Left: Direct brush sketch of "Julio" (Raymond Cruz) on the "Closer," don't know why it didn't make it to "Closer" week a little while back—perhaps because it was in my loose sheets journal and I overlooked it as I don't index those sheets until the end of the year.
The exterminator came again today. There's still activity at the entrance to the wasps' nest so Dick called him back—well that and the fact that last night when Dick and I went on our evening walk I cussed so long, so loudly, that a young kid biking by on the adjacent path, looked back in distress—his mother had obviously taught him better (and it stuck—my mom doesn't swear at all, I just choose to overlook that).
It's been a very frustrating two weeks or so. I'm glad to say the number of wasps has dropped per day. But I'm sorry to say that they have moved into the kitchen downstairs (though only 2 so far)—it was one of my safe zones—and the upstairs tub. That's right the TUB. I don't know how they are getting up there. There were 4 there last night and 3 this morning. Most were dead by the time I found them, but one very alive one was found as I was stepping into the shower this a.m. after venting my distress on my 17 mile bike ride (it was 57 degrees and 70 something percent humidity and overcast, so even with the 15 mph winds it was as you can imagine HEAVEN).
"Wonder why he went for the tub? I guess wasps go towards the light," I said to Dick as I stood there naked with one of my new Salomons (the perfect wasp killing tool because of the tread and combination of stiffness and flexibility—go figure) and swatted the insect to oblivion. (I don't go anywhere in the house without one of my Salomons—which I told you about in this linked post.)
"Of course that means something different for wasps, than humans," I mused philosophically as I tapped the carcass off the sole into the toilet bowel with my finger and flushed.
Dick laughed. I think he was more thrilled than anything to have my sense of humor reemerging if only briefly.
In good news I was able to finish scanning my 2014 Minnesota State Fair Journal yesterday and instead of a video flip through I'm going to make a flip through of the stills—something I can do while divebombed by wasps as you won't hear me screaming (and yes I do scream, it's more of an "ARRGGGG—ACCCKKKKKK," and it's involuntary. The type of exclamation that erupts when you're lost in thought and totally focused in your concentration and a wasp dives down from the ceiling and lands on your keyboard. Since I'm a touch-typist if I didn't see the fall I'd be the last to know. You get the idea.
There's that noise again, small, brittle, and electrifying. Gotta go.