Life Lesson from a Bug

Like most of the lower forty-eight, Oklahoma weather has four seasons, but only two are worth mentioning. One is winter when it’s moderately cold but easily bearable. Unless you’re working outside, put on a lined jacket and you’re good to go. Summer is stifling hot. It sucks up what little energy you stored up from the night before and spews it into a pale and lifeless blue sky. There is no fall. Not enough to brag about anyway. Not like a New England fall with its riot of colors and ubiquitous leaf peepers. We have Blackjack Oak that goes from ordinary green to baby shit brown in the course of a week. Spring? Yes, the sun shines and the green reappears along with dogwood blossoms and the redbud, but so does the gale force winds from the south, stirring up eye-watering pollen, not to mention batches of deadly tornados. Yet, once in a while, on the most rare of occasions, the most perfect of spring days comes along. Today was one of those days.

Ordinary activities, none of which were seriously strenuous, had taken up most of my daylight hours. There was the physical therapy for my shoulder at The House of Pain for most of the morning. Then a little Internet research for an audio amplifier I’ve been thinking about took up a lot more time than I intended. It was somewhere around four p.m. that my thoughts turned to nature and how such a rare day was slipping away from me. Get the camera, I thought, take a drive. Doesn’t much matter where, just do it. I grabbed the camera bag, checked for spare batteries, and made sure I had ample memory cards, got in the pickup…and sat there…thinking. Where to go? A common dilemma. With the price of gas as it is, driving aimlessly around the countryside seemed not only wasteful, but expensive. Knowing full well that you never know what’s out there till you see what’s out there, and yet I couldn’t seem to make a decision. Couldn’t get fired up. Couldn’t make myself put the old tranny in D, and go.

Despite the lack of excessive physical activity since arising at six on this fine day, I realized I was just plain tired. Didn’t take a nap, seldom do, and now, no energy. Making good photos under such conditions is near impossible, at least for me. So, instead of hitting the dusty trail of life and adventure, I drove directly into the garage and shut the door. That act alone was quite depressing. It made me realize how age is creeping up on me and stealing life away.

I grabbed a book (actually a Kindle e-reader), poured myself a spooker, and went outside to the deck to think about things. The red needle on the dinner plate sized thermometer pointed exactly between the 60 and the 80. A slight movement of air from the north rustled the leaves enough to make its presence known but nothing you could call a breeze. My home-made water fixture trickled water into a store bought plastic pool but the pleasing sound was authentic enough to be believable. Beyond that, a Downy Woodpecker half heartedly pecked on a peanut butter suet cake I had hung the day before.

As I took an appreciative sip from the spooker, I noticed an insect of some kind on the glass table before me. The bug was small, not much bigger than an ant, elongated with what looked like tiny silver wings. There was a single round whitish spot on its back. It was moving clockwise, traveling the plastic edging of the table like a narrow highway. I didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but as it made one complete revolution around the perimeter of the table, maybe nine feet total (but miles and miles in bug distance), I began to take an interest. Old White Spot (or Spot for short) continued on its journey for yet another lap, never pausing, never losing its direction, a bug with a purpose. Or perhaps it was just old and confused, like me.

I began to identify with Spot; still healthy enough, able to move around, but only in continuous circles (or in this case, squares) never straying far from the center, and seeing nothing new. Like staying at home, exactly what I was doing. Somewhere between the first and second corner of the fourth lap, He (it had to be a male as it never stopped to ask directions) dropped off the table, or maybe the face of the earth. I never saw it again.

Someday, I thought, in one way or another, just like the bug, we’re all going to drop off the face of the earth. But if we want to enjoy the journey, we simply have to stop going in circles. Get off the path and out of our comfort zone. Tomorrow, I’ll put the old pickup in R, back out of the driveway, and travel my own narrow highway…wherever it leads.

Thanks for the lesson, Spot.

My small tribute to the late great Gilda Radner as Emily Litella

Emily: What’s all this fuss about the right to bare arms? What’s wrong with bare arms anyway? It’s not like showing acres of boobies like some of these young whippersnappers do. There’s nothing sinful about a bare arm people. Okay, so some bare arms are kind of ugly with those splotchy looking brown spots and some are ugh, hairy. Yeah, some are wrinkled and flabby with all that loose flesh doin’ the hangy down thing. But you don’t have to look for Pete’s sake. Just discretely turn away and pretend those arms don’t exist.

Now some of the young boys have big, muscled arms that they bare every chance they get. That’s not so bad, not bad at all. So what’s the big deal about some kind of amendment? What’s that about?

Jane Curtain: Emily, that’s the right to bear arms. Not bare arms. Like a well armed militia. It’s in the constitution Emily.

Emily: Oh, well that’s entirely different. Never mind.

A clip from Gilda and Jane.

Ralph and the Lion

The Tulsa World editorial page beat me to it in the Saturday edition, but I have to weigh in about one of our Oklahoma reprehensives, I mean representatives, Sen. Ralph Shortey R. Oklahoma City. Under the headline: Open-carry Bill Advances, was the following quote:

“Wait until you get attacked by a turkey. You will know the fear that a turkey can evoke in a person. I started carrying a gun in my truck after that without a license because I didn’t want to get attacked by a mountain lion. Turkey’s are bad enough.”

Now I’m thinking, oh that Ralph, there he goes again. what a kidder. That is so funny. But after reading the entire article, I was amazed to find that Mr. Shortey said it with a straight face and was apparently sober at the time.

I know nothing about the frequency or severity of turkey attacks and had no idea just how dangerous they could be despite having several personal encounters in the wild. I would take a photo, say thank you Mr. Turkey, and move on with only a brief acknowledgement from Old Tom. Hard to imagine having to beat one to death with a stick to in order to save your life.

But a mountain lion attack? In Oklahoma? Seriously? Believe it or not, it has happened. In 2002 near Newkirk, OK a “large cat” ran into and knocked down Ms. Karina Jackson while out in a field looking for a lost puppy. "It felt like I got kicked by a horse or a cow,” she said. Deputies confirmed cat like scratches on the woman’s arm. However, there were no witnesses.

Sightings are not as uncommon in the Sooner state as you might think, but I could find no other records of cougar attacks (cougar, mountain lion, puma, same-same). So where does this put the likelihood of being mauled while strolling down a quiet Oklahoma country lane on a beautiful Saturday afternoon singin’ Zip a Dee Doo Dah? My guess is somewhere about the same as winning the recent $700 million plus lottery last Saturday night, or all of Ruth’s household cats suddenly disappearing, abducted by aliens in a UFO for the purpose of some kind of ghastly experiments. Unlikely yeah, but not impossible. And yet, despite the miniscule odds of a cougar attack, ol Ralph feels moved to support open-carry so that we can all emulate Marshall Dillon in Gunsmoke and walk steely-eyed down main street at high noon with big iron on our hip. While I fully support our right to bare bear arms, carrying heat in plain sight and in the public, seems a bit over the top in machismo.

As for Mr. Shortey, are he and his ilk typical of our state’s politicians, the very ones who make the numerous decisions that affect so many Oklahoman’s and our quality of life? Sadly, yes. Is it any wonder we Okies rank so low in so many categories? Gee.

A word of caution. When the open-carry bill passes, and it will, be sure to not make any feline moves or gobbling noises when ol’ Ralph is near. With guns a-blazin’, he will take you out.

(A turkey as seen by Mr. Shortey)