Three weeks since my last post. I didn't mean to go this long without writing. I meant to write a jubilant post about how I finally fixed my creek. Two weeks ago. But I was too busy realizing the reason I'd really wanted to fix the creek was because I wanted to get water plants. And fish. And turtles. Most of all, turtles.
I really wanted turtles.
Maybe it's because my mother told me a turtle was the reason for one of the only times she'd seen my abuelito cry. Its name was Caligula and my mom says it would come to the top of its bowl when my abuelito called it. "Caligula," she'd say, imitating the grandfather I'd never met, and a little turtle would float up from the depths of the past to retrieve food from the man we both wished we'd gotten a chance to know better. "He loved that turtle," she said. "And when it died, he cried."
I used to catch my abuelita staring at me sometimes. When I'd ask her why, she'd say I looked so much like her husband. The more I learned about him, the more I sometimes thought that wasn't a compliment. But the man cried about a turtle. There was a good, loving man inside of him, and maybe I just wanted to learn what it was about a reptile that could bring that out.
Or maybe I just wanted a turtle.
In any case, as soon as I thought I'd fixed my creek, I went into research and development mode. I'd been burned before by this goddamn body of water. I ran it for a few hours, put a plank in the water with a mark on it and measured the water level constantly. Sure enough, it was still leaking. But I was so close and I had one more likely spot of egress for my wayward water. Futzed around with inclines and water flow. Put my plank in the water again and ran it. And watched. Was it just me, or did that water level just go up? Ran it some more. And some more. Ran it three days straight. No time to write. Too busy watching. Piss off. This is actually working!
And then I got obsessed. I told Sharon I was going to get water plants. And maybe fish. And probably turtles. She wasn't really listening. She was watching the look in my eyes...she knows that look. The nothing's gonna stop me look. The look that got us a crazy German Shepherd. The look that was most definitely going to get us a turtle.
"We have to name one of them Seymour."
Did she just say we could get TWO turtles?! I believe she did!
I'll spare you the rest of the compulsive water plant/fish/turtle shopping saga. How I rushed to the nursery in my shirt and tie and loaded up on water hyacinth. How I spent hours researching Red Eared Sliders. How I went to two different Petsmarts within the span of an hour, only to be told they wouldn't have any for three weeks.
Three weeks!? In three weeks I'll be hiding under my bed covers, snapping my fingers and muttering "turtles, turtles!" incessantly. I need a red eared slider right the fuck NOW!
I will tell you that, after being delicately redirected to Aquarium City by the kindly owner of a reptile store, I found those red eared sliders. And ended up buying two Yellow Bellied Cooters instead because, really, who would choose a slider, when you can have a cooter? Not me. (Technical note: Yellow bellied cooters are members of the slider family. But who would call something a slider when you can call it a cooter? Not me.)
And then I was driving home with two cooters in a box. Which was worth it just to write that one sentence. But was also worth it to realize why it was I loved turtles. Because they are unabashedly crotchety. One of them glared at me the whole way home, his face clearly saying, "I don't know who you are buddy, but kiss my ass!" The other one just ignored me and tucked himself into his shell, as if he could will me into forgetting about him. These were not puppies, or kitties, or any other kind of fluffy animal wanting to play or be cuddled. They were angry little sonuvabichitos who wanted me to leave them the fuck alone. I understood them. Because sometimes I'm the same way.
I don't want to be cuddled. I don't want to coaxed into a smile or cajoled into having something to eat. I'm not going to come out of my shell just because you speak to me like a baby, and for crying out loud, can a man lie on a rock for one goddamn minute without someone trying to creep up and stare at him?! I am doing just fine being pissed off, thank you and leave my food where I can find it.
Over the past couple weeks, I have spent hours watching those two little bastards. Sometimes, hours just watching where I think the two little buggers might be, even though they don't feel like coming out. But I've learned to stop grabbing for them, or trying to get too close to them. They come out when they're good and ready, and I'm learning to be okay with the fact that sometimes that's when I'm not around.
Like I said, I never met my abuelito, but I hear he was not the most affectionate man. I can see how a turtle could be his thing. I love dogs with all my heart. I've learned to love cats, too. Mine at least. I love how they need me. How they love on me and how they love when I love on them. But, I guess there's a little of my abuelito in me after all, because I'm starting to really love the fact these little guys prefer to be left alone.
Thankfully for all, while I may have enjoyed my turtleness for the past couple of weeks, I am not about to take it up full time. I just needed some time in the shell. A little "now you don't" to balance out the "now you see me." While I don't ever expect they will come when I call, I hope Seymour and my Caligula will eventually learn to be a little more social, too. Though by the look on this little guy's face, I don't expect that will be anytime soon. I'm cool with that.