[This is a random post if there ever was one. H/T to T. S. Eliot for the inspiration for the title.]
When I think of crickets, I think of three things.
1. The Big Bang Theory. There’s a cricket in our basement. The cricket in our basement is noisy. At about 10:00 p.m. each evening our little cricket friend ramps up his chirping. I think that he is a he– and that he is trying to attract any lady crickets who might be around.
Of course I could be wrong about our little cricket friend’s motive because I learned most of what I know about crickets from an episode of The Big Bang Theory. That’s how I got edumacated on this subject.
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2. Jiminy Cricket. Once I realized that our little cricket friend was living with us inside our house, I named him for Disney’s famous cartoon cricket, Jiminy Cricket. Then I set out to find a video with Jiminy.
The video I found features Jiminy as host and is about “How To Have Fun Safely.” I remember seeing this cartoon when I was a kid. Jiminy wants me to live to be 83. And to not be a fool. And other assorted things that I may or may not have done throughout my lifetime.
Somehow, after viewing this video, I get the feeling that Jiminy would not be the sort of cricket who, now that I’m an adult, would meet me for a cocktail. He seems a bit judgmental and uptight to me. Just a little bit too know-it-all-y.
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3. Buddy Holly and the Crickets. I remember once upon a time, in the early years of our marriage, we received a housewarming gift that was a good luck brass cricket for our hearth. I felt that the cricket was a cute, whimsical gift with wonderful symbolism; I majored in English Lit. Zen-Den, an Econ/Business major, thought it was dumb.
I don’t remember who gave us that gift because it was a long time ago. Although not as long ago as when there were “Rock and Roll Specialists” singing about a girl named Peggy Sue. Which, now that I think about it, is the name that I’d give the cricket in the basement if I thought he was a she.
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