Have you ever been called a fruitcake before? I have. Well, not exactly...but it was close enough. I was at a small store the other day, and while I waited to pay, a man and his girl enterend the store. She wandered around for a bit, very talkative to her man-friend. Then she walked up to the cashier and said, "you look like a fruitcake." I'm not sure how he took it, but it was no big deal--she was 5 months pregnant with hormones going wild (as she put it). She continued past me into the rest of the store, then stopped, turned, and looked me over. "You look like a fruitcake, too," she said.
What could I say? I laughed. It could not be denied. "I am," I replied.
I'm not exactly sure, really, what it means to be a fruitcake. Is that like being a ham? I mean, how many different foods can a person be at one time? Of course, you are what you eat. But I haven't eaten fruitcake in quite some time. Hmm...
Anyway, I must be somewhat tasty. According to Frenzy, that is, since he spent so much time sniffing me over. Who's Frenzy? A drunk honeybee.
See, we have a hummingbird feeder outside of our window, and about, oh, noon or so, the local honeybees congregate at the feeder to have their share of red sugar-juice. Only problem is, they all crowd around the same spout. They get rather aggressive, piling on top of each other to get to the spout of "enhanced nectar" (as I'm sure they call it). I even saw them deter a wasp once. He, too, was wanting a share of red sweetness, but the bees were crowding around so much, he couldn't get through. He got rather frustrated with the bees a few times, but they paid him no mind and just kept on pushing. The wasp eventually tumbled out of the way and, quite put out and disappointed, he flew off to find another place to hang.
But that doesn't tell you who Frenzy is.
Some mornings, I like to go out on the porch and sit and enjoy the serene vibrance of the outdoors. It's amazing what you can see when you just sit still for awhile. I watched a squirrel awkwardly carry a large walnut in his mouth as he climbed up a tree. After he had gone, I thought it'd be funny if he accidentally dropped it. Do squirrels ever drop things? I wondered. I've seen them throw things before, but I don't think I've ever thought of them dropping things (Okay, so I haven't seen them throw things, but I'm almost sure they have before. There were times when I mowed underneath one of their favorite trees, and walnuts would come pelting down around me. Mischievous creatures, squirrels).
A few moments after I had wondered about the clumsiness of squirrels, I had my question answered. The walnut fell from the treetops and smacked on the pavement. I laughed. Soon, the squirrel came sheepishly crawling down the tree trunk to fetch his nut.
But that still doesn't tell you who Frenzy is.
So while I'm outside, watching various things (I saw a butterfly with a tear in its wing land on the ceiling of the porch, as if hiding, and two small birds came up into the near bush, as if hunting...but that doesn't tell you who Frenzy is, either), it's amazing how much a part of nature I begin to feel. It's as if I start to blend in, and the animals come up to me and sit with me as though I'm their best friend. Or it might just be that they had too much enhanced nectar.
Here I am, lying peacefully on the bench, when something crashes into my hand. I fling it off, not knowing what it is but knowing it's some insect who just startled me. I then feel it on my leg. I look up and see the critter wobbling along my leg. It was a honeybee. A seemingly dazed honeybee who, disoriented by sugar-juice, hadn't the slightest idea what it was he had just landed on. It's strange, whatever it is. Not like a normal plant. It's not green. It smells funny. It's rather hairy. And it's hard to walk on.
I sat there, cautiously petrified. A honeybee was crawling on my leg. It's not so bad if you can forget that it has a stinger. I mean, I love watching honeybees. But having one with its stinger millimeters from my skin (or possibly even touching it) makes it kind of hard to forget the whole stinger-thing.
I thought at first I could simply flick him off my leg. But then the thought occurred, "If I miss, or upset him, he just has to twitch and I'm stung for the second time in my life." (the first time was a mean 'ol red wasp...which is why I didn't feel to sorry for the one that didn't get any hummingbird ale). I decided that, as he was just crawling there, not really posing any threat to me, I'd let him. So there I sat, for two or three minutes, watching this confused, bumbling bee (not to be confused with the aerodynamically-impossible bumblebee) as it wandered along my shin. It crawled gradually up my leg, its wet, tickly feet rhythmically brushing against my skin as it made its way. About the time he got to my knee, he fell sideways and off onto the bench cushion. I retracted my leg and sat beside him, watching him as he crawled along the cushion and, eventually, flew off. I remained unscathed.
And yes, that does tell you who Frenzy is. He's the woozy honeybee. A nice friend, I suppose. As long as he doesn't
consider my leg a threat, his final act being the strike that implants his barb-ish behind in my flesh, rendering him minus a few vital bee-organs. But then, what kind of friend would that make me? I'd be the one with the threatening body part, causing him throbbing pain and eminent death. And his final defense wouldn't have even been successful! No, I'm no kind of friend to a drunk honeybee if I cause his death.
As it stands, he dealt me no unsuccessful defense, and I gave him no reason to commit suicide. Perhaps our friendship is stronger than I give it credit for. And thus, I'll take a honeybee over a wasp, anyday.
