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When you live in this neck of the woods, fall is heralded by several very telling harbingers. There’s the vicious September heat wave, the inevitable tropical storm, the dried corn cob that flies out of the back of a truck and strikes your windshield, and the legions of crickets that nest in your drainpipe and take up residence under your bedroom window. The nest invariably spawns the lone maverick cricket who decides to fledge the nest and move into the back of your closet. He remains silent until 3 a.m., at which point he sings his crickety song at full volume.

The mating call of a single closeted cricket is the most irritating and grating sound in the world, edging out both Sarah Palin and the mating cry of the eight-beers-too-many drunken frat boy. It’s loud. It’s chirpety. And it wakes you from a dead sleep…or, more likely, your husband wakes you from a dead sleep so that you can help him locate and dispatch the offender.

While I enjoy a good cricket hunt as much as any transplanted mountain girl, I decided that this year, we needed to hit the crickets before they made their way indoors. This involved sprinkling cricket dust around the perimeter of the house. We have been largely successful, though I admit to wishing for a few more incidences of my four-year-old shouting “Big cricket! Big cricket!” while taking off in pursuit, flip-flop in hand.


So I’m an ersatz musician. I sing, play a little guitar, am surrounded by music, and am fortunate to play with a great group of talented and nice people. Talented and nice don’t always go hand-in-hand, so I’m a lucky girl indeed. It’s a great little pursuit, something that brings a good vibe to my life and gives my four-year-old a view into a culture most kids don’t get to see. I told my husband Saturday that ours was probably the only kid in his school whose parents dragged him out that night so his mom could compete in a folk competition.

Anyway, one of my few talents is a brain that retains song lyrics. Like, seriously. If I freed up that space and used it to retain something useful, I’m frightened to think what I could do. So with all the songs I know and all the tunes I could be singing…

THIS is what has been stuck in my head since Sunday. God help me.

The Wiggles have bought me a lot of free time over the years, so I can’t really hold a grudge. But come on. Why can’t I have some Blind Faith stuck in my brain?

All the kids are doing it, so I have succumbed to peer pressure and am launching a blog. I have done the MySpace blog for a while, and most likely will transfer those delightful bits of Jodie-thought here, but it feels better not to have my musings wrapped in the construct of another site (like a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, tied up in a conundrum…umm, where was I?). I’m my own Web presence, yo. 😉

So anyway…keep reading. Because it’s true. Eventually, I do make sense.

September 2008
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