Of Love and Turtles and Lifetimes, Oh My!

Catching up from one weekend away is really quite overwhelming.  There was some news though which still has me reeling –  I’m sure you saw or read about it as well – the break up of Bibi and Poldi.  A greater love story has never been told.  Two giant turtles joined together by circumstance, lust or a mutual affection for grape leaves can no longer abide each other’s presence, let alone give each other a kiss good morning.

Bibi’s the one who wants out.  She’s become quite the nasty old girl – she bit Poldi’s shell and basically told him to get out.  Unfortunately, even if Poldi had a place to go, it would take him about a month to make any progress towards the door.  Their caregivers (for at their age, you really can’t call these people anything other than ‘caregivers’) have tried many interventions – marital counseling, turtle aphrodisiacs (I have no idea what these are – Cialis?  Dark chocolate and strawberries?),  I even think someone penned a love letter to Bibi on Poldi’s behalf.  Nothing’s worked – no medically reinforced erection, the chocolate upset their digestive tracts and Poldi ate the letter.  Yes, I made up the last part.

I wonder whether we’ve really given them enough time or too much time?  I mean, do we know when Bibi really fell out of love?  Given the speed with which things happen in Turtledom, she might have been enduring a loveless union for the last fifty years – in which case, I think biting her spouse was a pretty mild response.  Can one really blame her for being tired of looking at the same wrinkled face day after day, year after year? Making the same breakfast, withstanding the same lack of table manners – not even getting a “thank you honey” for over a century?  One hundred and fifteen years of waiting for the rock to be moved, a birthday to be remembered, maybe an understanding hug in lieu of a mechanical climb up her back which takes so long, he forgets what he’s doing up there, and she falls asleep feeling like the weight of the world is on her shoulders?  Can you blame the poor girl?  When is enough enough?  I am confident that if she gets a good turtle lawyer (like Raoul Felder dressed as a Ninja Turtle)  she’ll be able to live her remaining six hundred years in peace.

And Poldi?  My hunch is that he wouldn’t mind a little more peace and quiet either.  A hundred years ago, she was a helluva looker, with bedroom eyes and a smile that would melt anybody’s shell.  Now she’s just a bitter, hormonal kvetch who finds fault with everything he does.  Not to mention that she could use a few more trips to the gym.  And if he had bitten her – the turtle police would have been all over him.  He’d just as soon trade her in for a newer model if anyone would bother to ask him.

I still say that one hundred fifteen years of matrimony is arguably a success – even if they end up divorcing.  I think they really gave it the yeoman’s try.  That said, they should be sure before they begin mediation – take some time, think it through, see if there is anything left to salvage.  You know what they say – love takes time.

Lighten Up Tuesday

I spoke to my husband for the first time twenty-one years ago today (or yesterday, I’m not the best with dates).  Long story short – I had just stepped on a bee, the boys were running around like Max in his wolf suit times two, dinner was burning and the phone rang.  After explaining that it wasn’t really a great time to talk, he asked what I was doing later in the week.  My response? “Nothing much”  His response?  “I’ll be out-of-town for the rest of the week”.  In my head I was yelling “then why the hell did you just ask me what I was doing all week?”, but I let it slide – my foot was swelling, we clearly weren’t going to get past this conversation and someone, anyone needed to go into time out.

Needless to say we spoke a lot while he was away and upon his return.  We’re coming up on twenty years of marriage – a stunning number to me.  He will tell you that I still have a pair of sneakers in the garage in case I need to run away; I will tell you that he can still tune me out better than anyone I’ve ever known.  We’re both right and we’re both wrong.  He lets me keep the sneakers outside so I feel I have the choice; I don’t press to be listened to unless I really need his attention.  We make each other crazy and we keep each other sane.  At the risk of cliché – we may not light up the sky, but we try to remember that we are here to light each other’s way.  And that’s pretty damn wonderful.   I hope your day is very well-lit and warmed with love  – as corny as that may be.  Happy Tuesday all..