The other week I was laying on the couch at night reading a
book in light so dim I had to squint to keep from reading the same sentences
over and over. I may be short on light and sight but there's nothing wrong with
my peripheral vision especially since we were rat infested in Cozumel. I can
now see the slightest movement around me. By the bare bulb in the kitchen I saw
a flutter and took a quick look around. Just a bug. No biggie. Then I saw
another and literally before I could count to ten the whole kitchen was filled
with these ethereal-looking brown winged flying ants. That's as close to a
description as I could come up with.
Actually they were quite lovely looking.
They weren't scary like flying palmettos and they didn't make any noise -
barely a whisper as I started having to dodge the suckers - there were so many
of them. Then, to my utter amazement, they started dropping like flies. Dying
right under my nose. I swear I wasn't swatting them. It was the weirdest thing.
Except for the huge number of them I wasn't bothered so I didn't wake my
partner (unlike the rat incident) to help get rid of them with me. But I told
him the next morning while I was sweeping away literally hundreds of brown
wings from the kitchen floor and we wondered why these bugs had been suicide
bombing all over the cottage.
Finally, days later I put two and two together. We have
termites! In a flash I remembered the piles of wood particles which I used to
clean from the window sills years ago in my Mother's trailer in Clearwater, FL before
it come crashing down around her and the same piles I clean up here. When I
Googled termites I found out that these pests have a five year life cycle.
Cripes, they live longer than hamsters and guinea pigs. And… they weren't dying
- I just found wings, not many body parts. They shed their wings in their
reproductive cycle.
Fortunately this house is made from hand hewn rock from the
side of the very beautiful mountain that I live upon and there's no danger of
us falling into Lake Atitlan any time too soon. The house is not made of wood.
However these creatures are eating into the wood trim and widow casings so I
suppose we have to get fumigated. Until then the termites and I share the dim
light in the kitchen nightly. I did think of collecting the wings - they look
like small flower petals. Ideas for bowls? Well, I nixed that one. People think
I'm odd enough as it is.
Ants
Speaking of odd. I know I have too much time on my hands but
some things are fascinating and I spent a good twenty minutes last Tuesday
afternoon watching six ants carry a huge (relatively speaking) dead bee from
one side of my roof top patio to the other. I already know where they nest.
It's in a crack on the outside wall of the house and so I knew where they were
headed. I was curious to see whether six ants could maneuver the giant beast
all the way home. It was incredible. Up the wall and down the other side they
went. When they got to the crack it was like watching the perfect 3-point turn.
The perfect parking job. They marched the critter a little further than the
opening where they had room to turn around. Then they carried the bee in
backwards without hesitation. I'm sure the queen or whatever had a great meal.
Hats off to ants.
Birds
OK, I'm on a roll. I have a bird story. For the last month
there has been this small sparrow-looking bird (I don't know about birds) who
visits my kitchen french doors twice a day. She flutters up against the glass
repeatedly as if she wants to come in. I'm assuming she sees her reflection in
the glass in the morning sun but what about when she does it in the late
afternoon? I've tried to take pictures of her but I'm never quick enough. The
other day I was in and out of the kitchen doors and left them open and in she
flew - scared herself silly no doubt. I quickly left so she could find her way
out without me adding to the problem. It didn't really deter her. She's still
coming back.
Ah,
but I do have the quintessentially perfect
bird story. When I was a child living with my Mother in Basingstoke, England we
had a budgie who I named Jo Jo. My Mum used to sit for hours teaching that bird
to talk. He was a lovely soul and quite kind to an inquisitive and sometimes
not so gentle five-year-old --
me. We lived in the upper half of a duplex and one day I was in the
garden and Mum was at the top of the stairs with Jo Jo on her shoulder. Not
thinking, I called to him and he swooped down and out the door he went. My bird
flew away. I saw him sitting at the top of the tree in the garden for a day or
two and then he disappeared. I was heartbroken. A week or so later our mailman
knocked on our door. Out of his mailbag he produced a very healthy-looking Jo
Jo. Apparently the bird was found in a bush down the street by said mailman.
Mum had taught the bird how to say his name and address and Jo Jo had repeated
it to the mailman who picked him up and promptly returned him to us. Jo Jo
Connelly, 12 Chester Place. True story.
The Blue Whippet - finished sculpture.
Humorous gay sculpture. An aging drag queen sits at the glamour mirror and gazes into space as he puts on red lipstick and remembers his "glory days" as the late, great Marilyn Monroe while his cigarette threatens to burn the tablecloth. The sequined gown and platinum blond wig that hang off the back of the chair have seen better days. On a lighter note, the budgie glares at "The Blue Whippet" who is dragging the grey tablecloth, tiffany lamp, blue ashtray filled with butts and the contents of the makeup basket crashing to the red shag carpet below in his attempt to grab the spotlight. View on Etsy; http://etsy.me/1GznA8H
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