Connie and I went to the zoo after a Groupon lunch at a sub shop today. We bought not only a Family Membership, but the Grandparents version since it was ten bucks cheaper and the girl appeared to believe we are old enough to be grandparents (and we are.) Despite the fact that we have no “official” children, and thus no certified grandchildren, we feel that, since we have so many grand nephews and nieces (the children of our nephews and nieces, who themselves are grand, but not officially Grand to us generationally) that we fit the description’s intent. It is the first time for me in the Buffalo Zoo in decades, and they are doing some major construction on the new Polar Bear habitat. Love the Polar Bears. Buffalo is a Polar Bear kind of town. As a boy we were assailed whenever we went to the zoo with signs that said “Bears LOVE Marshmallows!” These signs were placed all around the zoo, and they sold said delicacies at various places there. Of course we brought ours from home, like any good working class Irish kids. Among the collected children of the city we’d stand and hurl marshmallows at the bears, who eventually became morbidly obese and had entirely rotted teeth. They got so tubby in fact that if you did not land your marshmallow directly in their mouth; or at least within reach of their tongue on the enormous shelves of their bloated bear breasts, they wouldn’t even bother to bend down to eat them because it was too much exertion. They got plenty of marshmallows nonetheless as some of the kids heaving the blizzard of sucrose at them were in possession of fine throwing motions. As the years passed and diabetes took them up to Bear Heaven, the staff at the zoo finally came to this realization: Bears, indeed, love marshmallows, but that by no means indicates they should be fed thousands or even one of them a day. Even the Great Polar Bear is subject to the sensibilities found in Moderation. I speak in my comedy act about this sometimes, people younger than me cannot believe it is true, but it indeed is—those signs were real; this is not the faulty recollection of an old man. As my joke goes, it is very likely that “Bears LOVE Cocaine!” But that doesn’t mean we should razor out a few bumps on a mirror for them daily and find out what happens next. The zoo in near winter on a weekday is a quiet place. The un-marshmalloed Polar Bears are only out for viewing a few hours a day right now, since their habitat is in the flux of refurbishing. We missed those hours today, but will, like the wise Grandparents we now are, revisit soon during the indicated hours. The rubble of the old Marshmallow Bear Pit of my youth is there; and it is an impressive pile of 1930’s limestone quarry blocks. The Rainforest habitat is gorgeous, with Blood red birds that look like small flamingos but are actually cousins to them. As we left that building, on a leaf, was a shedded feather of one of those birds. I looked at Connie, she at me, and I pocketed it since I’m pretty sure they’d just ashcan it anyway. Tonight I will place that crimson feather in the lap of my Ganesh statue--fitting, since we saw elephants today as well. We saw a mother Gorilla nursing a tiny gorilla baby too. It was, well, magical as zoos can be when the lighting and the velocity are just right. The sun was hanging very low and Connie pointed out that you could easily see that the animals knew that a day was coming to an end. In deference to the Circadian Rhythm of the zoo’s inhabitants, we left, noticing just before we did that there’s a monument near the entrance with a quote from Thich Nhat Hanh, who is spiritually one of the most important writers and philosophers of my life. His words I love and find comfort in, and the ideas driving those words I aspire to. On that monument, attributed to Thich, is a beautiful quote about the life force of water and how it travels and permeates all things including the world we walk upon itself. We drove home, passing the school where Tom taught, across the street from which is the cemetery where his body awaits a stone. I haven’t visited that markerless place yet. I guess, once the stone is inscribed and placed I’ll be a regular there, either before or after going to the zoo to see the svelte Polar Bears (as is the privilege I now possess as a faux grandfather.) The life force of water does permeate all things, as does memory, nursing babies of all species, December sunsets, and the beauty of a purloined red feather sitting soon in the lap of a bronze Hindu God. Love.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Dec 2013 23:01:38 +0000
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