BugsPosted: November 16, 2015
Mom claims she can’t see anything anymore which is why she has to have the volume on the TV cranked up high enough to violate several EPA noise pollution regulations, not to mention cause structural damage to the walls in the house. Mom also hates bugs. And herein lays the contradiction. Although she can’t tell the difference between a potted tomato plant and a potholder, she can spot a gnat from 30 feet away.
As an example of her selective eyesight, Sunday morning, she was gazing out the dining room window when I wandered in after starting a load of laundry in the garage.
“What’s that big ball?” she asked, still staring into the yard.
“What big ball?”
“That one, over there in the other yard,” she said.
“Do you mean the oranges on the ground?”
“No, the other ball.”
“No, the other one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sighed.
“In the next-door yard,” she said, pointing toward the house one-over from our backyard neighbors. “That big black ball.”
“Oh that,” I exclaimed. “That’s a net for practicing golf shots.”
“Oh? And the balls bounce off of it?”
“No, Mom, its open in the front and it catches the balls. It’s a big net, not a big ball.”
“Okay then,” she said, wheeling away toward her loveseat, the mystery solved and her attention span reached.
Twenty minutes later Bill and I were in the kitchen. He was making a batch of zucchini brownies and I was licking the bowl, when she called out to me. “Patty, quick, quick, come here.”
As I rushed into the room she shouted out, “Look out! Stop, stop!” causing me to skid to an abrupt halt and almost land on my butt.
“What?” I yelled, bracing myself against the wall to keep from falling.
“There, right there, on the floor,” she said, pointing towards the door into the Arizona Room.
“Where on the floor?” I asked, glancing back and forth across the hard vinyl surface. “What am I looking for?”
“I think it’s a bug. It’s right in front of you, maybe a couple of feet away.”
I continued to scan the floor, looking for movement, but still didn’t see anything.
“There, there,” she said insistently. “By your foot.”
Suddenly I spotted a tiny black spot that could have been part of the floor’s hardwood pattern or a small speck of lint. I bent down and nudged it once with the tip of my finger before picking it up for a closer look.
“What is it?” she asked, trepidation in her voice. “A spider? I think it’s a spider.”
“Nope,” I said, heading back into the kitchen. “A raisin.”
“Well good,” she sighed with relief. “At least it wasn’t a bug.”
Score one for the ¼ inch raisin and zero for the 15 foot golf net.