Now that it's all over, what did you really do yesterday that's worth mentioning? ~Coleman Cox
It rained here early this morning. The weather has been nice and cool, very autumn-like. As I pulled into the parking lot at work today, I noticed puddles of water standing here and there on the blacktop. I suppose it rained more in town than at my house. I parked, got out, and began to walk in. As I did, I noticed a worm. Then I saw another, and another. There were, literally, dead worms in the lot every few steps. It has been a while since I have either seen this, or noticed it, and I began to think about it on my walk to the door. My first thought was, oh, tough luck you stupid worm, you crawled all the way from the grass and dirt to over here and then what? You got tired and gave up? You died from exhaustion? What the heck were you thinking, anyway? Why did you leave your nice home, only to die on the nasty blacktop?
And then I remembered hearing that worms come out of their holes when it rains hard. And I wondered if maybe it had rained so hard they were washed out into the parking lot, only to drown or find themselves unable to crawl back to the safety of their homes. I was still thinking about the worms when I saw Jackie, and I mentioned them to her. "I know," she said. "It's almost as if they fall from the sky." Well, do they, I wondered? And how could that be? Wouldn't I or at least someone I know have been hit in the head with a falling worm at some point in my life? I mean, I have been pooped on by birds several times (and I vividly recall each time). I mulled that over for a few seconds and decided that there was no logical way that could happen, although I do recall my father telling me once that ponds somehow get fish in them, even if they aren't stocked. But these are worms, not fish, and I don't pretend to understand the fish thing, either.
So, I decided to look it up. I will digress here for a moment and mention that I think the internet is the coolest thing since, well, anything. I am constantly amazed that someone has posted information on the very subject I am looking up. I guess maybe the next thing I will do is become one of those people. Maybe. Someday.
Well, I wasn't at all surprised to find information on why worms leave their holes. It turns out that people have been wondering about this for many, many years. The general consensus among my friends is that they emerge from their holes during heavy rains so as not to drown. As it turns out, this probably isn't true. Worms don't have lungs, which is something I guess I knew but never considered. By the way, we were supposed to dissect frogs in 10th grade biology class, but for some stupid reason we got worms, instead. Their innards were just a tad bit hard to see, if you know what I am saying. The only thing I remember about that was Todd Tyler taking a dare from Lee Crume and swallowing one of the worms for all the money that Lee collected from the class. This transpired in full view of Mr. Roby, who watched silently and never said a word. I turned to him after Todd did the deed, and I asked if that would hurt him (Todd). After all, the worm had been preserved in formaldehyde. Mr. Roby simply said, "We'll see." That is what I now call "unflappable". He, on the other hand, probably just didn't care.
Charles Darwin wondered about worms, and wrote an entire book about them in 1881. He speculated that "It is not probable that these worms could have been drowned, and if they had been drowned they would have perished in their burrows. I believe that they were already sick [perhaps due to parasite infestation], and their deaths were merely hastened by the ground being flooded." That Charles, what a crack-head. A wormologist, Richard Wahl, writes: "Worms do not drown when it rains. . . . Worms of all kinds are highly susceptible to dessication [drying out]. They breed when it rains. They come out of the ground to find each other and to lie side by side in a mating posture, a difficult thing to do in the confines of their burrows. [And we complain about the back of a Ford!] The only time earthworms can safely come to the surface to breed is when the ground is thoroughly soaked. . . . Worms don't have lungs." I have no idea if the worms are having sex, wriggling for their lives or committing mass suicide, but if you want to learn even more you should check out http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/372/why-do-worms-crawl-on-the-sidewalk-after-it-rains
And that is how a fleeting thought this morning became a subject to be researched. I have an illness, I know not what it is called. A chronic case of curiousity. Wormitis, maybe. Insanity, probably.
