If you live in East Texas you know what a crane fly is. From a distance, they look like a few thin strands of fuzz. Their flight patterns mimic that of a drunk toddler trying to faze through every wall in a room. Their existence is ubiquitous and immutable. They are the air. They are in your home. They are always flitting about all spaces. They are also harmless. Sure you might hurt yourself if you accidentally inhale one while sleeping but otherwise, harmless. Also as a bonus, the cat loves to chase them.
There are two people in the house that desperately hate them and cannot ignore them even a little bit. They are precious people but still overwhelmed by the bugs unpredictable nature. The youngest of my daughters wants constant attention. She desires to be the very center of my love. Which is sweet in thought, but impractical and at worse unhealthy. I am constantly having to adjust her perspective and define over and over again the difference between love an attention. One can be loved unconditionally but it would take a superhuman to give unconditional attention. I do not begrudge this, in fact, I embrace the job it is my joy to show healthy love.
This morning there was a crane fly in the bathroom. Now if I spent the time to hunt down and remove every single crane fly every time one was reported I would spend nearly every waking moment doing this task. The tasks progress would be immediatly undone once any person cracked a door. What this means is that some crane flys get to live peaceful lives inside. Well until the cat spots them. This morning my youngest daughter alerted me of a crane fly in the bathroom. I reassured her that the crane fly would not hurt her and that she could safely use the facilities.
This was satisfactory for about ten seconds. She then came back to me to tell me again, as if she had never told me before, that there was a bug in the bathroom. I reassured her that the crane fly would not hurt her and that the bathroom was safe just ignore it or kill it yourself.
She then proceeded to remind me of the crane fly every few minutes for approximately an hour. I waved good-bye to my tribe of little humans as I saw them off to the bus. As I walked back from the bus stop I found myself thinking about the crane fly. The crane fly had permeated every single spare crevice of my thoughts. My five-year-old sweetheart had successfully led a campaign of propaganda and top of mind awareness, by simply using the care I have for her and persistence. Had she gained such knowledge and skill from today's media? Probably not pretty sure that is just how brains work.
In the event, you are wondering the crane fly still lives. We will be erecting a shrine to it soon. My our the light of our fluttering god's unknowable directions bring you peace this crane fly season.