An Omen?

Growing up, my parents would tell stories of creatures in the forest and supernatural occurrences. My siblings and I would listen in rapt attention, wondering if some mythical beast would pounce on us from every dark corner or if a recently deceased relative would visit from the grave to bestow upon us a measure of comfort or vengeful wrath (either way, I didn't want them to visit me).

We were also raised in a swirl of superstitions. Apparently, everything you do–or don't do–has moral consequences and it doesn't have to be some major act of grace or greed. Heaven forbid that I slept with my hair wet, or I ironed clothes before washing dishes, or I broke a mirror, or I gave an empty purse for a gift, and on and on and on.

As much as I would like to think that I am beyond all that, so much of what they have taught us still lurks in my mind and defines my actions, either consciously or unconsciously. In many ways, these were lessons. I am still hesitant to throw away rice, in part because my mother believes that to waste rice is bad luck, but I also do believe it is wasteful. When I am alone in the house, I will occasionally feel a creepy tingle run down my back though I won't turn around because I will likely close my eyes and find myself someplace I'm not supposed to be when I open them.

(Okay, I haven't quite figured out what the lesson is on that one.)

And from stories, we learned too. My dad loved to tell us of his boyhood growing up at the family farm in Lucena. His scarier tales were the most memorable. He would describe encounters with a fearsome aswang (a vampire witch) who stole babes from the womb or a kapre (a tree demon) smoking his pipe tobacco in the woods while playing a prank on an unsuspecting passerby. I think it is no coincidence that I don't care for vampire shows (they're a waste of time anyways), hate the smell of cigarette smoke (bad for your health) or use garlic in virtually every dish I make (good for your heart).

Recently, Annika and I drove down to the local animal shelter to volunteer. On the way there, she noticed a grasshopper anchored to my side window, its antennae bending with the wind, as we traveled the distance from our house to the shelter. I had expected it to fly off or be taken away with the force of the moving air but it remained stuck unfazed on the glass through the ride.

It was an odd sight. My experience with grasshoppers on my car runs more along the lines of bug-splatter on the windshield. This particular hitch-hiker was not what I had expected. It stayed with us even after I had pulled into the parking lot, got out of the car and closed the door. I walked away in wonder. Are those littler buggers supposed to do that?

Maybe it's because of my upbringing but I believe in karma and that everything happens for a reason. So I looked into my Google crystal ball to see if there is some meaning behind this visit or if it really was just hitching a ride to to an unknown destination.

They have been know to be harbingers of doom and the all too realistic locust plagues. On the flip side, grasshoppers are also symbols of good luck and new beginnings. Should a grasshopper appear to us, "we are being asked to take a leap of faith and jump forward into a specific area of life without fear."

I'll take a leap of faith for $1000, Alex.

Homeschooling, canning, volunteering along with a few others come to mind and, quite frankly, a positive spin to this omen is far more palatable than dismal news from a six-legged bug. And should my departed kin see it fit to visit me, I still would prefer that they leave me a letter or a will instead. Please, no floral scent or tobacco smoke to tell me if my moral compass is working or not.

I am fearless but I will keep garlic handy...just in case.