Ask Not For Whom The Cricket Chirps ...

One of the first things my mother ever bought for me after I’d moved out from home and into my first apartment was a large brass cricket – about the size of my fist. If I wanted to relate a warm and wonderful tale, I’d perhaps write that it was a very thoughtful gift. I will, instead, recall my immediate and honest reaction – which was, if memory serves, “what the bloody hell…?” I don’t remember how long I waited before I donated it, but I don’t believe it lasted more than a month of sitting on top of a cabinet.

My mother has many wonderful qualities. The woman can grow plants by just wandering through a greenhouse. She can put aside her own pain and give her all to those that may need it. She has a wonderful eye for color. She tolerates idiocy and ridiculousness with a genuine smile on her face. I have never seen her do a crossword puzzle using anything but a pen. She has a terrific grasp of the English language and always seems to have the right words to say. She hesitates to spend more than $30 for a warm Winter sweater for herself, but never lets my sister or I walk out the door without inflicting cash on us. She’s not a browser or a shopper – she’s a buyer.

Suffice to say that she passed most of these gifts on to her first daughter. I’ve actually killed ivy, so I’m a “no” on the green thumb. I have a fairly high threshold for pain but, when I reach that limit, all bets are off. I have no sense of what colors complement each other. I cannot (and do not) suffer fools gladly. I typically glance at a crossword puzzle and, if the first few clues are too difficult, I just read the comics. I have a good in-head thesaurus but the right words seem to come HOURS after I need them. I have no problems spending money on myself, though it typically produces guilt afterwards. The one trait in that list that we seem to share is the last one. We are buyers.

Because I have a limited visualization technique when it comes to items, I tend to buy from stores. My mother uses catalogues. Pounds and pounds of catalogues. Hundreds of acres of forests would still be on this blue marble of ours if not for my mother getting every catalogue in print. So, when I was presented with this brass cricket back in 1987, I figured this was just another one of my mother’s crazy catalogue buys.

When I was in the process of moving recently, I spent each evening at my parent’s home … the same one in which I grew up or, at least, the same one from which I first moved away 20+ years ago. The creek in the back portion of their property produces some rather folksy wildlife, including frogs and crickets. The frogs are more fickle about their seasons, but the crickets tend to be out whenever there are a few warm days in a row. Hearing their gentle chirping while I drifted off to sleep after a day of packing boxes was better than any relaxation recording and, at some point, I must have commented to my mom about how nice their “songs” were. “They’re good luck, yanno?” I glanced over at her … “crickets are?” I asked, incredulously. “Yeah – if they’re inside your home, they’re considered to be good luck.”

I felt like a schmuck.

All those years ago my mother was using a symbol to offer me her support and best wishes in my new home and my only thought was “great – a giant brass insect. Terrrrrrrific. Just what every young girl wants to have in her new apartment.”

I remember this now because of the crickets in my new home. We have an agreement – these lucky insects and I. They can live in the basement and in the laundry room and chirp away happily all day and night. As long as they don’t try to surprise me by hopping up the stairs into my kitchen, they’re welcome to sing along as I go about my day. Before I head off to bed each night, I (or, more accurately, my awesome boyfriend) conduct a “cricket patrol” in which all crickets that are advancing up the stairs for a midnight visit are instead escorted (unharmed) to the door and released into the night.

Twenty years ago, my mom figured I needed all the help I could get. Two decades later, I have more good luck than I would ever hope to ask for … and I have the crickets to show for it.
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(Written on October 1st at Noon but posted a week later because - again - new home, no Internet.)