Sunday story

 Got a scare this morning. All due to a cricket. I can laugh now. Not much then. I wake up and walk to the kitchen ready to get some joe going, check on last night’s laundry and take out something to thaw for dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary. It must be said I thrive on routine. I’m walking around in my own world for a moment. It takes me a moment for me to fully coherent in the mornings. 

As I’m meandering around, I start to hear a sound. A might loud one. I think I must be hearing things or delusional. A few minutes later, the sound is back. I try to disregard it. It goes away. I go off to start the coffee, and hear we go again. I abandon the thought of coffee making. I go around the kitchen in a tizzy. I’m seeking that noise like a honing beacon. I walk in to the laundry room. The washer isn’t on. I check the pantry for a pesky rodent. Thankfully I don’t find one. I check the fridge out of sheer frustration. Maybe rotten cheese is playing tricks on me. 

I go to sweep up the house. Farm living means once a week vacuuming doesn’t do the trick. As I’m sweeping the noise is my neighbor. I just give up. I’m on edge. No tea kettle is whistling. And I’m in the process of wondering what is taunting me. My mom then decides to come in the house. I relay this morning’s adventures. I ask her if she knows the origin of this noise. 

Without hesitation she says:  “my crickets”.  Your crickets, I say. She shows me what she has them in, and now I don’t know what to feel. Relief that I’m not going insane. Crazy that a cricket can drive me wild. Mom says I couldn’t let my crickets get hot. Pet parent of the year. Now I laugh. Farm life keeps you grounded while making you laugh. 

Enjoy your Sunday, and find the little miracles