Climbing the Walls of Covid with Greenie
Finding Significance in the Time of Covid
by Wendy Noritake
Climbing the Walls of Covid with Greenie
In the first month in the Age of Covid, I panicked. The thought of catching the virus was frightening, but more importantly, there could be a lack of supplies on the island. Hoarding became a past-time endeavor, with toilet paper being the most sought-after commodity in my community. There were no masks to be found or thermometers or latex gloves. Hand sanitizers and bottles of isopropyl alcohol had also disappeared. Paper towels became scarce. I resorted to buying Mr. Coffee filters when paper napkins were gone. Bottles of my favorite Malbec wine and Grey Goose vodka were bought and stashed in my garage for safe keeping in case the cargo ships ceased to arrive. Sleepless nights began. I was losing my grip.
But within that first month, a small Gold Dust Madagascar Day Gecko came to my rescue. It first appeared one morning on my writing desk, climbed onto the lid of a raffia basket that held my post-it notes, and warmed itself under the desk lamp. Once sufficiently heated, it ran off to do whatever geckos do during the day. In the late afternoon it reappeared on my desk, looking at me with round, turquoise-ringed black eyes. Most often these geckos appear in a beautiful shade of yellow-green to dark green with tiny gold colored dots sprinkled across the body, with three bright red marks at the center of their backs and three red lines across the face. They also look like they’re smiling. Because of its small size and quiet demeanor, I decided it was a she and named her Greenie. The red marks on their backs are their identifiers, each one is unique. I take a photo of their backs so I know who is who, much like biologists taking photos of orca fins to differentiate between them.
Already, I had been adopted by two kitchen geckos, who enjoy warming their bodies on the wooden night light I installed for them to shake off the early morning chill. Mr. and Mrs. Green Thing have given me hours of endless entertainment while preparing meals, and when I found one of them licking the leftover palmier pastry that a guest hadn’t finished, a favorite snack was discovered. I now buy them at Costco and freeze the cookies for my little friends.
I offered Greenie pieces of palmier. She loved it. Since ants also enjoy the confection, I placed the little condiment dish on top of a larger dish filled with water which prevents the ants from getting to the treats. That dish also serves as Greenie’s water bowl. The geckos don’t actually eat the palmier, they lick the pieces, probably for the sweetness, although sometimes they do get crumbs in their mouths, and it’s hilarious to watch their facial movements. They can actually lick their eyeballs with that long red tongue if any cookie bits land there. When I whack flying bugs that land on the walls or my desk, Greenie gobbles them up. We work as a team.
One evening Greenie was looking at my computer screen. When she saw the cursor arrow, she ran across my desk and jumped on the monitor. She moved quickly as I steered the arrow around the screen, and she darted about the surface to catch the cursor bug, not understanding that she couldn’t eat it. I once had a cat who loved to chase a red laser beam, but this was a lizard. I was surprised and amazed. Chasing the cursor became a fun game that we would play often.
One day, a bug landed inside my water bottle. Greenie saw it and immediately looked at the struggling insect with a laser-like stare. She climbed the bottle and tried unsuccessfully to eat it.
Recently, I was closing the sliding doors in the bedroom for the night, and a thought leapt into my mind, there wasn’t a gecko in the frame was there? I glanced at the rail and closed the glass door.
The next morning, I noticed on the floor in front of the glass sliding door the body of a dead gecko lying on its back. Oh no, it’s not Greenie, is it? I gently picked up the gecko with Kleenex and turned it over. The markings on its back looked like Greenie’s. Oh God no! I’ve killed Greenie, my beautiful little friend! I was sick to my stomach as I took the little body outside for burial. Why wasn’t I more careful? Greenie, I’m so sorry! I could barely function while sitting at my desk and looking at her empty dish and vacant lounging spot. Two days went by as I beat myself up whenever the thought of her crept into my mind.
On the third day as I sat at my computer, a little green head poked out from behind a painting. Greenie, it’s you! You’re back, you’re not dead! Oh thank God, as I raced to the kitchen to fill her bowls with palmier and water. She licked and drank as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. I have no idea where she had been nor who the dead gecko was on the bedroom floor that morning. But, I was elated, in heaven, to see this little creature once again.
Greenie continues to visit my desk in the late afternoon and goes in and out of my office throughout the evening, licking her palmier, basking under the desk lamp, or climbing the walls and ceiling. Around 6 p.m. she will leave my desk and crawl along the wall to disappear behind a framed art or photo. I don’t know if she stays there all night, because I most likely won’t see her again until the next afternoon. The kitchen geckos go to bed around that time, too, retreating behind the cabinets to sleep through the night. The family of geckos goes to bed and may dream of roaches and ants they’ll catch the next day or to savor a fresh palmier on their tongues.
What I have discovered, during months of what seems an endless Covid quarantine, is how easily comforted and amused I’ve become through this serendipitous relationship with Greenie. How I look forward to seeing her each day, and how wonderful to have found that a little green lizard could warm my heart and bring such joy to my soul.
