Kathy and I had hoped to be of help to Matt and Randi in the last couple days of preparing and packing up for their big trip- the word “trip” doesn’t really seem sufficient when one is flying from the U.S.A. to New Zealand- but there wasn’t all that much for us to do. We did some major dish washing, helped Kaj gather up the money for his Monopoly game that had been scattered throughout the second floor of the house (as Bergs tend to do with their board games) . . . and Aunt Kathy took her two nieces on a last minute shoe shopping trip to Postville, which evidently is the Shoe Capitol of Northeastern Iowa.
While Kathy was on that expedition and Matt and Randi were in town taking care of some last minute business, Kaj and I undertook the considerable task of cleaning out his aquarium. I’m no expert when it comes to fish, unless you want to know the best brands of Fish Sticks, but that goldfish was swimming rather frantically around the tank (it seemed to me) as if it were thinking to itself “Let me out of here!” Kaj agreed with my assessment, and we got to work.
Step One: We had to get the fish out of the aquarium, and had to do so without the use of the little net that came with the tank but which got left behind at the old house back in town. I finally came up with a very small plastic bucket, but the instant it went in the water that fish swam for the back corner of the tank, behind some fake rock formations, and it took me three minutes of failed attempts before I was finally able to herd him (or her) into the bucket. . . my little Ahab moment.
Step Two: We had to figure out a place to put the fish while the tank was being cleaned- and finally decided on the sink in the upstairs bathroom- which is actually a beautiful clear glass sink. . . and that goldfish looked like it was there as a trendy decorative touch. And it was good to see it swimming a bit more serenely. (Maybe the fish was as upset as I was by the sight of all that monopoly money and lego bricks strewn all over Kaj’s bedroom. Are fish sensitive about such things? )
Step Three: The aquarium had to be brought downstairs to the kitchen. . . which proved to be the single most foolhardy thing I’ve done in quite some time. First of all, I’m no Hercules- nor a Baryshnikov- so I’m about the last person on earth who should have been trying to do this. (I probably should have arm wrestled Kaj to see which of us would do it. I realize he’s only 8, but he’s quite the bundle of energy and 10 times more coordinated than his Uncle Greg.) But it’s not just that a flabby klutz was carrying this aquarium still full of water. . . but that he had to carry it down stairs that weren’t yet finished, without railings or even finished floor. I’d only gone down about three steps before I realized how dumb this was and how I would be skirting full=fledged disaster the rest of the way. But somehow I made it without breaking the aquarium or any of my limbs!
Step Four: Matt’s parting word of advice was that the blue stones at the bottom of the aquarium had to come out of the tank before the water was poured into the sink – so as to prevent those little stones from going down the drain and damaging their pipes. And although there were probably ten better ways to accomplish this particular task, I ended up scooping up those blankety-blank rocks with paper cups- and it took every cup I could find in their pantry to get the job done. What still amazes me is how elusive those rocks proved to be- It almost felt like I was trying to scoop up a bunch of lively minnows rather than perfectly still rocks, and only the presence of my nephew in the other room kept me from screaming in frustration. But at last I got it done.
Step Five: Pour the dirty water out of the aquarium so the scrubbing can begin. Easiest step, right? You would think so, except that 2/3’s of the way through the “outpouring,” I heard the awful sound of glass cracking. I’m still not sure how it happened – I know I didn’t bang it against anything – but the tank cracked on two of its four sides. Kaput.
And thus ended the Great Aquarium Saga. All I can say is at least it ended with a broken fish tank and not a broken leg for the nutty 50-year-old who undertook this nutty plan in the first place. (And for all I know, that goldfish is still in the upstairs bathroom sink, enjoying the view and unaware of the calamity which befell its former home.)
pictured above: The Great Cracking occurred a few moments before this photo was snapped. You can still see the water leaking through one of the cracks. The counter is covered by those paper cups filled with the blue bottom rocks. My stomach gets tied in a knot when I look at this picture and remember how maddening this project turned out to be. . . and especially how all that time ended up being for naught.