Oddments

In search of story


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Musings on wild life: February 1.18

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!

That, as you may remember, was my mother’s incantation on the first of every month. I’m not sure why except for the twelve rabbits’ feet involved.

I am not enamored of rabbits, as you know if you’ve read my blog for a while. They are the garden’s Visigoths and nothing can withstand their onslaught. Here, in the wee hours of one winter morning, by the light of the lamppost, I spotted one of their kind. It was huge. And obviously reconnoitering. Duly noted, you furry pig!

I am equally not enamored of Canadian geese, as you also know from my blog. They, however, are enamored of this retention pond. Why Mother Nature, who came up with the song of the lark and the wren, invented the honk of the goose is explainable only in terms of her caustic sense of humor.

Then, of course, the ants. Oh, they keep on a-comin’. At first in my desk. Now along the baseboard and up through the furnace vent in the dining room. Yesterday I was out in the cold mud dousing the side of my new house with Home Defense. In January? Really?

Having lived in California, I know about ants, which there put earthquakes to shame in terms of intimidation. They come like an undertow and pull you to your knees.

But this is Indiana, which, though definitely ant-ridden, usually doesn’t let the little rotters out mid-winter.

And have you ever noticed how observing ants can make you itch?

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, dear reader!

 

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Musings on place: January 29.18

Life in a new place has an edge to it. Every day taunts you with your confusions. You never choose right the first time: that first drawer or cabinet door you open is inevitably the wrong one. Whatever you’re looking for is somewhere else.

You mutter at the builder, who put the pantry next to the refrigerator. It is his fault that you put the eggs in the pantry and the aluminum foil in the refrigerator.

You are grateful for the handy little storage closet, but you cannot seem to navigate it without a ricochet off that lower shelf.

Then one week that edge seems smoother, and you wonder if indeed that is so. Are you really opening the right drawer the first time? Are you no longer finding the paper towels in the freezer? Are you actually retrieving the hammer from the closet without dinging your head?

You allow yourself to take a deep breath and acknowledge that, yes, there is the slightest sense of routine seeping back into your life. Yes, there are still things in storage and much more to be done, but there does seem to be a smoothing of the edge. Ahhhh….

And then, incredulous, you see them: ants! In January! On your desk! Did they hitchhike in from the storage unit? Did they come from outside, enlivened by those warm days last week? Do you care? No! You just want a cannon to blast them out.

You hear them snickering, and you know the edge is still there.

 

p.s. The black and blue of this post has some ironic meaning, I’m sure, but I have no idea why the two colors happened. Probably the doings of the ants.


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Connections: November 4.17

If I were a bug

with multiple arms

would it add on to

my considerable charms?

Would my hands and brain

be more in sync

when I scratched my head

and tried to think?

Or would I confuse

my arms with legs

and kick myself

in zigs and zags

and as grande finale

clumsily obnoxious

fall all twisted

on my bug proboscis?

 

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives

and to the D.J. Berg store of whimsy.

 

Connections

 

 


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Connections: September 30.17

In the center of this twiggy heap

you’ll spy a dot of red

it’s the littlest tiniest bug

yes, a bug is what I said!

The littlest tiniest busiest

scurrying as if crazed

HOLD STILL! I ordered grandly

but he raced about, unfazed.

I couldn’t count his legs

they were just a blur

I couldn’t see a wing

scale, feather or fur

so I think it was a bug

bright as cinnamon heart

harrumphing at out-sized humans

who seem not to be all that smart.

 

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