thoughts on today, 4-07-2009

on the way home
the smell of rain
does battle with
the smell of fire-
its different here, the rain smells like the ocean
not like the earth

i have ten fingers on my hands
but how many fingers does my brain have?

charles darwin, age 12.
on the way home from collecting beetles.
a successful endeavor, in his left hand he clutches
a new species. not new to the world
but new to his 12 year old brain.
you have to collect them live, you see, and you can't squish them
or they lose their value.
you kill them in a jar, and preserve them, and stick a pin through them-
so he is on his way home to do just that
to the beetle in his left hand
when he sees another beetle (and new to him, too!)
and so he lets it crawl into his left hand, and hurries home.
smiles all around.
but thats not all!
a third beetle crosses his path, and what do you know,
it is another crunchy critter that he has yet to collect!
But his hands are full. They will crawl out of his pockets. Maybe the third beetle will still be there tomorrow. But maybe it won't. Maybe it won't ever be there again for young Charles.
What to do, what to do?
It is important to remember that this is early 19th Century England, and young people of class do not generally put unpleasant things into their mouths. But that is just what Young Charles did.

And the beetle, which had been happily squirming in his right hand, did not approve.

And Charles soon found out that beetles do not respond favorably to being put into mouths, even mouths not intent on chewing them. And it was a stink beetle.

The story sort of ends there. I would like to think that it keeps going, and that Charles, stink-beetle and all, makes it home, and adds all three trophies to his collection.

And while some might think of this as a warning (don't hold on to more things than you can carry) I think of it this way:

Sometimes, the circumstances of life force us to put unpleasant things into our mouths. You don't give up. You don't let the thing go. You just stick it in your mouth, run home, and pay the price. Because even that little beetle is too valuable to be obtained without some sort of sacrifice.

the personalities of basements
that i have been in:

#2. A train set. My Grandpa Bob carved mountains out of styrofoam. My Granny Mary's quilts hung on the walls. There is a smell to this place, because it is the place where earth meets water. Two steps out the door and you can jump in the lake. I remember waking up early, and I could hear my Grandma making breakfast upstairs. The sound of the waffle iron closing. Sunday morning radio. It is a magic place, with smooth stones and spiders in the shower.

Keep your stick on the ice.