the lesson of the moth

by Don Marquis, from The Best of Don Marquis. © Doubleday. Reprinted with permission.

the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

The Trouble With Women

Where to start.  K's concern that for her birthday I would again bestow upon her something that was rated in amperes rather than carats spurred her to present me with a jeweler's card replete with contact person, catalogue number, and the all-important weight in carats.  What this approach lacks sponteneity it more than makes up for as a time saver for the shopping impaired.

So I surreptitiously tradfat to the appointed shop, purchase said baubel (a fractional number that could only be a ring size had thoughtfully been written on the back of the business card) leave it to be sized, pick it up two days later, and secrete it in the garage.

Tonight comes said savvy shopper, all serious faced, with news she has something on her mind we need to talk about.  Has any man ever emerged from a "we need to talk" talk unscathed?

A picture of buddha-like serenity under even this close scrutiny, though my pulse was racing like a crack addict's, I lowered the tv volume, turned slowly, then sweetly said "Of course, beloved.  What up?"

"That ring I wanted?  Remember?"  Regaining my interior composure I slyly feign having forgotten, then suddenly remember "Oh!  Yeah!" 

"Do you still have that business card I gave you?"  The picture of concentration now.  "I'm sure it's around here someplace."  Face gets pouty.  Posture slouches.  The "I'm sooooo disappointed in you" look she's never had occasion to use before.  "Well, I just got my hands massaged and oiled at the spa today, and, Can I Get It?"

This is what I'm talking about.  That's supposed to be the logic that turns me around?

"Sure!" says I.  Silence.  A long one.  "Wasn't that the right answer?"  I'm innocent and a little hurt, my tone implies.  "Well, yes, but there were two right answers"  "Well at least I got one of them, huh?" milking it now.

Long story short, she gets the ring a week early, is happy as can be, and I get an extra dollpo of syrup on my ice cream tonight.

Things you don't see in the midwest

K decided to clean the garage in preparation for the Bug Assassain's visit.  Mice leapt out at her, chased her around the garage, snarling and gnashing their teeth, trying to jump up and take her by the jugular, the way I heard it.  She turned SnapDog loose on them.  He's useless.  She turned to me.  "I'll organize and put everything back," she said, "but you have to get the stuff out of the corners and edges."

Keeping a keen eye peeled for the fearsome creatures, and their accomplice ants, I ran across this little multicolored lizard about the size of my long finger who was so disoriented he wouldn't run, wouldn't be shooed, wanted to run under my shoes or whatever I was dragging out into the harsh sunlight.  I dropped a soft cloth over him, to gather him up and take him outside.  To my horror, as I turned the cloth over to close it up, his tail falls out, onto the garage floor, and shakes violently with its own life for almost four minutes. Heeeewwwwww!  Put the little guy out under a bush.  He didn't move much for a long time, but when I checked back an hour or so later, he was gone.  That would throw a guy's swagger off till you got used to it.

What Would Jesus Bomb?

Saw that bumpersticker on a wheezing Volvo in Prescott.

So, Martha goes to prison for five months, five more months under house arrest, and OJ plays golf four times a week in Florida.  America, America.

Slept badly; kept hearing this buzzing, annoying noise in my right ear, sounded like "You're going too slow!  Hurry up! Everybody's passing us!"  Probably just something I ate too late.

Yardwork Today!  Despite my best efforts, the lawn continues to grow, scraggly.  I have a vendetta out for the ants what bit my Bella's foots and ankles when she got out of the pool to pee, so as I'm tidying up with the Toro SuperSuck, I figured I'd see how many ants a SuperSuck could suck. 

Little bastards kept coming, like six legged lemmings plunging into the abyss of my Toro.  Heh heh heh, take that you little shits! 

Eeeeeek.  Must have been standing on one ant hill while vackummin another.  Doing the ant dance.  Once more, into the breech(es)!

