Tag: travel

We Are All Florida Now

She glided through the turquoise water as if born with gills, her sleek fins covered in green and gold paillettes that reflected the admiration of the fish who watched her swim. What had once been a furry haunch was now a tail meant for speed; it whipped back and forth and pushed her through the water as silent and deadly as a barracuda. Her top half was encased in two scalloped shells tied together to create a fetching bra, and while she wasn’t exactly Ariel, she could certainly pass as a mermaid at Weeki Watchee Springs*.

She was wrenched from her sea fantasy by the realization that she couldn’t actually breathe underwater and sat up in her burrow, gasping. Her cousin Shirley was standing over her, having just thrown a cup of water in her face. “What the hell did you do that for?” screamed the woodchuck, realizing that her sequined mermaid tail now ended in two dirty paws. 

“You were choking in your sleep and I had to wake you up,” pointed out Shirley. “I saved your life! You really should use that CPAP machine.”

“It’s so cold,” the woodchuck whined, now damp and shivering. “I should be deep in hibernation, but my anxiety keeps waking me up. I want to be somewhere warm!’

“Maybe we should move south,” mused Shirley, as she trod on a frozen lump.  “Damn, what did I step on?” 

“Be careful, that’s Steve. Look, you broke off his tail! Steve! Wake up!”

A mess of iguanas had wandered into the meadow at the end of the summer, tired of politics and fearful of immigration rumors. Originally from Mexico, they had lived in Florida for hundreds of years but that didn’t seem to stop anyone from trying to deport them. They loved the intense heat of the midwestern sun in their new home and could frequently be found sunning themselves on rocks.

The woodchuck adored the iguanas.  She thought they were alligators when they first arrived, but soon discovered they were herbivores and not interested in eating her. They were big card players, and the woodchuck had spent many happy hours winning all their insects and leaves. Her favorite part was when they tried to bluff and did not seem to realize their tell was when they turned bright blue. Shirley insisted that wasn’t possible because they were iguanas, not chameleons, but the pile of dried cicadas the woodchuck had won disproved that theory. 

Unfortunately, the lizards had not realized what the geographical difference in the climate would eventually bring. The frozen bodies of iguanas were strewn about the floor of the burrow as the temperatures dropped and so did they.

“Don’t worry, they’re not dead, just a little stiff,” the woodchuck reassured her cousin. “Why are you in here?”

“I think we should have a party! Let’s celebrate Groundhog Day and the fact that you don’t have to go to Punxsutawney now because you’re retired!”

The woodchuck could think of several reasons why she hated this idea, but apparently Shirley had already invited everyone in the meadow and animals began pouring into her burrow. As the tunnels filled with the hot breath of furry rodents, the temperature climbed and the iguanas stirred. The dancing started when one of her cousins dragged an old boombox he had found at the dump into the burrow, and the CD stuck inside blasted out the opening brass of the Miami Sound machine. “Come on, shake your body baby do the conga!” they screamed along with Gloria. An otter was keeping the beat on the shell of a turtle that had wandered in as the skunks and raccoons serpentined in and out of the tunnels in a conga line. The song stopped abruptly at “let your body feel the . . .” and then started over, a continuous loop of never-ending bongos. The party raged on, as the opossums shared some fun mushrooms they had found and the rats kept holding up the beaver’s tails to look like they had Micky Mouse ears. The iguanas shouted “ratoncito mickey!” and the revelers erupted in cheers.

The woodchuck watched, not sure if she could summon the energy to join in with this manic crowd. Outside a dumpster fire raged that would soon spread to the meadow, scorching the dry grasses and causing the trees to erupt into tikki torches. A Musky odor seemed to float over the fields like a warning and the air felt charged, as if a hurricane was forming in the Gulf of Meximerica or whatever the weasel was calling it now. The world was terrifying; was it really a good idea to dance and party in denial?

On the plus side, the iguanas had thawed out and Steve’s tail was already growing back. Maybe she could find a few moments of joy with this sweaty, hallucinating group of freaks. A squirrel wearing a French maid outfit passed by with a tray of psilocybin canapés, and the woodchuck popped one in her mouth. 

“Ratoncito mickey!” she giggled and merged into the congo line.

• • • • •

*I have no plans to visit Florida soon, as I hate humidity and get sick on roller coasters. Also it feels like I will never sleep again as I keep waking up in despair,
but one day I would love to see the mermaids of https://weekiwachee.com/park-attractions/.

As long as I don’t have to go to Florida to see them.

