My roses are getting ready to bloom. That means daily visits to the garden to look at the dark red foliage and count the buds...and the return of the never ending battle with aphids. This weekend, Sharon and I decided to ratchet up the conflict by bringing in some reinforcements. Lady Bugs.
If you didn't already know, those pretty little bugs are supposed to be the Red Horsemen to aphids. They slay. They maim. They take no prisoners. They are ruthless killers, polka-dotted predators wreaking destruction in the soft-bodied bug world.
So we bought a few at the nursery. About 1500 of them give or take. They came in a little cardboard container with a mesh top, and as we took them home you could see them massing at the edge of the battlefield, little legs churning. I could almost hear the little Mel Gibson lady bug flying up and down the ranks, riling them up in a frenzy of blood lust.
But the moment was'nae right. Nae, fer utmost carnage ye must wait fer dusk. (That last bit was in a Scottish accent.)
And we waited. We stared across the killing fields. The aphids cowered in anticipation of the death that was surely coming to them until, in the waning moments of the day, the savage lady bugs could finally be released.
It was time. We opened the container and our mercenaries came rushing to join the fray. I had a moment when, hands covered in red armored warriors, I thought: My luck is about to change! After all, one lady bug on your shoulder is a harbinger of good things and I was covered in them. We placed a few strategically, flanking the awful aphids, but ultimately we just ended up scattering them near the most important locations. Then we went inside and let them go at it. That night, I dreamed of victory and, in the morning, I ran out to see what we had wrought.
The aphids were all still there and there wasn't a lady bug in sight. Maybe the wind blew them away, Sharon speculated, a theory debunked by the lone lady bug who rode my windshield at 45 miles per hour almost all the way home from church. Lady Bug Luck, it appears, is a fickle fighter and, apparently, my aphids just weren't worth the effort.
There are times when Fate, having done an otherwise bang-up job of making me feel star-crossed, tips his hand and lets me know he's just screwing with me for the hell of it. At those moments, I realize I am not driving, that the jolts and turns have nothing to do with me. This is just the ride I'm on and it will be over soon. So when the bottom drops out, the best thing to do is put my hands up in the air, scream like an 8 year old and collect my silly picture on my way to the next thrill...
This morning, I awoke to a Monday melee of bad news e-mails. But I am happy. Luck is what you make it. If it refuses to sit on your shoulder, you go out and get some more. And if that doesn't work, you yell into the wind at your face, try not to pee your pants and hope the camera doesn't catch you looking stupid.
Life is a roller coaster, after all, designed to freak you out a little and get your adrenaline pumping. If it doesn't, what's the point in riding? Bring it, Fate. I'm loving it.
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