"Our first summer in Baltimore. The first year of our marriage--your only
marriage, my second one--when my kid became our kid. This house, our home. We
watched the parade of ants--polite little soldiers marching single file along
the kitchen baseboards in a thin and steady stream. You took a white sheet of
paper from the printer, slipped it under their quick feet, then whoosh, like a
magician and his tablecloth, you scooped them off the floor and out the door.
Scoop and flick, scoop and flick, like magic, they were gone. Until they
weren't."
Angela Pelster shares more in this moving piece on how to love an (ant)
invasion, and one another.
