July 19 -- A walk in the garden
By
David Myers
Once again I’m writing from
Sarah and I just got back from our morning
walk. Just like in
In
mostly rabbit-free
Yes, my dog talks to me. When most people
tell their dog to speak, they get a “bark!” Mine gives a five-minute treatise
on NAFTA.
A few weeks ago I made the mistake of
asking for her opinion of the United State’s foreign policy in Latin America,
and I was up until 1 a.m. listening to her. I had no idea that Oliver North was
from another planet. Or maybe she was just being sarcastic. Sometimes it’s hard
to tell when really intelligent people are being sarcastic. I always wonder if
I’m supposed to laugh or nod my head knowingly. (When I told my boss why it was
I nearly slept through my meeting that next morning, he fully understood. When
not barking at rabbits or napping, Sarah is a consultant for the diocese.)
This
morning we walked into town where my old neighborhood -- dozens of stores and
restaurants that have been there for nearly 50 years -- are soon to be razed as
part of an urban renewal project. I looked around in amazement. So much personal history. I could see the old movie theater
where I took my first girlfriend to see “Benji.” She
had broken up with me the next day. She didn’t give me a reason. The look on
her face said it all. ...Or maybe it was gas.
In
And here?
The powers-that-be are powering a man-made tornado of corporate greed to
purposely do the same. Sorry to get serious, but, you know -- it’s personal.
Sarah and I found a shady spot where we
enjoyed the momentary drop in temperature.
“All that money to rip apart a perfectly good community and rebuild
it from the bottom up. Why?”
“You
know the story,” my dog responds, “greed overpowers
logic. Think about it. Back home we’re getting a gambling casino. You know
where all those ‘benefit’ dollars will come from?”
“Huh, uh,” I said.
“It’s the losers that make casinos so
lucrative. Casinos are the only businesses powered by personal loss.”
“That’s deep,” I responded. Then she gave
me a look.
“I’ve gotten used to the fact that you
can’t be serious for very long, but it’s still annoying,” she said.
“Sorry.”
“Well, we better get back,” I said, patting
her head. We turned to walk home, but I could tell her mind was still working
overtime. You can always tell because of that one raised eyebrow. I wondered
what it would be this time: Health care? The economy? Reality television?
“I
was watching the news the other night,” Sarah said as we walked along a dirt
trail on one of the few undeveloped lots left in town. “It seems the Iraqi parliament
is going on vacation in August. Our administration said it was because of the
severe August heat. And they’re okay with that. They’re okay with our young men
and women serving three, four and even five tours, heat or no. And by their
actions they seem to be fine with people dying every day.”
“Pope Benedict said that we’re put here to
tend God’s garden that is the earth,” I said as we walked home, the earth
changing around us with each step we took. “I’m thinking the human race could
use a few good gardening lessons.”
“It sure could.”
Aug. 12 – The Great Cricket Hunt of 2007
By
David Myers
Editor’s note: The following is void
of any seriousness whatsoever, as there is far too much seriousness in the
world already. As I’ve said before, if you’re looking for the Christian
connection ... well, if you laugh, or even smile, there it is.
A while back as I lay asleep in my bed around
1 a.m., a cricket began to chirp. The sound reverberated through my room. It
went in my ear and bounced around my brain like a lead ping pong ball.
“Just ignore it,” I told myself. “Relax and
pretty soon you’ll drift right back to--”
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
“Arrrggghhh!”
I got out of bed, grabbed my flashlight, and began to hunt the great beast.
“Where are you? I’ll find you! You can run, but you can’t hide. Bring ’em on! If you aint with me, you agin’ me –”
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
He was in the next room! Sounded like he was
coming from … hmmmmm. Couldn’t tell
for sure. The little guy had stopped talking.
I froze, standing perfectly still, waiting …
waiting … still waiting. They chirp like crazy until you try to find them. Smart little critters.
“Darn it!” I said as I walked back into the
bedroom. “Oh, well. Maybe he’s done for the night (yawn). Yeah, all’s quiet.
He’s not such a bad cricket after all,” I said, my eyes closing. “Ahhh, sleep.”
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
“DANG IT!” I threw
off my blanket and grabbed my flash light like a soldier grasping his rifle. I
put on my slippers, donned my robe, and marched out of the room with as much
determination as a person can muster at 1 a.m. Determination without proper
planning can lead to accidents. As I rounded the corner, I rammed my knee into
a chest of drawers, shouted something unsuitable for print, turned and walked
straight into the edge of the door.
(We’ll
pause here to simulate several moments of cussing. Hmm, hmm,
hmm, hmm … da dee da dee da.
Okay, that should do it.)
Limping into the next room, I waited,
determined not to give in. My head and my knee were pounding. I was sleepy. But
nothing … NOTHING … would deter me from my mission. I would get the little
critter if it killed me.
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
It was coming from behind the sofa! Not
helping matters was the fact that I had recently painted the room, and several
items were piled up behind the couch. And on the couch.
And in front of the couch. Just about everywhere. I
began what generations to come would refer to as the Great Cricket Hunt of
2007. (Not to be confused with Loony Dave’s Cricket Hunt. Completely
different event.) I moved stealthily behind the couch and laid flat on
the floor, a herd of dust bunnies latching themselves onto my robe (that’s how
they migrate). I grasped my flashlight and found that the couch was restricting
my movement. I tried to get my arm into a good flashlight-pointing position,
but my arm seemed to be stuck! Then I realized that my arm wasn’t the only
thing stuck. I couldn’t move!
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
It was behind me! I struggled to move! I
could almost feel it crawling up my leg! With great effort, I managed to squirm my arms free, and then my legs. I pointed the
flashlight behind me. Nothing. Then I had an idea. I
darted to the kitchen and -- “CHIRP, CHIRP” -- grabbed a can of Raid. I sprayed
it everywhere, as if the room was laden with crickets. I sprayed up and down,
over and under. I sprayed for 20 minutes, until the can only sputtered. I
sprayed until … (cough) … until I could barely breath.
I don’t know if it was the chemicals or if I
was just exhausted, but moments later, I was sound asleep.
“CHIRP, CHIRP!”
The next day, as I sat tired at my desk, I
described to a coworker the great cricket hunt. I held nothing back. With
fervent emotion, I told him of the battle, of my injuries, of lying trapped and
of nearly being poisoned.
He asked if I had replaced my smoke alarm
batteries lately. “They tend … to … uh, make a chirping sound when they’re
getting low,” he said
That night, the great cricket hunter --
without fear of injury -- bravely and gallantly changed the batteries in his
smoke alarm, and had the best night sleep he’s had in years.