank to the other, he would just get up every morning, turn around, and realize that he was at the other end of the tank. Another quick turn would confirm that he was, indeed, much too large for the ten gallon tank within which he was housed.
Of course I jest. I would not want you to think that we are, or were, irresponsible fish owners. Googly’s predecessors (Bubbles and Bubbles II) did not live half as long as Googly. I think fish just get old, like every creature on the planet, and when you are old it is difficult to swim all day long in month-old brown water. I do feel a bit guilty about that. Had I changed the water last weekend, he might still be with us today. The good news, though, is that he went just after I changed the tank, (using the same procedure that I always do – so the new water was not a factor) so Googly got to swim his last few strokes in a fresh clean tank, that will likely sit uninhabited (but still bubbling) for a month or so before (a) I empty the tank and store it in the garage or (b) my daughter convinces us that she cannot live another day without a fish to feed and otherwise ignore. I’m voting for the first option, but I don’t think my vote counts.
We’ve decided on a burial at sea. Googly is too large to flush down the toilet – especially given that the most likely toilet has recently swallowed an entire cleaning sponge and undergone invasive procedures to remove the blockage. The procedure would not have been that big of a deal had I remembered that I flushed a sponge down the toilet, and I am not sure how one forgets such a thing, but I did. So, it was not until my wife called me on my cellular phone while I was preparing my bicycle for my weekend ride to tell me that she was standing in inches of water that I remembered the sponge. Oops. We believe the blockage to be cleared, but we do not want to take our chances with a seven pound goldfish, so tomorrow night, during a candle-light service, The Great Googly Moogly will join his brethren at the bottom of the neighborhood pond. Call for directions.
Speaking of cleaning sponges, my wife is having some people over on Tuesday, and in our family that means the house must be cleaned from stem to stern, or bow to aft, or whatever term is in fashion, so I spent the better part of Saturday cleaning. Other than the sponge incident, things went fairly well. I managed to get the place looking pretty sparkly, though I did notice my wife touching up a few places today, so I probably could have done better. I have no doubt that we will be up into the wee hours of Tuesday morning continuing to put finishing touches on everything, but at least I know the toilets are clean.
Speaking of weekend bicycle rides, I am in quite a bit of pain. Last weekend we went for a ride with the kids and the grandparents, and I came home feeling much the same as when I’d left. The ride was nice and steady, and we took our time, so I personally did not exert much effort. (My wife had some difficulty for the first few miles because her brake was not set properly and so her front wheel was not spinning freely, but once we figured that out, she was fine.) Today I decided to see if I could ride to work. It is about 12 miles, so while it is a good trek, I figured I could do it in an hour or so. That still may be true, I don’t know. Someone, probably just to be a jerk, went and put a bunch of hills between my house and my office. Normally I would not mind a hill or two, and maybe I was just off my game, but about three quarters into my ride I felt like I was going to die, so I turned around.
The beauty of a bike ride is that if you ride until you feel like you are going to die, and then turn around, you are about as far away from being home as you will ever be, and in order to get home, you have to do the same ride that almost killed you. I stopped for a Coke, which helped a little, and I was doing pretty good – repeating my mantra on the up-hills (“I effing hate riding bikes, I effing hate riding bikes”) – until I happened to glance up and notice another bicyclist passing me on an uphill. He had one hand on his handlebars and the other was holding a bag of groceries. His bike was not nearly as cool as mine, but that was little consolation. He didn’t just sort of pass me slowly – he was flying. This, of course, took what was left of my self-esteem and flushed it down the toilet. I thought about calling my wife to come pick me up, but somehow I managed to talk myself out of that, and finish my ride.
People say that exercise is easy – “just a half hour, no big deal.” I left for my ride at noon – just over twelve hours ago – and that was pretty much it for me for the day. So, in essence, I did twelve hours of “exercise” today; two or three hours of riding (it felt like three, it was probably two), an hour on the couch, a shower, a nap, and then some more hours on the couch. Sort of does not seem worth it to me. Maybe it will snow this week, and I can put away my bike for the “winter” without feeling guilty. Or, I could get a job at the grocery store up the street. That way, when I want to ride to work, it will be easy. That sounds like the best plan.