Fish Tales

When I was but a wee Lime in first grade the students in my class were assigned as groups with each group being given the responsibility of a goldfish. The little bowls were all lined up on the counter at the back of the classroom. Each group member was supposed to take turns feeding the fish. I recall thinking our poor fish looked terribly hungry all the time, what with all the opening and closing of his mouth at the surface of the water. I was quite sure he was begging for more flakes. He always gobbled the flakes quickly. It seemed the scant pinch he was permitted only once daily was entirely too little sustenance for a growing goldfish. I took it upon myself to make sure he was given 3 square meals a day. Thus it came to pass, rather quickly, that our group's fish came to pass. We were informed overfeeding was the cause of death. For a while I was a bit concerned that I may enter the afterlife at the hands of my now disgruntled fellow fish caretakers who were now watching the other groups happily tend fish while we had nothing but an empty bowl.

When Diana was about 5 she became the proud owner of a 5 gallon tank full of various goldfish. She excitedly named them all and enjoyed feeding them and looking at them and introducing them to visitors. Mr. Lime, however, experienced the joy of tank cleaning. The fish did well for about a month before they started going belly up. The first few fish fatalities were fairly frustrating and sad. As each goldfish floated off into its next existence we held a brief ceremony celebrating its life before sending it into the sewer with a solemn flush. By the time the last of the school of goldfish expired wee Diana had grown somewhat matter-of-fact. Her morning routine grew to include checking the fish tank and announcing loudly, "Another one is dead! I'll flush it!"

After the final flushing farewell the tank stood bereft of inhabitants for a few days before we got around to scrubbing it out. During that time, a visitor wandered over to the tank to check out the fish who were no longer there. Said visitor inquired as to the whereabouts of Diana's fish. Though Diana has always been among the more blunt people I know she was suddenly struck by the seeming delicacy of the situation. She walked over to our guest, put her hand gently on his shoulder, looked consolingly into his eyes, and intoned gravely but ever so sincerely, "I'm sorry. They've all gone to...potty heaven."

On Friday evening, Diana informed me via Facebook status that after $5 and 80 half caved in ping pong balls she had become the proud mother of three goldfish in colored water who were now residing in cups on her dorm desk. I was delighted to learn my grandfish's names, Norman, Elias, and Elicia. Like any proud grandmother I asked for pictures so I could properly brag on my brilliantly gifted grandfish. After all, they are in no ordinary school of fish; they attend college (ba-dum-dum). I encouraged her care for my grandfish even as I tried to avoid being overly meddlesome. Rather than criticize the accommodations Diana has provided my grandfish I offered to gift them with a lovely little bowl to replace the plastic cups she scrounged for them. Alas, Saturday morning the tragic call came. Elias has gone on to potty heaven.

R.I.P. Elias. I never even got to see a picture of you. Let's hope Elicia (left) and Norman (right) are a bit hardier, though I fear for them since our history with fish does not give much reason for hope.