‘Cricket’ no longer one of my favourite words

I have a lot of favourite words. I even have them in a list in case I forget; a list I can add to and delete from.
Sometimes I modify said list—removing words that no longer make me smile while adding new words. Words I stumble upon in the course of a day; words that make the day a little happier.
Some of the words on my list of happy words are: bubble and gallop, giggle and guffaw. Enchanting and serendipity are easy candidates, as are watermelon and felicity, which actually means intense happiness.
I won’t list all my favourite words here or you might wander off before I’ve finished saying what I came to say.
One of the entries on my list of cheery words is cricket. But I have to modify that statement. One of the cheery words on my list was cricket. I used to consider it a great word—simple, using a couple of my favourite letters.
But it’s fall and the number of crickets trying to get into my house to sing their repetitive song, and to hide under my refrigerator, has moved the word off my favourite list and on to a list of creatures that my life would do better without.
On that particular list are earwigs, tent caterpillars, mosquitoes (which goes without saying), large lazy houseflies that insist on trying to fly up my nose when I’m sleeping or trying to sleep, and now . . . the cricket.
I never was truly fond of crickets, if truth be told. We all memorized “Some One,” a poem by Walter de la Mare, with “only the cricket whistling while the dewdrops fall” and that was a favourite poem of mine.
Of course, a good friend was Jiminy Cricket; who didn’t love Jiminy.
I don’t recall Jiminy hiding under any refrigerators in his adventures and he was cute. He was Pinocchio’s best pal, for heaven’s sake, and sang “When You Wish Upon a Star” with the dearest, most soothing voice.
Who couldn’t love a cricket singing that wonderful song? Okay, it was Cliff Edwards singing but Jiminy got the credit.
However, the crickets in my woodpile are not singing that particular song, nor are they whistling while the dewdrops fall like the crickets in poetry. They are squeaking non-stop and they are everywhere.
Oh sure, crickets do have special talents. If you count the number of chirps in one minute, and divide that number by four and add 40 to it, you will have determined the outside temperature (or you simply could check your iPhone or step outside to see if it is hot or cold).
Some cultures consider a cricket in the house lucky. That’s a bit like saying good fortune will follow a dose of poison ivy. The cricket is in the grasshopper family, as is the locust. Need I say anything more?
I’m generally a fan of most creatures. If I get stung while picking berries, I consider that my fault as it is me who is intruding in a habitat other than my own.
But these crickets are trying to invade my habitat. Chirp away outside, I tell them, but don’t bring that noise in here.
Give me a ladybug any day. Now there’s another great word for my list.
wendistewart@live.ca