Saturday Morning with Stevie The baby lizard has been growing in both size and confidence, and this morning, managed to make her way off my shoulder, onto the breakfast counter, and through a graceful leap onto our hardwood floor before I was able to snatch her and deposit her back in her enclosure. It's so hard to learn to give our little ones freedom, isn't it? They grow up so fast. This morning, Stephanie and I listed to this podcast on cancel culture and the obligations we have to the social internet, and as active members of the social internet. I kinda hate the social internet and I kinda love it -- as an introvert who spends most of her time in front of a screen, I love the idea that this can be a genuine place for discourse, self-expression, and community engagement. It also comes with a lot of responsibility - what we say here matters, and it lasts. I also know that this space is imperfect -- there is misinformation and hate, and we are quick to write off anyone who has said hurtful and ignorant things. I want to be held accountable, and I want to be a positive force working to hold others accountable. I also want to acknowledge and remember that we are flawed, and we are learning. We must be patient and empathetic with one another as we come to realize all the ways in which we have unconsciously been taught bigotry and bias. I hope you will be patient and empathetic with me, and that I can be patient and empathetic with those I love who are learning themselves. But back to Stevie. She has eaten so many Michaels today (Michael is the collective name we have given our colony of dubia roaches). She is growing like crazy, and, call this wishful thinking, but I think she is starting to understand us a bit more. She pays attention, notices, and responds. Let us all do the same.
Saturday mornings with Steven :) Stevie is at her kindest when she's cold. Well, maybe not kind, but definitely her most docile, her most willing to be held and cuddled and adored. In the early mornings, while K sleeps in and I slowly open up the house to the chilly light of dawn, Stevie and I have a lovely little moment together, sitting on the living room floor, listening to podcasts and punk rock. Yesterday morning, we listened to this podcast on prison abolition, America's culture of punishment as justice, and what reformative justice versus transformative justice means. Stevie found it very enlightening, and she agrees that police and prison abolition are essential if America intends to heal and regenerate from centuries of violence and abuse against BIPOC bodies.
Learning is much easier when done with a baby lizard. Off we go, for a breakfast of coffee, crickets, and active social engagement!
Saturday, May 23rd, 2020
Three days ago, after many months of hoping and planning for a bearded dragon, we finally received a precious little creature, in a box stamped "Reptiles 2 You." She was going to be named Lemon, as in Liz Lemon because she's a lizard, get it? And because she was yellow with a rounded little belly and fit in your palm like a cupped fruit. She was completely still when we shook her out of the cloth bag she was in, and I said that something was wrong. She was packed on ice to keep her cool and in a quasi-hibernation for the journey. We placed her gently on her basking rock, carefully constructed with garden tiles, under her heat light, inherited from a friend and jerry-rigged to keep the rock at the perfect 101 degrees F. We watched closely for her to wake up. She didn't.
After a lot of tears and a somber backyard burial, we debated whether we wanted to get another lizard. Collette, the eccentric bearded dragon breeder from Arizona, was equally devastated to hear of Lemon's death and offered to either refund us or send us another bearded dragon, a beautiful little orange one she had. We fretted about what had caused Lemon's death, whether it was rough handling by FedEx or the change in altitude going from Phoenix to Memphis to Frisco. We didn't want to condemn another precious little body to a premature death. But the thought of the empty terrarium that Pri had painstakingly assembled over the past days, the roaches we had kept alive for weeks in preparation to be eaten, the dapper little harness that Lemon was going to grow into, and then ten years we had planned to spend with her, we decided to go for it. Still, I spent Thursday morning certain that I would be digging another lizard grave that day.
When another "Reptiles 2 You" box materialized on the front porch, we didn't barrel down the stairs with elation as we had done the previous day. Instead, Priya waited nervously and silently at the top of the stairs while I gingerly snipped the tape and unwound the string tying the cloth bag shut. I rustled the shredded newspaper, and a little orange arrow shot out and nearly made it under the coffee table before I scooped her up and tossed her into the terrarium. And that was Stevie.
Stevie weighs less than 5 grams, is the color of Western desert after rain, and will take exactly none of your shit. She is named in honor of Stevie Nicks and Stevie Wonder, but is called Stephanie when she's being a fancy gal and Steven when she's being a dick. So she gets a lot of Steven. She didn't eat at all on the first day, and I spent most of the day staring her down, watching for signs that she might be dying. She spent most of her day ignoring me. We were overjoyed when, that afternoon, she smacked on the edge of a mustard green. The next morning Stevie ate four roaches (who are all named Michael) for breakfast. Thrilled, we showered her with praise, telling her what a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl she was. She squeezed her beady yellow eyes shut so as not to have to look at our stupid faces anymore. Stevie is a tiny prehistoric creature of rage and I love her *so* much. All I want is for her to be happy and healthy and all she wants is for me to leave her the fuck alone. Apparently all baby bearded dragons are kind of assholes and start to become bros once they get used to you, but I'll think Stevie's perfect even if she remains an asshole for the rest of her (hopefully long) life.