By John Tredrea, Staff Writer
It was last Saturday afternoon, and I was in a funk.
I was thinking about the school budget — not that much, I admit, but it did pop into my mind now and then along with the Goldman Sachs case (another belly laugh from another two-faced outrage) and a few other newsy items, like how well Mike Pelfry was pitching for the Mets and what John Gotti’s son has been up to lately.
I was thinking about my own budget, too. That was about as much fun as usual — maybe even less.
I decided to go for a walk. Why not? It was Hopewell Valley Come Out and Play Weekend. I admire the Hopewell Valley Municipal Alliance, the organizers of that weekend, very much, but had not taken up the Alliance’s offer to join in any special events they’d set up for it.
Why not? Well, it’s like a story a friend of mine once told me about his daughter when she was 7 years old (she’s in college now).
She is, and always was, a very precocious and witty young lady. A real charmer.
Anyhow, when she was 7, her parents thought it might be a good idea for her to join the Brownies, and they mentioned that to her one evening.
”Mom and Dad!” she declared firmly and a tad impatiently while crossing her arms and tapping a foot decisively. “You know how I feel about organized group activities!”
I couldn’t have put it better. I’m a minor league curmudgeon, too, so I went for a walk alone instead of opting for an organized group activity.
I crossed the southern end of The Pennington School campus, which starts right across the street from where I live. I went past the baseball field. A team was practicing. It was nice to see, but I missed the sound of wooden bats. Aluminum bats make an ugly sound.
Past the old football field, I came to the school’s pond, near the railroad tracks. That pond is a good spot to “veg out” if you like that sort of thing, and I do. It’s my second favorite pastime.
Sleeping is number one, far and away. Sleeping is the N.Y. Yankees of pastimes. It’s got more championships than all other pastimes put together and looks good to repeat this year.
It was quiet near the pond, and I stopped for a minute to just go blank. Even at a relatively still, relatively small pond, the sound of the water can make you go blank. Say hallelujah!
Then I heard a loud splash near the bank and looked down at the water, hoping to see a big fish. But there were a lot of bubbles in the water, and soon a turtle surfaced, about 2 feet from the bank. He, or she, was upside down. An orangish shell, about 6 inches long. Suddenly the turtle dove, making another loud splash.
”Let’s see where he comes up and how long it takes him,” I thought, staring at the water curiously.
I was now the total reverse of blank. I had come to the surface, but upside down, as it were, do you see? Yes, this turtle was a lot more interesting than the way I’d been moping about money, my own and other people’s, back on the sofa.
He and I had a lot in common. We have to keep coming for air, but insist on doing it upside down . . . for some reason.
In about two seconds, he surfaced again, still upside down, about 12 feet from where he had dove. I was surprised and impressed he was able to go that far that fast.
”I thought turtles were supposed to be slow,” I mused. “Not in the water, apparently.”
He dove again and went even further this time and took even less time to do it. I kept watching him until I couldn’t see him anymore. Then I listened until I couldn’t hear him anymore. He was on the far side of the pond somewhere. I guess he was doing the turtle equivalent of going out for a walk. And getting whatever he could to eat on the way, of course.
It was a small, good thing, seeing that turtle. What a swimmer! I went back home. I don’t think I started thinking about the budgets before I got there. Going out had been like coming up for air.
Now it was time to dive in again.
Thanks for the suggestion, Municipal Alliance.
