Know What Bugs Me? — New Blog

What bugs me is the way many insects meet their end. Think of the baby grasshoppers that get in the way when mowing a field. I don’t want to kill them, but with grass over a foot high and a zillion of them popping up in front of me like so many kernels of popcorn, I can’t help running over the ones in my path.

I wonder if they’re scurrying, calling to each other, “Man is in the fields,” as Bambi’s mother warned him of man in the woods.

Then there are the earthworms I uncover while I’m turning the soil for my garden. Why don’t they crawl a few inches to a cool spot in the moist earth? Are they super lazy, or can they not find their way back in?

If I put a clod of dirt over them, would they return to life as usual? I doubt it. They seem determined to lay in the sun and die.

As for mosquitoes with their pesky buzzing sound, I don’t care much what happens to them. In fact, the more the bats hunt and eat every night, the fewer bites for me.

But what about the occasional water bugs that make their way into in the basement in fall? They look similar to roaches but are slow-moving, never come up in the house, and don’t do much of anything as far as I can tell.

Before long, ready for life’s end, they turn on their backs and wiggle their legs as if to hasten death. If you turn them over, they’ll crawl away and do the same thing again.

Crickets come in the basement in fall too. Again, I don’t see the harm in them, so I let them go on about their business, but if they venture upstairs, Rocky and Sapphire, our cats, have a game in mind the crickets won’t like. When I find the cats with one, I scoop the tortured thing up and flush it down the toilet, hoping it will be a quicker death.

Life is brief and harsh for insects, but what can I do about it? If I prayed for the baby grasshoppers to hurry out of the field before I mow, the birds would be waiting. If I stopped to plant each earthworm back in the ground, I’d never get done planting my flowers.

Mosquitos, well, if the Good Lord wanted to do away with them, I’d be fine with that.

I don’t know what can be done for the poor little water bugs and crickets. I guess, like humans, they take a chance at life and hope that when the end comes, it’s peaceful.

We all have a life cycle, and heaven knows people can meet with violent deaths too. But I’m thankful I don’t have to pass away beneath a mower or swelter in the hot sun.

Or get swallowed whole by a monstrous animal.

Maybe we can take a lesson from the insects; get outside more, spread our wings and fly, hide from evil and be ready when our final day arrives.

Linda Sawyer is the author of Blessings Unexpected, a novel. She also writes essays, flash fiction and travel pieces.

Know what Bugs Me? Dysfunctional Paper Towel Dispensers

Going to a public bathroom is challenging, but trying to do it at 30,000 feet above ground in a space just right for a five year old demands extra skill and perseverance. And I guess expecting the staff to make the facility as pleasant as possible is ludicrous. On a flight a while back, as I reached for a paper towel to dry my hands, I noticed they were wedged in the dispenser so tightly none would come out. The edges were mangled like someone had set a wildcat on them.

I picked at the tattered fringes where others had clawed before, determined I’d be the one to get that first paper towel loose. As I worked, I thought of all the various forms of towels I’d used from childhood up. Remember the cloth ones? You’d pull both sides to bring down a clean area and the previously used portion would cycle back into the dispenser. I always suspected the roll of fabric never got changed because remember how thin and stained they looked. Eventually, public bathrooms got paper towels. The first ones cranked out as you turned the handle, followed by the familiar stainless steel dispenser with towels C-folded into it ready to be pulled out. Modern day facilities use electronically dispensed towels which is nice when they work.

In the airplane bathroom though, they had the old-fashioned stainless steel type, and my efforts produced nothing but bits of paper the size of a fingernail. An image came to mind, the maintenance person snickering as he wedged the towels in so tightly the dispenser would never be functional.

Assessing the situation, I wondered whether to simply wipe my hands on my pants or keep working. Just then I noticed a stack of wadded up tissues in the trash can. Aha! Better than nothing, I figured, as I grabbed several and patted my hands, trying to ignore the bits of paper disintegrating and sticking between my fingers. I threw the tissues away and rubbed my hands together, attempting to dislodge the bits, while looking at the perfectly full paper towel dispenser and wishing I could wrap my hands around the neck of the person who filled it so tightly.

As I exited, I said to the woman waiting, “Paper towel dispenser is out of order.” She looked at me quizzically and stepped inside. A few minutes later I heard a crashing sound coming from the bathroom. The woman stepped out, a smile on her face, and maneuvered around the curious flight attendants. Perhaps they suspected an explosive device had been detonated. I knew better. The woman carried a huge wad of paper towels in her hand and nodded to me as she passed. “Got it fixed,” she said.

Over my shoulder, two female attendants scurried to pick up a heap of paper towels that drifted into the walkway. I chuckled, looked at my fellow passenger, and gave her a thumbs up.

Written by Linda Sawyer

June 14, 2021

Do I embellish my What Bugs Me pieces?

You bet I do. Take them with a grain of salt.