(I told you I was a Fruitcake).
What could I say? I laughed. It could not be denied. "I am," I replied.
I'm not exactly sure, really, what it means to be a fruitcake. Is that like being a ham? I mean, how many different foods can a person be at one time? Of course, you are what you eat. But I haven't eaten fruitcake in quite some time. Hmm...
Anyway, I must be somewhat tasty. According to Frenzy, that is, since he spent so much time sniffing me over. Who's Frenzy? A drunk honeybee.
See, we have a hummingbird feeder outside of our window, and about, oh, noon or so, the local honeybees congregate at the feeder to have their share of red sugar-juice. Only problem is, they all crowd around the same spout. They get rather aggressive, piling on top of each other to get to the spout of "enhanced nectar" (as I'm sure they call it). I even saw them deter a wasp once. He, too, was wanting a share of red sweetness, but the bees were crowding around so much, he couldn't get through. He got rather frustrated with the bees a few times, but they paid him no mind and just kept on pushing. The wasp eventually tumbled out of the way and, quite put out and disappointed, he flew off to find another place to hang.
But that doesn't tell you who Frenzy is.
Some mornings, I like to go out on the porch and sit and enjoy the serene vibrance of the outdoors. It's amazing what you can see when you just sit still for awhile. I watched a squirrel awkwardly carry a large walnut in his mouth as he climbed up a tree. After he had gone, I thought it'd be funny if he accidentally dropped it. Do squirrels ever drop things? I wondered. I've seen them throw things before, but I don't think I've ever thought of them dropping things (Okay, so I haven't seen them throw things, but I'm almost sure they have before. There were times when I mowed underneath one of their favorite trees, and walnuts would come pelting down around me. Mischievous creatures, squirrels).
A few moments after I had wondered about the clumsiness of squirrels, I had my question answered. The walnut fell from the treetops and smacked on the pavement. I laughed. Soon, the squirrel came sheepishly crawling down the tree trunk to fetch his nut.
But that still doesn't tell you who Frenzy is.
So while I'm outside, watching various things (I saw a butterfly with a tear in its wing land on the ceiling of the porch, as if hiding, and two small birds came up into the near bush, as if hunting...but that doesn't tell you who Frenzy is, either), it's amazing how much a part of nature I begin to feel. It's as if I start to blend in, and the animals come up to me and sit with me as though I'm their best friend. Or it might just be that they had too much enhanced nectar.
Here I am, lying peacefully on the bench, when something crashes into my hand. I fling it off, not knowing what it is but knowing it's some insect who just startled me. I then feel it on my leg. I look up and see the critter wobbling along my leg. It was a honeybee. A seemingly dazed honeybee who, disoriented by sugar-juice, hadn't the slightest idea what it was he had just landed on. It's strange, whatever it is. Not like a normal plant. It's not green. It smells funny. It's rather hairy. And it's hard to walk on.
I sat there, cautiously petrified. A honeybee was crawling on my leg. It's not so bad if you can forget that it has a stinger. I mean, I love watching honeybees. But having one with its stinger millimeters from my skin (or possibly even touching it) makes it kind of hard to forget the whole stinger-thing.
I thought at first I could simply flick him off my leg. But then the thought occurred, "If I miss, or upset him, he just has to twitch and I'm stung for the second time in my life." (the first time was a mean 'ol red wasp...which is why I didn't feel to sorry for the one that didn't get any hummingbird ale). I decided that, as he was just crawling there, not really posing any threat to me, I'd let him. So there I sat, for two or three minutes, watching this confused, bumbling bee (not to be confused with the aerodynamically-impossible bumblebee) as it wandered along my shin. It crawled gradually up my leg, its wet, tickly feet rhythmically brushing against my skin as it made its way. About the time he got to my knee, he fell sideways and off onto the bench cushion. I retracted my leg and sat beside him, watching him as he crawled along the cushion and, eventually, flew off. I remained unscathed.
And yes, that does tell you who Frenzy is. He's the woozy honeybee. A nice friend, I suppose. As long as he doesn't
consider my leg a threat, his final act being the strike that implants his barb-ish behind in my flesh, rendering him minus a few vital bee-organs. But then, what kind of friend would that make me? I'd be the one with the threatening body part, causing him throbbing pain and eminent death. And his final defense wouldn't have even been successful! No, I'm no kind of friend to a drunk honeybee if I cause his death.As it stands, he dealt me no unsuccessful defense, and I gave him no reason to commit suicide. Perhaps our friendship is stronger than I give it credit for. And thus, I'll take a honeybee over a wasp, anyday.
(I told you I was a Fruitcake).
P.S. (can you do P.S. on a blog post? I mean, I guess it's even more appropriate. Post Script...anyway:) If, for some reason, you are unable to click on the above image to enlarge it and find Frenzy, I have included a close-up of him here (he's on the stem of the leaf at the center of the picture):
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