[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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