Tag Archives: bees

May 24, 2011 · 10:48 am

All or Nothing

Over the years, I’ve come to learn that I operate at two levels, All or Nothing.

I prefer All. All gives me the energetic mindset to pursue a goal, get a job done, live my life. Nothing? That drives me insane. I don’t relax well; it’s just not my nature. Even when I’m in a rocking chair, I’m rocking at full throttle, my mind in overdrive. Remember that I call myself word nymph, after the purple-headed wood nymph, which can flap its wings insanely fast.

Every once in a while, I get an unwelcome visit from Nothing. Sometimes, it just pounds on the door until I open it.

A few days ago, I felt a bug coming on. My approach to illness is to beat it down with a club. So I kept working, then through the weekend, I kept all of my volunteer and social commitments, as Nothing nipped at my heels. By Sunday night, Nothing had beaten me into submission.

As I lay in bed with a high fever, feeling like thousands of bees were stinging my epidermis, I worried about my Monday morning blog. But, as Nothing took over my brain, I couldn’t have cared less about the blog. By Monday, it didn’t have a chance, nor did anything else I had hoped to accomplish. I am going to be fine and am so confident of this that I have made new commitments for the latter part of this week and into the weekend. I’m giving Nothing a two-day pass; after that, it’s back from whence it came.

I have learned that I can go from zero to sixty in eight seconds. Deceleration must be forced upon me.

For now, I’ll give in to sleep. But I’ll dream of dangling participles.

See you tomorrow.

Is it “from whence it came” or just “whence it came?” “Whence” means “from where.” Wouldn’t “from whence” be redundant?

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July 15, 2010 · 8:39 am

Buzz off

You never can tell with bees.

We all remember Winnie the Pooh, a bear of very little brain, trying to outsmart bees in a half-baked quest to steal their honey by floating up to a tree branch with a balloon.

“Wouldn’t they notice you underneath the balloon?” Christopher Robin asked. “They might or they might not,” Pooh answered.  “You never can tell with bees.”

Oh, they will.  Those mean, nasty, hurtful little demons.  You bet they’ll notice you and come after you with every trace of their vengeful wickedness.

If you can’t tell, I hate bees.

Last summer we called in a bee man after neighbors complained that there were yellow jackets coming from our yard.  The bee man came and, of course, there was nothing flying around.  He asked me to describe them—do they look like yellow jackets, hornets, wasps, bumble bees, what?  What do I know, they look like bees!  I don’t know one from another, I just hate ’em.  They sting.  The sting hurts, even kills.  I can’t enjoy time on our back deck because it’s them or me, and they won’t leave. 

Anyway, one or two flew by and I pointed them out to the bee man, who said, “Those are honey bees, I can’t kill honey bees.”  Then the neighbor walked over.  I reported, it’s honey bees.  She said, “Oh, well, you can’t kill honey bees!”

Well why in the world not?  Yeah, yeah, balance of nature, blah, blah.  Stupid nature. 

I can probably live without honey.  I can live without flowers if it means I can complete a crossword puzzle on a summer afternoon without being harassed by evil apiarian attackers.  And that infuriating buzz.  Heck, as much as I love Jerry Seinfeld, I didn’t even see Bee Movie. 

Sorry to drone on so, but get this.  I’ve just discovered that a colony of pollinating pests has built a hive in the rocker on our front porch.  And they were none too happy when I went out to sweep and unknowingly moved their cushy condo.

Well, I plan to cut them off at their little bees’ knees if it’s the last thing I do. 

Anyone have a hazmat suit?

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