Prolifically Raw: Instant Karma

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Instant Karma

Karma: (Sanskrit) Literally, �action.� The sum of all an individual�s deeds, which ineluctably determine their experiences during this life and in the afterlife and in future births. Positive karma (merit) can be increased and negative karma eliminated through meditation and the practice of virtue. ~The Dharma by Kalu Rinpoche

The kitchen floor is a river of little brown ants and it�s been that way for three days! I�ve explained that they are as harmless as Ladybugs, so we are now at the point where Josephine picks up the skirts of her three princess dresses and tip toes through them. �Hi Ants,� she says. Spencer figured out a technique, not unlike a game of hop scotch, where he does his best to navigate the ant tributaries that run in a lazy zig zag pattern over the floor.

On the first day, Jo was screaming �BEES,� and demanding I carry her through the kitchen, which is the direct route to the backyard and the other essential rooms in the house. Spencer was equally freaked out, looking at me with those big brown eyes that literally drip drama. His expression said, �do something, woman!� He also made it clear he would not be eating in the kitchen (until the ants cleared out) and wanted to know where he could eat. I suggested the dining room, which must have been acceptable since he promptly moved his placemat from his normal eating local in the kitchen and slapped it on the dining room table. Don't say that kid doesn't have his priorities straight!

My initial response was to wet my forefinger and collect as many ants as possible in a deep plastic dish. Ever try to do this? It's impossible. Those little suckers move too fast! I was only able to get about ten in before they were climbing out, so it was ten in my dish at a time and I�d escort them to the yard.

It took quite a while but I was able to reduce the population significantly and was feeling good about this "no harm done" approach. With my new confidence, I told Spencer ants were nothing compared to cockroaches, which I can�t help but call cock-a-roaches�isn't it attractive when a grown woman insists on using baby talk?? Since he�d never seen a cock-a-roach, we pulled out the encyclopedia of totally gross things and looked them up. YUK was the general consensus and he agreed ants were better than roaches.

By the time we were done with our bug research, the ants were back.

By day two, I turned to sweeping them, thinking they�d get the idea that this was very unsafe place for habitation only this turned out to be bad plan. The sweeping set off some alarm system in the colony and the numbers quadrupled.

Then, a sweet and well meaning friend brought over little traps with Borax inside. He scattered them around the kitchen. �This should do the trick,� he said. I don�t know what trick he was talking about, except perhaps an ant party. The little buggers loved the stuff! They were partying in the traps and taking leftovers to the queen.

And still, more ants came.

Finally, on day three, I broke out my 409 and washed the floor. They were dying under our feet anyway, there was no way to walk on the floor without killing the darn things, so I took this swift and decisive action. The whole time, I was saying prayers and apologizing to the ants, hoping they would be freed to a better existence in the next life while simultaneously recognizing the arrogance of this hope. Maybe these ants were happy, maybe they loved their lives, who did I think I was?

Ten minutes after my scrub job, the floor was coated with thousands more, heading over to the Borax traps like shoppers racing to the mall on the day after Thanksgiving.

I stood over them and yelled, �don�t you creatures understand, you are in danger here!�

No response. They probably didn't speak English and you know what, I had to admire them. They were the most tenacious and focused creatures I had ever seen. Most humans don't have that much focus.

Finally, the natural pest control guy showed up. His name, Josh, was stenciled on his shirt in cursive letters. Josh was a young guy with a good-hearted smile and a baseball cap. It was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms.

�Thank god you�re here,� I said, �this place is a Buddhist nightmare.�

Josh looked at me for a long time, without any reaction. He was probably trying to figure out if was a nut. I guess he concluded I was complimenting him, since he finally blushed and took off his hat to rearrange it on his head.

Did Josh have any idea, that in calling him, I was displacing my ant killer karma to his young shoulders?

Josh circumnavigated the house and came back to say the kitchen wall was infested with moisture ants. He was going to inject the wall with some stuff, nothing more harmful than caffine, he'd be done a few minutes.

When Josh was done, the ants were gone. I mean, GONE. Loved Borax but couldn't handle caffine? Come on, this is Portland, we love our caffine, surely my ants wouldn't succumb to a little Joe? I wanted to ask what he really used but decided that it was best not to know. Instead, I wrote a check for two hundred bucks, mourned the loss of the ants and wondered if there was something else I could have done. I could have made a little ant farm or diverted them to the outside with some honey trails. The rest of the morning went that way, me thinking about the ants while Jo and Spencer watched Seasame Street. The day surged ahead, with a trip to the library, bills and plans for Jo�s birthday party.

Then at two, the power went out.

I didn�t have power for the rest of the day (or night).

By six that night, the house was freezing, I couldn�t make food and it seemed I was getting some bug because my throat really hurt. I called Steve, who took the kids to his house for the night where at least they�d have a hot meal and heat. I came back to my frozen, dark, antless house and went to sleep.

The next morning, I was soaked in sweat and it felt like knives were carving into my throat. I was deathly sick and by the graces of good fortune, was able to get to a doctor in a couple hours. Soon, I was on an examining table in my doctor's office where the diagnosis was strep throat.

"Strep?" I said, �where in the world did I get strep?�

The doctor indulged me with a kind smile.

�Maybe the ants?� he said.