Anteaters look like nothing else on earth. They make adorable little snuffling noises with their long snout as they knuckle-walk around looking for ants. They like avocados on the half shell almost as much as they like carpenter ants. Their tails look like enormous wigs hung over poles. They are remarkably handsome. We saw the new star of the San Francisco zoo today, and I want my very own giant anteater now.
I also want both kinds of tapir, some capybaras, and a pair of emperor tamarinds, but that's been true for a long time. I have a mental zoo collection, you see. I would put in some warthogs, lots of elephants, some orangutans, at least one kookoobura, quite a few javalinas, some sunbears, a pair of pygmy hippos, one black rhino, and a platypus. There would be no large cats, hyenas, polar bears, or sloths. I'm very firm about that.
But I'm definitely adding the giant anteater to my ideal zoo. He was extremely cute. The Baird's tapir was much harder to see because he spent our entire visit lying down in the corner behind some bushes. The capybaras weren't in evidence at all. The zookeeper we asked said it was because the tapir took great exception to them, and the introduction process was proceeding slowly. Eventually, they'll all be roaming around together in the puente al sur exhibit if the tapir cooperates.
We rejoined the zoo since this is the second trip we've made in two months. John and I are both crazy about animals, and although a zoo isn't our ideal way to see certain animals it is a great way to see a variety of beasts without going on expensive trips to Africa or South America. We used to have zoo memberships when we lived practically around the corner, so it makes me feel re-connected to both the city and my past to belong again. I really regret not being able to live in the city any more. Every time I go up there I feel a little pang at no longer being a local. I know it's impractical because of our jobs, and yes, I can drive up there every day if I feel like it since it's only 30 miles, but it's not the same and I miss it.
See, when I originally moved to San Francisco I felt I was coming home in a fashion. I was born there, but moved to Bellevue, Washington, with my family when I was 5. Later, I went off to college in Seattle, all the way across the lake, but it wasn't my idea of a real city (and yes, this is long before Seattle was a hip hotspot). I loved the physical beauty of the Pacific Northwest, but I wanted to be somewhere different so that I could reinvent myself. I moved back to San Francisco when I was 25. It was rough adjusting to my first real move away from family and friends, and I clung to a sense of commitment to get me through the hard times while I established myself in my new home. Who am I now is a result of choosing to live there, refining myself down to the essentials, opening up to new ways of thinking, identifying as a San Franciscan. The city became an entity, a relationship, and I gave away my heart. I can't take it back now just because circumstances have changed.
It's not a big problem, though. Nothing could be, after exile in Nashville. It doesn't haunt me in the night, or make me feel dissatisfied. It's just one of those wistful thoughts that passes through. The proximity means I can be a weekend local if I want to, and I often do. Now that I have my zoo membership again I'm sure I'll be up there all summer long. A couple of hours in that sharp San Francisco breeze is enough to make me grateful for the more clement peninsula weather. There are excellent compensations for not living at the mouth of the bay.
I wonder how the anteater will like the fog.
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