Now, here's where it got interesting, if less picturesque.  Not that I would have done anything differently if I'd thought it through first (all together now, "yea, right") but I guess it's not that surprising that this four pounds of ants didn't lie, stunned, inert in the bottom of the bag.  Disappointing but not surprising.  This I learned as I emptied the bag into the trash barrel.  Talk about holding a grudge.  Professional bug assassain on tap for Wednesday.  I'm staying inside until then.  Just in case.

Travels With Lady Macbeth

Drove her to Prescott Wednesday.  Stayed at the Lynx Creek Farm  b&b for the fifth or sixth and last time.  Nice thundershower about 4:30 bestowed 6/10", per the Farm's owner.  She and I went into town for the compulsory casino visit, but both Buckyses were so smoky my eyes started stinging just standing there watching herself skulk the room, looking for Unicorn and some other nickel machine.

Back to our digs and a try at the hot tub, which I've always avoided before.  A few hot toddies and I'm ready for the plunge.  Axshully, I eased in at a glacial pace.  This was not a hot tub.  This was a scrotum scorcher.  Never again.  I've promised my boys.

Hiked and read on Thursday - Dan Brown's Angels & Demons, much better though basically the same book as DaVinci Code.  Now I must go to Rome and look at all the obeliskses.

Friday morning, up and off to the South Rim.  Rained intensely as we approached, the temp dropping to 61.  My date was dampish cold, took a five minute look over the edge and pronounced herself ready to return to the warmer climes.  The Quality Inn Suites suite we'd booked was scummy - crud on the windows, no view, lights didn't work, toi-toi didn't flush, and the bathtub dripped non-stop.  So we came home.

Notably, I drove the speed limit this entire 550 mile trip; didn't even plug the radar detector in.  Result: 19.3 mpg from the big red truck.  Truly amazing.  Managed to stay on limit despite repeated heckling from the passenger side.  Ungenerous references to "Gomers" and "Are we going backwards?" and hiding her face when she sees a car she thinks she recognizes.  Always has been a bad influence, likely always will be.

Passings

Learned in the past two days of the deaths of two not-real-close friends - friendly business associates, really.  One was the guy whose company rented and serviced my water softener.  He was a real earthy, solid American type guy with whom, for some reason, I really hit it off.  I would hang in the garage while he worked on our machine, and he didn't even charge me extra for helping.  His wife sent me a nice note saying he'd appreciated my business over the years, and offering to sell me the water softener for three months' rent.

The other was Annejee Combs who was my Safeway contact for many years.  She had Type 1 diabetes, had had a kidney transplant, and when I finally talked her into coming to Kris' center, really wasn't interested.  We'd heard that she continued to have trouble, left Safeway, and her obit says she died last Thursday at 52.

Yet another friend, Caralee, Ben's wife, has been diagnosed with a type of leukemia.  She's embarked on a combination of holistic and traditional treatments.

Toys

Bought the Sirius version of satellite radio, with the home kit, too.  Justified it because between here and Parker is about a hundred mile stretch with only Mexican stations, or, as Joe calls it, Circus Music.  So far am crazy about it, but the Big Red Bus hasn't found a spot for the antenna that is 100% accesible to the satellite.

Carry Me Back To Ol Virginee

Dropped into Balto Friday night.  Turned the Mapquest calculated mileage of 58 into 103.  Virginia has worse traffic signs than Mexico - or Warsaw.  Finally got to the Embassy Suite too late to hang with the Molzer.

Popped out of bed around tenish and the kid was already there.  She and her mother made quick work of dispatching me to the closest Metro station.  Only a half hour to the Smithsonian stop.  Spent a couple hours at the Air & Space, took in the entire Hirshorn and a fair amount of the Asian museum before having to catch my train back to meet my wimmens.  New American Indian Museum is architecturally interesting, slated to open this September.  Seems to be made of limestone blocks, maybe.

Spent Sunday assembling IKEA-ware.  Molz has a terrific apartment, much nicer than anything she's had before.  She and her mother spent like a bazillion dollars on weird orange and green tschochkes, none of which comes with actual assembly instructions, just stickman drawings.  It's almost midnight, hometime, so that's three, body time.  All for now.