My favorite thing about social media sites used to be public declarations of the entirely mundane and borderline boring details of people's ordinary lives. Now, Facebook status updates are less about what cuss word little Suzy said to Santa at the mall and more about what new business venture little Suzy's mom is into between a load of whites and towels. Not that I mind supporting the career paths of friends, it's just that, well...I really want to know..."what's on your mind?"
I miss being amused by anecdotes from the lives of my friends and in a way, it was these little snapshots of their lives that helped me keep in touch. In a philosophical sense, I would often read my friend's scattered thoughts on weather and dogs and think "oh, that's so my friends." Then I would often shrug, turn off the computer and have an overwhelming feeling that all was right with the world.
Now-a-days, our freedom of expression on social media sites is limited only to professional courtesies and the very vanilla ramblings of a group of people so diverse that it now includes Facebook Friends such as church pastors, nosy bosses, and "hip" moms and grandmas. The technological learning curve for the rest of the population has finally caught up to those of us who thought we could frolic in an uncensored digital utopia until the end of time. But, alas, our once happy field of flowers and updates with cuss words has been invaded and the playground of limitless expression is more like a casino where the eye in the sky is monitored by grandparents, CEOs and social marketing strategists.
So, in an effort to bring back the wonderful simplicity of an online world that no longer exists...here are some thoughts about my goldfish Eduardo:
I have a goldfish, or rather my son has a goldfish that I take care of. His name is Eduardo. Eduardo is three years old, which is only the length of time he has lived with us since we brought him home from the pet store, so he could be older. Most people assume that the Eduardo that exists today is not the original, since three years is quite a long life- span for a fish, but I assure you that he is the one and only.
Having a goldfish reminds me of my grandfather who passed away several years ago. Not that my grandfather has any resemblance to a fish, that would be weird, but I think of him often when taking care of Eduardo because he used to keep goldfish in a large tank underneath his greenhouse. As a child, I can remember every Sunday my dad and I would go over to my grandparent's house for a big dinner with my aunts and uncles and cousins, which turned out to be a lot of people because my dad was one of five kids.
My favorite part about visiting my grandparent's house, besides hanging out with my many cousins who were the same age as me, was feeding the fish in the greenhouse.
My cousins and I would scramble over each other down the stairs to the basement of their 100 year old house in Nashville. We would tip-toe through the dark cellar with paint peeling off the ancient stone walls until we reached the door that lead to the greenhouse. Once through the door, I always had the sensation of entering into a strange new world. The greenhouse was...well, green but that was mostly because of the green paneling on the roof and the walls. Inside Grandaddy's greenhouse were hundreds of blooming Orchids. So, when you stepped through the doors of his flower haven the air smelled sweet and it was always warm and humid in there like a jungle in South America.
Our Nikes with the pumps and Keds covered in splatter paint from Girl Scout Camp, would skid through the pebbles that lined the walkways until we reached the grates in the center of the rows and rows of flowers that filled the room like a floral labyrinth. If you looked down between the bars on the grates, you could see a pool of water about five feet below the ground. And, if you waited long enough, orange fish the size of a boombox would surface at the vibration of excited kid feet. My grandfather would then pass around an old plastic cup, no doubt an acquisition from a Sounds game which was Nashville's minor league baseball team. My Grandaddy had season tickets and one of us was always bringing back cups and tiny baseball bats as souvenirs from the games.
We would take handfuls of the fish food, which seems a lot like dry dog food pellets now that I think about it, and sprinkle them into the water below. I would imagine that if I commanded the fish to do tricks that one day I might train them like circus dogs but I never could hold on to the food long enough. Those fish always seemed so hungry, I would often dump my whole hand in one spot just to see them jump for the food.
As I look at my fish in my own little one and half gallon tank, it makes me sad that I don't have an underground well for him to swim around in like my Grandfather did for his fish. It's true what they say, ya know, about goldfish growing as big as the tank will allow them to grow. My Grandaddy's fish were bigger than my feet and sometimes I even thought there might be a bigger mama fish that only circled the very bottom of the tank because she was too giant to surface.
So, now I have a goldfish of my own. He's not as big or nearly as old as my grandfather's brood but he's a fine fish and every time I take a pinch of food and sprinkle it on the water he shakes his fins like the other fish used to do. I watch as my fish rushes to the surface of his tank and nibbles at the red flakes and I think of my Grandfather and his house of orchids with the fish underneath. And for those few minutes in the morning and at night when I'm feeding my fish, I feel happy.
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