Back to Micronesia

They are invading my sanity. So tiny, they are almost invisible. But I know they are there. Little ants, piss ants, the shade of cream soda, and the small enough to crawl through the eye of a needle.

While in the Peace Corps, I came to accept these ants, even in my food. My Mom cooked French Toast on occasions, a delightful treat sprinkled with ants that had invaded the cookware that sat in the outdoor cook nahs. At first, I picked them off, with the tinge of my fork, a utensil not used by any other family member. Later, I adapted a stickier approach and used my fingers. It wasn’t long before I just sighed and ate them with imitation maple syrup.

When you live in a jungle, ants come with the décor. These ants were everywhere including on me. Because their size made them difficult to see I lived by the axiom, if it feels like an ant, it must be an ant. When it feels like something is crawling on you, you brush it away even when you don’t see anything. This also served to retain sanity. If it feels like an ant, it must be ant was more acceptable than, if it feels like a cockroach, must be a cockroach. That happened too. Fortunately, the ants didn’t bite, or at least I never felt a bite.

Here in Hawaii, I’m being plagued by a similar ant. If I were a slob and left food and crumbs everywhere, I could understand the invasion. But I learned long ago that if I leave anything out my cat gets it. Although Diablo is not here, I apply the same principle, only on a greater scale. After preparing food, I clean up and wipe down everything My garbage is kept in the refrigerator until the bag is full. (Actually this is not gross. In fact, my garbage is fresher than most because it doesn’t begin to rot and it doesn’t stink like that can of beans you opened two months ago.)

There is nothing for these ants to pillage, except water. It hasn’t rained in this decade, so they are on patrol in my kitchen and the bathroom.

This is most annoying. I dry off everything. The kitchen is as arid as the Sahara. Now think about that. No water in the kitchen, including the sink. It drives me crazy and I’ve done all I can think to do this side of bombing the condo to get rid of them.

The worst annoyance is the tea pot. They love the tea pot. It’s a 24/7 liquid way station. And they know it. I see them communicating. One ant leaves, meets his buddy along the invisible trail back to somewhere beneath my cabinets and reports, “Hey Joey, the distilled stuff is in the lid. No deposits, no chlorine.”

Swirling the water around the inside of the pot, I flushed 24 ants out the other morning. I now dump all the water and dry the inside to discourage the ants from congregating in the kettle. It’s a pain in the ass.

This morning I regressed to Micronesia. I inspected the kettle before I filled it with just enough water for one cup. Despite this I found two ants swimming in my brewed cup of tea. I rolled my eyes, tried to fish them out but they sank into the abyss.

I drank. There feels like I got something caught in the back of my throat.