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September 13, 2001
Dear FiberNetters:
The wooly lizards asked me if there was some way they could show their appreciation to Ron for giving us this wonderful FiberNet.
I suggested that they consider sponsoring a fundraiser to defray the ever-increasing expenses of the list that has given them
life.
Destination seized upon this idea immediately. She is tireless in her desire to support causes dear to her heart and there
are precious few with even so little as a nickel in their pockets who are able to withstand her requests.
"What we need to do is mark a day on our calendars," she said, and the tip of her tail twitched with enthusiasm, cutting down
a nice clump of Queen Anne's lace. "We'll call it Wooly Lizard Day and everyone must send money. It is really very simple."
I reminded Destination that small donations are purely voluntary, but she didn't seem to be paying attention. She had shut
her eyes, placed a claw over her snout and was breathing fast. I knew she had not been feeling a hundred percent for a while
but she made light of it. Little stomach upsets, she said, nothing serious.
The moment passed, but she frowned as she considered that, sad as it made her, it might be a good idea to ask list members
to shoulder the burden of the fundraising for 2002. Just in case she wasn't up to snuff. If members arrived at a consensus
about a date, Destination promised that the following year she would throw the social event of the decade on that very day.
"A ball! A MASKED ball! Oh, what fun it will be", she trilled, seeming to revive at the thought. (I tried to visualize what
kind of a mask would hide the identity of a rare Mongolian wooly lizard but decided to keep the question to myself.) Then
she abruptly excused herself and made a dash into the weeds.
This queasiness was annoying. Destination had experienced something like it before, but she was sure this was different. It
HAD to be different. Maybe there had been something wrong with some fish they'd eaten. Odd that it hadn't bothered Shipping
Method.
There were just the two of them in the watering hole now with the children gone, and Shipping Method was making an obvious
effort to spend quality time with her. Destination was too preoccupied with news from the princesses to pay much attention
to him.
Princess Two was married and living in Florida. Destination had a fainting spell when the princess introduced her intended.
"He's an ALLIGATOR for God's sake", her mother wailed. Princess Two got huffy and informed Destination that Algernon had been
accepted to medical school and that his parents (his father is an attorney, his mother is a lizards-rights activist) lived
in a private condominium logjam in the Everglades. The last time Destination had heard from her, Two was gravid and she preferred
not to think what her grandchildren would look like.
Short Pants was still at the San Diego water park zoo but his parents could only guess how long they would put up with him.
The last photograph he sent showed him astride his motorcycle wearing a series of gold rings up his jaw. The young female
crocodile who was clutching at him from behind was seriously underdressed and had a rather spacey expression, to put it nicely.
Everything considered, Destination preferred to let his father deal with Short Pants since her nervous system was not equipped
to cope with issues like bail.
Princess One was the star attraction at the New York Aquarium. Her arrival had been attended by television crews and newspaper
reporters and her photograph had been on front pages all over the world. She was running with a fast crowd and this was a
source of serious concern to her parents. Destination worried about how thin she was and Shipping Method worried about what
was in the minds of the males she was seeing. They both worried about all the pills she was taking: to stay thin, to relax,
to stay alert, to fall asleep, to stay awake, to remain non-gravid.
Another episode of nausea interrupted Destination's thoughts. It could not possibly be what she was afraid it was. Shipping
Method had been acting romantic lately, but Destination's first experience with childrearing had left her without enthusiasm
for a second brood.
Not long ago, after she had turned in for the night, Shipping Method had inched his way close to her and begun to nuzzle her
short, thick neck. Before flipping on her other side, she told him in plain Mongolian where to keep it.
Now that she thought about it though, there was that party the smalls gave to introduce a visiting artist. Destination hated
the smalls' parties. She was never very good at cocktail party conversation to begin with, and every time she approached a
group of lady smalls their talk stopped dead and everybody smiled guiltily at everybody else.
That evening, while Shipping Method entertained the guys with a hilarious story about how he'd scared the clean underwear
off some deer hunters last season, Destination positioned herself alone by the punch bowl.
She absolutely could not hold her swamp water and she knew it. But the party was a bomb and the punch cups were so damned
tiny (the hostess called them 'dainty'), what could be the harm? Impatiently, Destination took a cup in each clawed fist,
dipped them alternately into the bowl and sipped, first from one cup, then the other. This system seemed to work very well
so she repeated the procedure.
After a number of refills, Destination looked around and thought that the party seemed to be picking up momentum. She finished
a few more little cups and turned her attention to a group of smalls gathered around a piano player on the far side of the
room. Spilling the dregs of her cups back into the punch bowl, she made her way very carefully in the direction of the music.
When at last Shipping Method appeared to take her by the elbow and tactfully suggest it was time to go, Destination's snout
was flushed and she was reveling in the praise of the partygoers around her as they applauded her singing and called for encores.
No question about it - once she loosened up she could really belt out those Mongolian show tunes.
She splashed her big feet happily in the shallows on the way home and holding her head high, sang Mongolian Country Favorites
of the 1980's at the top of her voice, causing lights to come on in several nearby houses. While Shipping Method steadied
her progress through the warm mud she clung to him and, looking deeply into his eyes, told him with great earnestness how
handsome he was, so strong, honest and sincere, the finest lizard among lizards, and how much she loved him.
That's about all she remembered of the evening.
When morning came, she was so sick she could not raise her pounding head and the usually delicious smell of tadpoles at the
edge of the pond revolted her. She noticed that Shipping Method was especially gentle and attentive. He kissed her sweetly,
put fresh grasses under her head and dabbed her snout with a cold cloth. He brought clear creek water for her to drink and
put her favorite Elvis CD in the player. Then, still humming the melody from the Piano Concerto #1, Shipping Method slithered
quietly into the pond.
Destination pondered this recollection with a knitted brow as she lay in the shade of cattails and nibbled dry crackers.
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