you were with me every waking hour
so close I could feel your breath
When all we wanted was the dream
to have and to hold that precious little thing

When I first moved into my apartment, I got to a point during the summer where I would leave my windows open all the time and enjoy the warmth of the sunshine with the glorious fresh mountain air. Well, with the out doors come those who live in the outdoors. I was bedazzled by the lady bugs that came to stay with me because I had been told that they represent change and rebirth. At that juncture in my life, I was growing like a weed and it was the icing on the cake for my new apartment. They were everywhere, but I didn’t mind. I swept them up and cleaned them out and kept my house clean and more than anything, I enjoyed their quiet company and constant vitality.

Then lately, in “Under the Tuscan Sun” there is a tid bit about lady bugs: I once wanted to catch a lady bug and I chased and chased, but I never caught one. Then I was exhausted and laid down in a field. When I woke, I was covered in them. Now, go work on your house and forget about it. (At the end when her beau walks up he removes a lady bug off of her; nice metaphor)

Well, it is three years later in the middle of winter and the lady bugs are still here. After talking to a friend of mine who is a pest man, it turns out that lady bugs have no natural predators nor is there a pesticide for them. This probably explains why they are still here. And while there is no real nuisance, they are a constant. I cook with them. I clean with them. I find them in my coffee. I find them in my sugar. I find them in the pilot lights of my gas stove. I sleep with them. I meditate with them. I live with the lady bugs. They like the warmth of my lights and the warmth of my ovens. They don’t realize they fly into the face of death when they land on the wood burning stove top or crawl into the pilot light. John calls them the kamikaze ladies with more ability than the Japanese pilots of WWII. Now, as much as I appreciate the loyalty of these quiet creatures, they have become tiresome in their representation in contrast with their omnipresence. Although, I still don’t have the heart to squish the red and yellow polka dotted ladies, and sometimes even help them out so they don’t go down a drain or such, I am rather tired of them and gaining some frustration. Winter does not even seem to hide them away or let them hibernate because they are on the inside. I would like for them to be gone by spring, however, I don’t see that happening. A fresh crop will have shown up and once again my windows go open. I guess the tediousness of shower taking with harmless creatures is worth the majesty in which I live. Tolerance goes with love is my understanding and this lesson is that which these ladies preach.