I am still on the topic of ears. Mine is better, by the way. It was hurting again this morning, but I took four ibuprofen tablets and toughed it out. The wait at Convenient Care was an hour and a half, and people were sitting in chairs outside the lobby. I figured I was better off with an earache than with the swine flu.
For whatever reason, I have always found earlobes interesting. When I was in elementary school I had a friend who was born without one ear. Through the years she endured several surgeries to craft an earlobe for her. The doctor harvested skin from her thigh, and fashioned a lobe out of it. Rhonda was very proud of her new earlobe. I have always noticed whether a person has detached or attached earlobes. That trait is, of course, genetic, and hanging earlobes are dominant, while attached are recessive. We all have hanging earlobes in my family. Interestingly, the frequency of attached earlobes among the Japanese and Chinese populations is over 60%.
I begged to have my ears pierced when I was a girl, and my father finally said that I could for my 10th birthday! I was so excited! My mother took me to Claire's Boutique in the mall (the mall was brand-new at that time) and she signed the consent form. I picked out gold studs, which were all I remember being offered back then. I sat in a high chair and the lady drew dots on my earlobes with a Flair marker. When she was satisfied that they were even, she put the piercing gun up to my right lobe and fired it. PING! The noise was really loud in my ear, and it hurt like crazy! I could not believe how much it hurt. She quickly moved on to the other ear, and PING! shot the stud into the left one. I didn't cry, although I wanted to, and I can still recall how my earlobes were screaming as we walked back through the mall. They were throbbing! I felt like I had two large red neon arrows above my head, pointing at my ears. I didn't admit that it hurt, though, because my father always said that I would be sorry for getting them pierced, and I didn't want him to be right.
I put alcohol on my sore, newly pierced ears, just like I was supposed to. I also turned the earrings every day. Unfortunately, one became infected, anyway. It was awful. I had to finally take the stud out to let the ear heal. Pus oozed out of the hole. Gross! My dad had to get the earring undone, because those suckers had notches on them that basically locked them, and they were next to impossible to remove. My piercing eventually healed, and I was determined that all my suffering would not be in vain. I shoved that stud back through the hole, punching right through the new skin that had formed over it. I never had any trouble after that, and I foolishly got my ears pierced a second time when I was 17. I went back to Claire's but I was old enough to sign the consent form myself that time. I sat in the high chair again, and the lady shot a stud in my ear. I was shocked to find that it hurt just as much as I remembered! Maybe even more! I fanned my earlobe while seriously contemplating whether or not to have the second ear pierced. I finally agreed, and again, I walked through the mall with my ears on fire. I was done with ear piercing after that, however, even when three, four and more piercings became all the rage in the 1980's. No more self-mutilation for me.
My ear hurts. My left ear. It has pains in it, deep down inside. I had forgotten what an earache feels like, but I have been vividly reminded today. I have been lying here, thinking of exactly how to describe it. It's a unique pain, I think. It really is an ache, along with an occasional sharp stab. But I think that ache describes it best.
I had what seemed like constant earaches as a child. I remember the pain, and it seemed like nothing could get to it, to ease it. My mother would put oil in my ear, sweet oil I think it was called, and stuff a wad of cotton in there. I can remember what the oil smelled like, and how it felt when she took the dropper and let a few drops fall into my ear canal. I always put my ear on a heating pad, on my pillow, and cried and cried. There just didn't seem to be anything else to do, except cry. We didn't have Tylenol back then, so I suppose I chewed up a couple of baby aspirins, but I don't remember them easing the pain. Instead, it's the ache that I recall.
Once, when I was five, I had an earache, and I took a nap with the heating pad. I remember waking up and feeling something wet on the side of my face. When I looked at my pillow, there was blood all over it. I ran to find my mother, and showed her. She said that my ear drum had burst, and she and my father took me to Dr. Coleman. A visit to Dr. Coleman always meant a shot in the rear end, and maybe some gross medicine I called "yellow goop". The only good part about a visit there was the piece of Bazooka bubblegum I got after the shot.
