Author: J. Thorp

Serial Monsterku!

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Jacqui from Jacqui’s Room, knowing my tendency to haiku without warning, referred me to Adam Rex’s kaiju (or “strange beast”) haiku contest. Gabe and Trevor each thought one up, but I couldn’t resist — I submitted three. The fourth, however, I kept for this page, because it seemed a little dark for the contest. You be the judge:

up from the village
like fireflies among brambles
torches and pitchforks

he roars his welcome
they reply in kind, but their
smiles are upside down

misunderstood wretch
a single tear slips slowly
from his stolen eye

the villagers shriek —
by firelight, red leaves among
broken scattered limbs

Falling Up Addendum

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

I just took a short walk. Fall is hands-down the loveliest time of year to work on a college campus — especially one with some years on it. The ivy rusting on the brick walls and stone towers. The morning dew pooling on the well-worn surfaces of flagstones and steps. And the falling leaves swirling about the students, sweatshirted and capped, hustling to class, tossing the football or lounging on the mall in the autumn sun. And here in Minnesota, even the trees wear maroon and gold this time of year …

Falling Up

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Yesterday, Minnesota Public Radio did a short bit on on the upside of pessimism, which, if you have no time to listen right now, can be summed up by the old saying, “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”

So I can’t fault my friend’s outlook on autumn. The truth is, we all know it can’t last; the beauty of the season is its brilliant downward spiral toward the long sleep of winter.

On the other hand, I would give up summer altogether for six months of October. Six month of frosty mornings, cool afternoons, and colorful evenings — ideally followed by six weeks of fluffy snow from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, and the balance, greening spring.

My list of fall downers parallels Jacqui’s. I see any number of uppers; I could go all day: Back to school, regular bedtimes, lack of bugs … but these are more accurately attributed to the end of summer than the start of fall. Let’s see; why autumn:*

– It’s well-worn college sweatshirt weather.

– It’s pumpkin-carving season.

– It’s bonfire weather.

– It’s hunting-camp season.**

– It’s wool and leather weather.

– It’s migration season.

– It’s crock-pot weather.

– It’s leaf season.

– It’s hot cider weather.

– It’s harvest season.

* * * * *

*Many of these autumn highlights aren’t exclusive to fall, but, I would argue, are certainly enhanced by it.

**It’s just plain hunting season, too — but the camp experience is key to me. Some of my best hunting trips involved never taking a shot.

Gnats In My Belfry

/ J. Thorp / 6 Comments

“I like to keep mine razor sharp. Sharp enough you can shave with it. Why I’ve been known to circumcise a gnat. You’re not a gnat are you, Bug? Wait a minute: bug, gnat. Is there a little similarity? Whoa, I think there is!”

– Uncle Buck, remarking to his niece’s unwelcome
suitor, Bug, about the hatchet in his trunk

I have a little problem, and I’d welcome your advice. See, I have a beautiful office, with high windows that get good sunlight. All of our house plants have moved, one by one, two by two, to the office as a result — and they are thriving.

Unfortunately, so are the gnats. Fruit flies is what most folks call ’em, but I’m told they’re fungus gnats, and they live in the moist top layer of soil.

I’ve tried to get rid of them. I swat ’em. Snatch ’em. Smack ’em. Inhale ’em. People pass my door, see my eyes darting, hands flitting wildly about about by face — they shake their heads and walk on.

I was told that if you blow a fan across the tops of the pots, you’ll dry the soil and kill them. Didn’t work. I heard that if you put a layer of aquarium gravel on top of the soil, the gnats can’t lay their eggs in the dirt and will die off. Not so much.

So now I’ve got to re-pot them, I guess, unless you have a better idea. I’m bringing them back home, one by one, two by two — and of course, I can’t bring a couple home and take them back the next day, because I’ll re-infest them from the still-infested pots.

The final straw was a visit to my office by an associate vice president. As she spoke to me she seemed not to notice the winged black speck circling her head. I, of course, did notice. I have no idea what she said to me …

So Friday evening I grabbed a box from the recycling pile and put two plants in it. It’s about a three-block walk to the parking ramp, and I was carrying my computer and lunch bag, too, so it wasn’t a huge surprise when the tall plant in the skinny plant tipped and spilled aquarium gravel across the bottom of the box. No worries; the other plant is sprawling, green and ropey thing in a pot half again wider than it is tall. It won’t tip …

It did, and I nearly lost the whole load.

I put the plants in the back of the Golf, and haven’t seen the gnats since. But now and again, I feel like I’m being watched from the back seat. I’ll check my blind-spot and something will catch my eye near the back window. I’ll do a double-take and run off the road. Invariably, there’s nothing there.

No number of gnats could’ve tipped that pot, that box and me, could they? I’m just being paranoid … right?

As I write this I’m comfortably in the house. The plants are in the garage. And — just now — a gnat crawled across my computer screen.

Where is that hatchet, anyway?