Shoo Fly

I have window air conditioners that blow…and not in a good way.  They work to keep the place tolerable, at least to a point, but the monthly cost to keep from living in a sauna is quite high. So I open my windows at every opportunity, especially on particularly windy days and evenings, like it is here now — a storm having just moved through. The problem IS, is that somewhere, somehow, there must be a hole in a screen or some tiny crevice in a frame where all manner of creepy crawlers and buzzing flyers are gaining entrance. I’ve looked at all the windows and can’t SEE any holes in the screens, but something is amiss, otherwise we wouldn’t be living in a frog’s paradise.

Oh, my cat, Shaylee…she makes short work of the larger creeping critters. Being a good hunter of the bug variety, and apparently having no shortage of an appetite for the little buggers, she has a field day, I must say.  Flies are her favorite. It’s actually quite impressive to watch her in action. Awe inspiring to see someone so dedicated to their craft, truly.

But the smaller bugs, and unfortunately the truly frightening ones — the ones that look prehistoric or as though they’ve somehow mutated due to alien interference — THOSE she has no interest in. Maybe she knows something we don’t.

More often than I care to be doing so, I find myself up on a chair, glass or tissue in hand (we catch as many of them as we can and let them go outside rather than just arbitrarily smooshing them), trying desperately to catch a fast-footed whatchamacallit without it springing into defensive mode or simply losing its grip on the wall and landing on ME.  It’s a sight to behold, I’m sure, and I have no doubt my neighbors must wonder just “what the hell is going on over there with all that noise and screaming??”

Knowing my luck, it’s these very same liberated bugs returning over and over again, ungrateful for their shot at freedom…or as I have often dreamt in nightmarish color, perhaps they are rising up, staunchly determined to stage a coup and take over the house altogether.

 

To Mom, with Love

I’ve apologized and I’ve waxed somewhat poetic and throughout it all, I’ve tried to be completely honest about my hand in the plot to drive my mother insane.

my mother’s look from 1963 on

Oh, she did get me back for some of my shenanigans, although it may have taken a few years…but her curse worked. Worked very well, indeed.

Despite our demonic childish antics — and indeed, those that have continued into our adulthood, my mother has loved us through it all, my brother and me. And you know, I don’t think it’s because she had to. I think she just liked us. Still does, apparently. I can tell. I’m just not sure why.

Motherhood is the only job where your subordinates can do everything in the world to undermine you, yet you still excel in your career…still have a passion for your work…still have pride in your venture. If that’s the case, then my mother deserves some kind of a service award. What will she get on Mother’s Day? Us. She gets us. Maybe cake. Definitely a houseful of love.

Petrified Petra on the Prowl

As I watch my dim cute dog barking ferociously from her position in the middle of the front yard, feet planted firmly, neck hair duly raised in alarm, I can’t help but hang my head in humorous frustration. For you see, it’s Sarah, my daughter, standing by the car in all her yellow-haired innocence that’s causing this canine uproar. Sarah. The one thing Petra loves more than food.

Knowing Sarah was out there, I let Petra out to ummm…you know…and rather than run to Sarah, as expected, when she was finished her business, she instead took up an “I must guard the house from this hitherto unknown and completely strange human person” stance. And I’m left standing here in the doorway thinking WTF? Once she braved the few feet to investigate the offending creature further, Petra was overjoyed to find it was her dear friend and nap pal, the purveyor of French fries.

I’m awed by the fact that Petra was brave enough to check out something that frightened her as she never would’ve done that when we first got her. I’m equally concerned that her eyesight is apparently becoming such that she couldn’t distinguish her friend no more than 10 feet away. Something that wasn’t a concern before.

So now I’m wondering…is it as my mother believes – that Petra was being a tattle-tale and telling on Sarah for being outside when, according to Petra’s sense of the rules, she shouldn’t have been? Or, did Petra really not recognize her? Or perhaps seeing Sarah out of her usual context sort of threw Petra off her game? OR is it more sinister than all of that?

Perhaps Petra saw the shell that we all believe to be Sarah but which has been taken over by an alien spore, demonic entity, or wayward ghost looking for a new home? Maybe I’m underestimating Petra’s keen powers of observation. Is it possible Petra can sense the evil lurking within? Now I just don’t know what to believe.

I mean, isn’t this how all the best horror movies start?

Flower Power

I absolutely love flowers. They make me smile. Although all types of flowers are lovely in their own way, daisies are my favorite. Daisies and Sunflowers. They’re such happy flowers. Petal-covered joy if you ask me. My local grocery store at one time had a small-ish floral section. They’ve since remodeled portions of the store, however, and ever since, the floral department has expanded. Unfortunately, their prices expanded as well. Regardless, I still enjoy the walk through this brief flowery moment of bliss as I meander through my shopping list.

Needless to say, my heart was broken as I made my way to the cereal aisle last night and came across this sad sight: bunches of beautiful flowers squashed into a metal cart – presumably awaiting an errant employee to put them on display. Poor things.

I’m not sure what this sadness over the condition of random bouquets says about me. Nature Lover? Anthophile? Psychotic? TomAYto – TomAHto I suppose.