Can You Feel Compassion for a Cockroach?

The first time I ever saw a cockroach, I was 16 and staying in the dorms at the University of Houston. I got up off the toilet and turned around and there it was! That sucker was a good three or four inches long and it could fly! Eeeek! I don’t think I slept a wink the whole five days I was there. I just sat in the middle of the room, on top of my suitcase (as if that could stop them from reaching me), with the light on, playing cards all night with my roommate.

I didn’t see another one again until I moved to Florida about 15 years later. Because of the hot, humid climate, they were everywhere. Only, they gave them the cutsie name of Palmetto bug. It didn’t help. I still screamed the first time one brushed against my bare foot while I was feeding my cats. Fortunately, they only came in when it rained hard, because the apartment management came in and sprayed every month.

I soon learned that it didn’t pay to try and smash them, because they were so hard that they usually didn’t die anyway. So, I just got in the habit of scooping them up on the dustpan and throwing them outside. I eventually got to the point where they didn’t particularly bother me anymore. Then, I moved to Colorado and didn’t have to worry about them for a long time, but when I moved to Mexico, there they were again.

By then, however, after living with three cats for about 15 years, I had developed a different attitude toward the animal world. The longer I lived with them, the less I wanted to eat them or kill them. (I should qualify that… I do still eat meat, but I am moving steadily toward vegetarianism). I had long since stopped killing ants, spiders and mosquitos, and I no longer had the inclination to squash or poison someone just because they were bothering me or invading my space. Yes, I realize I said “someone” and not “something.” There’s a reason for that.

When I looked into the eyes of my cats, I saw a person, that is to say, a soul. And I felt compassion for those souls. Now, I know that isn’t unusual. A lot of people feel compassion for cats, dogs and other cute, furry creatures, especially their own pets. But what about the critters that ain’t so cute? Let me tell you about my pet cockroach.

This happened at a time when I only had one cat left. I was living in Mexico, and in spite of the humid climate, I didn’t get many roaches, because I lived on the second floor. But one summer, we were getting huge amounts of rain, and it wasn’t unusual for me to have to scoop one or two of them up every day and toss them out the door. After a while, the rains stopped, and I didn’t see many any more.

Then, one night, I came into the kitchen and turned on the light, and there was a rather large cockroach sitting on the drainboard. I went for the dustpan and went for it, but he was too fast for me. He got away that time, but I swore I would get him the next time. We played this game every night for about a week or so. I tried outrunning him. That didn’t work. I tried a slow approach. That didn’t work either. I tried explaining to him that I wasn’t going to hurt him, just relocate him. But that didn’t work either.

As I looked at him from across the room, I could actually see the fear in his eyes. And it was then that I decided to stop tormenting him. From then on, when I would come into the kitchen at night and see him there on the drainboard (he was always in the same spot), I would just say “hi” and get on with my business. I would even joke with my friends that now I had two pets, a cat and a cockroach.

Unfortunately, “he” soon started reproducing, and my house was overrun. I had to do something, because I couldn’t go on sharing my house with an ever increasing number of cockroaches. I guess if I were as compassionate as I aspire to be, I could, but these are my failings. I was hopeful, though, because I had heard about a type of Chinese chalk that you could use to draw a line on the floor in front of doors and windows, and this would prevent the cockroaches from coming in. I thought, if I did that, then no new ones could come in, and I could eventually scoop up all the live ones and throw them outside without having to kill any of them.

I went to the neighborhood Chinese store and asked the store owner about the chalk. She said that the way it works is that when the cockroaches walk over it, it gets into their joints and causes them to slowly die. That sounded just as bad or worse than poisoning to me, and it was with a troubled heart that I set some traps and eventually got rid of my problem, but I was haunted by those fearful eyes and the glimpse they had afforded me into the soul that inhabited that crunchy, little body.

How about you? Could you feel compassion for a cockroach?

What is Home?

I guess most people would answer this question by talking about a place. But it's never been that simple for me, and I guess that's why I ask, What is home rather than Where is home? I've been on the move my whole life. Before I bought my house, I had lived in 18 different places in 18 years. Different houses or apartments, different cities and different states. And since I sold my house, I lived in four different places, three of them outside of my birth country, before I took up a permanently nomadic existence. So far, this year, I've slept in 36 different beds, and there will be more before year's end. I usually feel quite at home wherever I am, but is that the same thing as having a home?

So, home as a place has been a constantly changing notion for me, and I can't think of my parent's home as my home, because I have been more or less estranged from them for most of my adult life, and they've moved around a lot in recent years, too, so I've never lived in or even seen the house that my parents live in now.

I used to have the romantic notion that I could find a feeling of "home" in another person... a soulmate. When I got married, I wanted to have Billy Joel's song You're My Home sung during the ceremony, because that idea of finding a home in someone while still clinging to my gypsy soul really appealed to me. That song expressed what I was looking for in a marriage. But my husband objected, because he thought that some of the lyrics..."use my body as your bed"... "You're my castle, you're my cabin, and my instant pleasure dome"... were too risque' for the relatives. Hmmmm, choosing decorum over romance... could that be one of the reasons the marriage didn't work out?

