Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus, thank you for clicking, and thank you for listening. I’m Renée Valentina and this is my podcast. I write this for my students, my friends, and basically anyone who would like to continue the conversation. You can listen and read along. The link to the transcript is in the description of the episode.  I’ve been thinking about the fish and the bird that fall in love. In the musical, Fiddler on the Roof, the question is, where would they build a home? My little heart wonders, what does that matter, if they found each other and the path that led them to fall in love? Half of the battle is won.
I’ve noticed my proclivity for Twitter accounts that tweet about lusting and pining over an unrequited love, a love that has been torn away from them, or a love, so silent, only thousands of followers know it exists, yet the identities are in the shadows, anonymous. I’m hooked. I devour the little tweets, imagining the stories, fantasizing, and resolving them so they can be together. It is not all fun and games. As I am generally confronted with the question: if it were real love, why wouldn’t they be together? What is the point of declaring everlasting love or lust and not going for it? The truth is, building is hard and unromantic at times, at least in the mainstream romantic comedy sense. But I digress… today I am not for understanding the realities behind unrequited love or the appeal of platonic love. I’m interested in the fools that believe they can make it work, the fools that step out, from behind anonymity. Today, I want to talk about the fish and the bird who were faced with having to find a home because they fell in love.
The little fish, or in Tom Wait’s version, a whale, falls in love with a bird. Perhaps they met online or on a singles cruise. I can totally see their types putting themselves out there, taking the risk of meeting the psychos, weirdos, and creeps, with the hope of finding a diamond, a special someone who will squench their heart and stay around the next morning, and the morning after that. They are the type that never stopped believing in love, they never gave up. The singers of Morrisey songs and puckers of petals and blowers of dandelions, making wishes, gazing at the moon or the sky or through windows. They were looking, open and waiting for lighting to strike, and they found each other.  A counterpart in love. Once they saw each other, they just knew everything that came after would be noticed as just that, their own personal watershed moment.
Although their families never understood, the bird and the fish laughed the hours away, kissed to their delight and traveled by air and sea. They stopped at every port, caught rides on boats, and enjoyed the wind, each in their own way. They had so much in common, their love of the moon and worms, for instance. They never had trouble picking out what to eat nor where to travel. The looked at each other with such admiration. The fish adored to watch his love fly, glide in the air, to the moon and back. She flew for both, with all her might, she would swish and dive, delighting her love, her fish. She, in turn, would watch her beloved fish, swim around the moon, through it, and to the depths where all the moon’s secrets were kept.  The fish would exclaim, my darling, I swim and feel you with me, even at the distance. My darling bird, I slice the water, and the thought of you makes my two-ventricle heart beat softer and faster, all at the same time. You are my first thought in the morning,.. Continue Reading

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