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09/22/2010

Helpful hints on being pro-inactive

Sun221 I admire the pro-active, take-charge people.

They're the natural leaders who see a problem and jump right in to do something about the dilemma. 

Like Martha Stewart, for instance.  Sure, some may call her demanding and hovering because she has a reputation for paying close attention to every detail.

Her track record, though, speaks for itself.  Ms. Stewart took a couple of twigs from her garden, wrapped ribbons around them and convinced a large percentile of American citizens to purchase Martha Stewart signature craft products at Michaels. 

This is a given, isn't it?  There's glitter, and there's Martha Stewart glitter.

Let's not forget that Ms. Stewart got where she is by only serving minimal prison time.  You've got to admire that.

Several early evenings last week, I was thinking about pro-active people I admire.  Not just Stewart, but also Albert Einstein, Jonas Salk and Snooki from "Jersey Shore" on MTV.

I was sitting out on our patio sipping a cool beverage and marveling that the sun was going down with what appeared to be orderly precision once again.

How does the sun do its wondrous disappearing act so well evening after evening?  After all, don't we live in a world filled with chaos?  Wars are raging.  Hurricanes and tornadoes are bearing down on us.

And the economic experts -- all of them dutifully employed with cushy retirement accounts and low deductible health insurance no doubt -- have suddenly declared that the recession is over.  (Yeah, right, pal.  Come hang with me for a while.)

I was pondering why the sun even bothers to shed golden light on us without judgment when I noticed a stir of little-bitty activity below me.  I was just reaching for a higher power; a refill.

It was a long stream of busy ants.  They were power-walking as fast as their little legs would carry them from left to right along a crevice in the patio slab.  The first evening I barely even noted them.

The next evening I noticed them again.

"Where are you rushing off to, little fellas?  Chill, enjoy the evening ritual with me.  In Hollywood the filmmakers call this Golden Hour.  That's when the sun's rays are soft and flattering.  Lots of movies are shot this time of the early evening.

"So relax, little ants.  What's the rush?"

The next day, in the harsh midday sunlight, it was pointed out to me that the shower stall in our master bathroom was literally covered in ants.  We're not talking scores of ants, or even hundreds.  Thousands!

It's as if someone had painted the shower tile black and, taking meticulous pains as Martha Stewart would,  even included tiny legs.

But they weren't moving.  The ants' journey -- so frenzied as they scurried past me an evening or two before -- had ended.  My wife Suellen zapped the little buggers with toxic spray before they could advance on the rest of the house.

I admire take-charge, pro-active people like Suellen.

I'm also thankful for Mr. Raid, or whomever it was, who dreamed up the necessary, but rather morbid idea of bug spray.

(Sun drawing courtesy:  OCAL/Clker.com)

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