Let me explain why this was odd.
It was the 1960s, in Brooklyn, and the store served mostly residents from the housing projects who were predominantly Jewish. Which means few would buy this non-kosher New England-ish food.
Most of us thought he was brought in for the ambience, not for dinner. More like a goldfish bowl than a meal.
Still, this lobster was on death row, and this broke my heart. His claws were tied shut -- clawcuffed! -- but he wasn't guilty of any crime except he was, some thought, tasty.
What could I do? Bring him home and keep him in the bathtub? That, I knew, would not receive parental approval.
Or take him to the Port Authority and put him on a bus back to Maine? I didn't think he would survive such a ride.
So I did nothing. Except let my heart break each time I passed his tank.
Which isn't much different than these days with Rich, although all would agree he is much cuter than a lobster, especially when he's wearing suspenders (Rich, not the lobster). He's clawcuffed by a chordoma, I have no idea how to get him out of the tank, and all I can do is try not to let my heart break.
Candace
1 comment:
oh my, I know exactly what you mean about the lobster, since we had a tank in my local grocery store, too. Like seeing inmates on death row.
It's a very difficult experience to face this if things are starting to seem inevitable, like the Chordoma has created a death row and the question is when, not whether. The only reassurance in this case is that the question for each of us is always when, and not whether. And we never know, any of us, when. All we can do is make the most of the time we have. And you are doing this. You are present, next to the tank. And Rich is a lot cuter and cuddlier than a lobster! I wish you both many many more good moments together. I love you both, Heather
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