By Charles Towne
I was lying there in peaceful slumber. I was so tired and the bed was so comfortable. I was just dozing off when Nancy spoke to me.
“Yes Nanny, what?”
“Do you hear that noise?”
“What noise? I don’t hear any noise.”
“That chirping noise!”
(I lay very still listening into the darkness. My sweet, darling wife was wide awake anxious for me to wake up so that I could enjoy “the chirping noise” with her.)
She thinks that I have gone back to sleep.
I would like to go back to sleep but no such luck.
“Do you hear the chirping noise Charles?”
“YOU HAVE TO HEAR THE CHIRPING NOISE!!”
(This from a woman who would not hear Genghis Kahn and his hordes if they were to race across our bed on horseback!”)
And yes, you might notice a tad, just a tad mind you, of sarcasm there.
I lean toward the fan and listen intently. Eureka! I hear a faint sound that just might be described as a “chirping” noise. In fact, to be very honest, it does sound like a “chirping noise.”
Yes, the “chirping noise” is coming from the fan.
I get out of bed, stumble over the cat, and walk to the offending fan and smack it.
“Why did you hit the fan Charles?”
“The “chirping noise” is coming from the fan.”
“Will hitting it help?”
“At this point it can’t hurt.”
The diabolical fan chirps at me in defiance.
I pick up the fan and set it down a little more firmly than I intend. The fan is a very smart fan; it takes the hint and stops chirping.
I crawl back into bed and lay there listening and staring into the darkness. I am wide-awake. I expect my dear, sweet Nancy to say something, ANYTHING. No such luck. She is sleeping, snoring in fact. I lay there listening to her snoring. The insidious thought comes into my mind, “I wonder if she would stop snoring if I gave her a good solid smack on the butt?” The thought causes me to laugh. Nancy wakes up and asks, “Why are you laughing Charles?”
“Just that confounded chirping noise, it’s keeping me awake!”
She lies there listening into the darkness, straining to hear the phantom chirping noise.
“What chirping noise?”
“Can’t you hear it?”
“The chirping noise.”
She sits up in bed.
“I don’t hear a chirping noise.”
“Oh, it stopped, go back to sleep.”
“I can’t hear a chirping noise.”
“It stopped honey.”
“What was making the chirping noise Charles?”
“Probably a cricket,”
: If it was a cricket, why did it stop chirping.”
“It probably went to sleep.”
“Do crickets sleep?”
(OH MY GOODNESS, I HAVE CREATED A MONSTER!)
“Yeah, sure. Everything sleeps. Say, that’s a good idea; why don’t you go back to sleep now sweetie pie?”
A few minutes later.
“The cricket is making so much noise I can’t sleep!”
(Now I ask you, how can my cricket, the one I created in the dark, slimy subterranean caverns of my perverse mind, keep her awake?)
I sit up in bed, straining to hear the cricket.
“I can’t hear any cricket.”
I lay back down, close my eyes.
“The cricket is keeping me awake honey!”
(I am strongly considering strangling the cricket.)
“Charles, please do something about the cricket!”
I lunge out of bed, grabbing a shoe from the floor as I do so. I am quite sure my eyes are glazed as I leap to the end of the bed and begin flailing the floor with the shoe. (Drastic situations call for drastic measures!)
“Die cricket, die!” I shout in a maniacal fury
Wham, bam, smack, bash, bang!
Finally, I stand in the darkness of the bedroom victorious. Between thumb and forefinger of my left hand, I hold an imaginary cricket. I raise the invisible cricket and declare him vanquished. I walk into the bathroom, raise the toilet lid with a flourish, and with much aplomb, drop the imaginary cricket into the bowl, and flush.
“There, the cricket is dead at last!”
Now I can get some sleep.
Nancy doesn’t say anything, probably scared of being smacked with a shoe and flushed down the toilet.
I crawl back into bed and close my eyes. I am falling into a comfortable oblivion when…
“What Nancy, another cricket?”
“No honey, I just wanted to say thanks for killing the cricket.”
Do I detect a trace of laughter in her tone?
“You are welcome Sweetie, please go to sleep now.”
I lay there smiling in the silence. I am probably smiling as I close my eyes in peaceful sleep.
A CAREGIVER’S PRAYER
Dear Lord, Holy Father, Papa God, please help me to see the humor in any and all situations. Help me to appreciate my spouse while she is still here to be appreciated and to be there for her and to love her with an undying love. Praise you Father, praise you. In Jesus’ holy and beautiful name, Amen
Dear reader and friend, please watch for my forthcoming book; WHO CARES? It contains a collection of short easy to read vignettes from my life taking care of my precious lady. This book is written by a caregiver for caregivers. Thanks oodles, Chaz
P.S. What is an oodle?
Charles Towne is first and foremost a Christian. An octogenarian, author, journalist, wildlife photographer, naturalist, caregiver, and survivor, his life has been and continues to be, a never-ending adventure filled with possibilities never imagined. He has adopted the philosophy that to Live fully, laugh uproariously, love passionately, and learn like there is no tomorrow, is a formula for a long and joy-filled life.