Time to Sing

So there’s this cricket.

He comes to visit every August, and he stays in the wall of my bedroom.  His living room seems to be the window frame by my bed, I think because it is the best place to sing. It is long and slender, almost like an echo chamber.

 

He likes to sing.

Especially at night.

My hearing is pretty sensitive. And I find I am unable to fall asleep while he (or she – we’ve never actually met in person) is serenading me.

So if I have been a little grump lately I apologize. I am not getting as much sleep as usual.

Not to be un-neighborly, but I have tried to convince him to move. I drop essential oils in a small hole in the window frame, which are supposedly too aromatic for the species. I shoot compressed air down the chamber, hoping to convince him a hurricane is approaching and he should take (other) shelter.  I put in an ultrasonic device.

None of these have worked. But I refuse to take more drastic measures. I don’t want to hurt him; I just want him to find another place to sing.

I have also tried ways to co-exist. Noise generators. Ear plugs. These help, but not enough.

I thought perhaps he might be insulted at the lengths I would go to avoid his song. If someone did that while I was singing, I think I would get the hint. But he keeps on singing, even knowing that he is singing to himself.

But it occurred to me this morning that we are the same in this way. He keeps on singing whether anyone is listening. I keep on writing whether anyone is reading.

I’m luckier than he. Once his song is done, it is gone. My words will last a bit. I can’t say how long. But longer than I will, likely. And that is one of the things that keeps me writing.

He is singing now as I write this. And as I am singing in my own way here, I think: “keep singing little one”.

Everyone needs their time to sing.

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Kind Neighbors, or A Young Reporter from Um El Fahem

Some time ago I drove with two English friends to the Sea of Galilee. I stopped to fill the car with gas on Highway 6, and as I was getting ready to exit in the direction of Afula on Highway 65, I noticed that the car was stalling. It was a new car, and this happened at the time when gas stations started positioning diesel pumps next to the regular gas pumps. I suddenly realized that, by mistake, I filled the tank with diesel.

The car finally stopped at a quite dangerous place where the shoulder was narrow. I stayed in the car with the guests, thinking about what I should do next.

Then another car stopped and soon a  young woman walked toward me. She inquired if we were okay, I told her that I had to wait for a tow truck. She said that she was a reporter from Um El Fahem, and she happened to be in the area because she covered an accident nearby. She asked if she could help in any way.

Please keep reading in the Times Of Israel

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/kind-neighbors-or-a-young-journalist-from-um-el-fahem/

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Rosy Cole Florence
17 June 2020
Thank you for your delightful comment. It is good to reflect on a way of life that has been lost.
Stephen Evans Florence
16 June 2020
Enjoyed this so much. Charming, evocative, and lyrical.
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15 June 2020
Thanks Rosy. The story had to be told and I've been the fortunate person to be able to tell it. The ...
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15 June 2020
Monika has taken us on a wonderfully illuminating journey, full of interest and humanity. We are so ...