Anyway, I never have found home in the form of a person, because I've changed relationships even more often than I've changed homes. And not just romantic relationships. Friends tend to drift in and out of my life. Some are more tenacious than others. There is one ex-boyfriend that I visit on occasion. I refer to him as my emergency contact, because he is listed that way on my passport. He's probably the one person in the world that I would probably come back to if I ever decided to settle down. He's the closest thing I've found to a personified home. We're very comfortable together. We are equally weird. He makes me laugh. He likes me and I like him. We count on each other. But we've known each other for less than seven years. Where will our friendship be in another seven?

I've never considered my job to be a home, either first or second, the way some people do. And I've changed, not only jobs, but careers, almost as much as I have houses and relationships. And now, I've given up working (for a living) altogether. So, that doesn't do it for me either.

As I wander around in the world at large, I do feel that I am looking for something, and I've never known what that something was. But now I think I've got it narrowed down, and that is that I am looking for home. Whether home will turn out to be a person, place, thing, sight, sound, smell, taste or memory, I have no idea.

But this feeling of home does come to me in little glimpses once in a while. It doesn't wait to be invited. It just comes into my consciousness. Sometimes it's the smell of a freshly mown lawn... sometimes a light spring breeze coming in through my bedroom window in the morning... the sun dodging behind a cloud... a light spring rain... my favorite Christmas movies... a letter from an old friend... the taste of chocolate. Perhaps these bits and pieces are all I will ever have to call home. And maybe I've made a mistake in going to look for it. Maybe I just need to be patient and let it come to me.

What does home mean to you?

The Empire and You

Empires do not suffer

emptiness of purpose

at the time of their creation.

It is only after they have become

established

that aims are lost

and replaced by vague ritual.



Diary of the Princess Irulan

Frank Herbert – Dune

What is Your Definition of Heaven?

Aw, come on... you knew this was coming, didn't you? So, tell me... what is your definition of heaven? Whether earthbound or celestial, what is the one experience you're just dying to have? I'll be back later to post mine, once I've seen a few of yours.

What Is Your Definition of HELL?

This post was inspired by some of the responses to my recent post, What Is Your Greatest Fear? Changing tacks a little bit, what is your own, personal definition of hell? Hell on earth... hell in the hereafter... what's the one thing that, knowing you'd have to face it for eternity in payment for your "sins" would scare you into being a good little boy or girl? I'll share my definition after I've seen some of yours. I'll give you a hint though... part of it bears a resemblance to the theme of the movie Groundhog Day, and the other part has something to do with a certain someone with a suitcase fetish.
Okay... see you in hell!

Would You Sell Your Life?

I just read this article in Yahoo! News about a guy who sold his life on eBay. The sale, which went for a hefty sum, included his "name, phone number and all his possessions, including clothes, CDs, a surfboard, a laptop, a wonky pushbike, childhood photos and a "nice lamp" given to him by an ex-girlfriend." as well as dinner with his parents, introductions to women he might date, and a couple months of follow-up support. What a crazy idea. When I read this, I of course thought,

"Who would want to sell their life?" I guess a lot of people would, especially the parts they're not happy with. But more perplexing is the question,

"Who on earth would spend almost $6000 to buy somebody else's life?" I guess that would depend on whose life it was.

So, let me ask... would you sell your life? Would you sell part of it? Would you buy somebody else's life? Whose life would you buy if you could?

Life's Too Short

Well, I finally committed to leaving this place. Life is just too short to stay where I’m not happy. It took a while to come to this decision, mostly because I’ve left so many unhappy situations in the past year, that I was beginning to blame myself for being intolerant or unable to get along with other people. But I finally came to the conclusion that that just wasn’t the case. Or even if it was, the end result was still that I’ve been unhappy here, and there doesn’t seem to be any other hope for resolving the situation other than to pack my bags and leave.



So, now that I’ve made the decision, even though I haven’t told Boss Lady yet, I feel so free. I may still be working for Boss Lady through the end of June… that remains to be seen. But I’m not terribly invested in the outcome. If she agrees to my terms, I’ll go ahead and finish out the school year with her. If not, I go my own way, and a lot of options open up.



I’m moving to the other side of town and will have my own room in a student apartment shared with four other girls. I’m sure this new living situation will bring its own share of challenges, but it has to be better than where I’m at now. And it’s just a three month layover while I’m deciding what to do with the rest of my life. I’ll be living with my friend, Magda, who helped me make the videos for the Little Box. I’ve met her roommates, and they all seem pretty nice. And their English is minimal, so I think it’ll be a good environment for improving my Polish conversation skills. And it will be fun just to have people in the house that I can feel comfortable talking to.



This move comes at a great time. Spring is on its way. The beer gardens are going to open up. It’s a great time to go for bike rides in the park and road trips with my friends. And in the mornings, while my roommates are all at school, I’ll have the apartment completely to myself, and I may even get some writing done during that time. Either that, or some meditation or yoga. Or some cooking. Yeah…. cooking! I can finally make my own meals! I’ll be healthy! God, this is going to be great. One more week and I’m outta’ here. Life is just too short. Why did I waste the last six months?