A Holly, Jolly Pranksgiving

Twinkling lights were strung from end to end of the burrow, creating an electric grid effect that caused the woodland animals to shriek with joy as they jumped over and climbed through the strings of tiny lasers. In one area, there was a piney-fragrant fur tree that a friendly beaver had gnawed down and then dropped into the tunnel, laughing about how it was “going to be a lot harder to get it out than in!” The sweet voices of young rodents rang out as they joined in perfect harmony to warble A Holly Jolly Christmas for the twenty-ninth time.

The woodchuck woke up screaming, her paws clutched to either side of her face like a furry Macauley Culkin. The burrow was dark and silent. The burned-out Christmas lights she had thrown over some twigs had fallen and become a hazard; she tripped over them every single time she got up to pee.

It had been a nightmare, one so real that the chant of “Hey, Ho, the mistletoe!” ricocheted around her sleep-deprived head and cause her to paw frantically at her ear to get it to stop.

The woodchuck had been in a bad mood for most of her existence, but the past six weeks had been particularly terrible. With the election of the Weasel and the non-election of the Muskrat who seemed to be in charge, every day brought new angst and fear about what they were planning for the forest. Merry, she was not. 

She put a paw out to feel her way to the bathroom, when it suddenly sank into the hairy belly of a zombie who screeched in her face, “I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST!” The woodchuck dropped to her knees in terror, something warm and wet running down her haunch, when the booming voice of her cousin Shirley started laughing hysterically. “I got you!,” she shrieked. “You peed on yourself! Hahahhahaha!”  

Shirley had been trying to get the nickname Prankenstein trending around the forest since she had started jumping out at others, but it hadn’t stuck. The squirrels had suggested Prank Zappa, which caused them to giggle hysterically and choke on their nuts. There was one duckbilled platypus who kept pushing for Pranklin Shepherd, Inc. but there weren’t enough Sondheim fans around to appreciate it.

“I hate it when you jump out at me!” sobbed the woodchuck, sitting in the spreading puddle of hibernation pee. “You scared me; you never knock before you sneak in, and you are not funny. Your stupid nickname should be Prank Lloyd Wrong!”

Shirley was immediately contrite and apologized profusely; she then climbed out of the burrow to get some vegetation to sop up the moisture. She was gone for so long that the woodchuck assumed she had pranked off to scare the Dickens out of other animals. She was grateful to be alone again, but still churning with anger at her cousin and all the other animals she felt had wronged her that year. Spreading her Walmart bag quilt over the wet spot, she was about to settle back to sleep when a long stick was suddenly shoved down into her burrow. It was followed by Shirley and the beavers and several other animals, including the weird platypus.

“I’m so sorry,” yelled Shirley, who never seemed to say anything at a normal volume. “I know you’re mad at me, so I brought you a Festivus pole! You can Air Your Grievances at all of us, because nothing makes you happier than complaining.”

The woodchuck tried to find something wrong with that statement, but nothing came to mind. Her cousin knew her well. “I got a lot of problems with you animals . . .” she started. 

For twenty glorious minutes, she ranted about the beavers chewing with their mouths open. She shouted at the platypus, “Are you a duck? Are you a beaver? Make up your mind!”

She pointed at Shirley. “And you . . . your jokes are not funny. Stop punking me. You are not Prank Costanza!” She paused for a breath and to appreciate how good her pun had been. She felt lighter than she had in weeks.

Taking advantage of the momentary pause, the crowd cheered and hurriedly moved on; seeing the woodchuck in a good mood was a Festivus miracle. They shared a delicious meal of berries and freeze-dried cicadas, with the squirrels chipping in some pre-chewed acorns. They were happy the rant was over before the woodchuck had got to them.

After too much eating and celebrating, it was time for the Feats of Strengths. The woodchuck and her cousin and all the beavers and squirrels participated, but the duckbilled platypus smoked everyone. Whatever combo it was, it was really strong.

At the end of the evening, the woodchuck waved goodnight to everyone and settled back in her cozy burrow, full of yummy food and the glow of being with good, if flawed, friends. It was time for a nice long sleep, and hopefully when she woke up in the spring, the weasel and the muskrat would have eaten each other and no one would be singing A Holly Jolly Christmas. God, she hated that song.

I hope your holidays are lovely and contain as much complaining as is necessary to get you through the coming weeks. It’s going to be a long, dark winter and we are all going to have to share our nuts to stay sane. Whether you are celebrating Festivus or bringing Prankincense to a manger, I hope it is as warm and cozy as a Walmart bag full of duck feathers!