The next morning, I noticed on the floor in front of the glass sliding door the body of a dead gecko lying on its back. Oh no, it’s not Greenie, is it? I gently picked up the gecko with Kleenex and turned it over. The markings on its back looked like Greenie’s. Oh God no! I’ve killed Greenie, my beautiful little friend! I was sick to my stomach as I took the little body outside for burial. Why wasn’t I more careful? Greenie, I’m so sorry! I could barely function while sitting at my desk and looking at her empty dish and vacant lounging spot. Two days went by as I beat myself up whenever the thought of her crept into my mind.
On the third day as I sat at my computer, a little green head poked out from behind a painting. Greenie, it’s you! You’re back, you’re not dead! Oh thank God, as I raced to the kitchen to fill her bowls with palmier and water. She licked and drank as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. I have no idea where she had been nor who the dead gecko was on the bedroom floor that morning. But, I was elated, in heaven, to see this little creature once again.
Greenie continues to visit my desk in the late afternoon and goes in and out of my office throughout the evening, licking her palmier, basking under the desk lamp, or climbing the walls and ceiling. Around 6 p.m. she will leave my desk and crawl along the wall to disappear behind a framed art or photo. I don’t know if she stays there all night, because I most likely won’t see her again until the next afternoon. The kitchen geckos go to bed around that time, too, retreating behind the cabinets to sleep through the night. The family of geckos goes to bed and may dream of roaches and ants they’ll catch the next day or to savor a fresh palmier on their tongues.
What I have discovered, during months of what seems an endless Covid quarantine, is how easily comforted and amused I’ve become through this serendipitous relationship with Greenie. How I look forward to seeing her each day, and how wonderful to have found that a little green lizard could warm my heart and bring such joy to my soul.
Finding Significance in the Time of Covid
Wednesday, September 2nd, 2020
This evening I received an email from my childhood friend Shugie, but it wasn’t from her. Her daughter Freya had written to tell me that her Mom had been at home the last four weeks with the family, and that she was dying from brain cancer. Freya had gone through her Mom’s email list and saw my name. “I absolutely know you have been a good friend to my mom; I have heard her speak of you fondly. I am certain she would want you to know she will soon be passing from life to death. I am happy to pass on any hugs, kisses, or kind words you may have for her.”
Of course I had kind words for her, but I needed to gather my thoughts. Only a couple of days before, Shug had come into my consciousness. I hadn’t heard from her in a while and wondered how she was doing in the Time of Covid. I resolved to call her.
I stayed up late looking for photos, poring over my feelings. We were close friends from grade school through high school on Bainbridge Island in Washington State. Although we lost touch after graduation, we were reunited at our 40th high school reunion in 2010. How joyous was the reconnection!
Three of us classmates had maintained close contact from childhood into our adult lives, and Shug would return into our lives. We had gotten rooms in the local casino hotel when the reunion took place, and we stayed up late into the night, laughing like silly teenagers, crying tears of joy. Over the subsequent years, we would meet numerous times around the Seattle area—sailing, attending concerts/theaters, critiquing stories, hanging in the brew pubs—spending time as if we would be together for the rest of our lives. Shug would be the first to die from our little group.
What does one say at the end? I was thinking about you the other day and wondered how you were doing. I finished my nonfiction story; did you finish your fantasy novel? We were supposed to meet for our 50th high school reunion this month, but Covid put a stop to that. You were going to return to Hawaii and swim with me and the Mermaids since you had chickened out at the last minute.
What I did say in my message to her was, “I will see you again, I know that for certain. What an incredible time we had growing up on Bainbridge Island and then finding each other again in our older years, being there through our losses and good times. I will carry these memories with me, grateful you were in my life, and my heart and spirit are with you. I love you, dear friend.”
Freya didn’t say how long Shug might live or how cognitive she was. Maybe I’ll send the letter in the morning in case I think of more to say. But, my inner self told me to attach the photos and hit the send button.
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Thursday, September 3, 2020
As usual, I was up at 4 a.m. and noticed that there was an email from Freya. She said, “My Mom passed away at 4:30 this morning (in Seattle). I read her your letter of love and told her she was safe, she was loved, and she was free to do what she needed to do. Five minutes later she stopped breathing. I am so happy you were able to connect with her.”
God, I was grateful to have received the message and thankful that I had sent the email that night. I took the opportunity to tell her what she had meant to me and that I’d see her again.
My way of dealing with strife is to swim in the ocean where its healing waters wash away the cares, wants, fears and doubts. Shug wanted so badly to swim with me that summer of 2018. She had talked about it for weeks before her arrival. So, at 8:30 a.m. this morning as I swam away from the ladder at Mahukona, I felt she was with me. No more than a few minutes had passed when four spotted eagle rays appeared, circling around me. I knew she was in awe.
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