Did you know that ladybugs like honey?
I was without power after a nasty snowstorm last week, and a ladybug sought refuge in my bathroom the entire week, in the dark. When the power came back, I watched the little creature crawl around the rim of a blown-out burgundy candle. Her black polka dots looked like they were painted on without care, the red underneath looked more like brick that had been in the elements for quite some time. I was overwhelmed with emotions the entire week, and when the lights finally flickered on, and this sweet ladybug came into the light with me, I was hit with the question “Is she hungry?”
I laid some spinach on the bathroom counter. The ladybug sat on it, but I didn’t feel accomplished.
A quick Google search revealed that ladybugs usually eat aphids on leaves, but with no leaves in the bathroom, I tried spinach—the only green still edible from the fridge that had been shut off for days. I laid some spinach on the bathroom counter. The ladybug sat on it, but I didn’t feel accomplished. The next day I found out that pet ladybugs eat honey, too, so I put a drop of honey in front of the spinach. The ladybug politely declined. No, the ladybug, it seemed, had died. I would no longer see her on my near-constant trips to check if she was still sitting on the candle, or near the spinach, or by the faucet.
My mom asked why there was spinach on the bathroom sink, and then honey, and I had to explain my newfound, short-lived friendship. I brought my dead little winged, polka-dotted friend outside so I could lay her to rest. My dad, unaware of the mini-funeral I was putting on, asked me about lunch.
I needed to focus on something small that I could help.
We’ve had ladybugs come into our house during the winter for the past eighteen years. I’ve vacuumed up at least a hundred of them at this point in my life, because they tend to fall onto the part of the floor where the wall meets the carpet, and it’s not so nice to have guests over when your carpet is peppered with dead ladybugs. I’ve never cared for one of these ladybugs before beyond not trying to step on them. I’ve shooed them off of my ceiling light before bed five or six times. But at this moment in my life, I was feeling delicate. I needed someone to bring me honey. My dad kindly bought me some after I cried about my ladybug friend’s hunger. I needed the honey for my ladybug. But I needed the honey for me, too. I needed to focus on something small that I could help. But she left this world without having tasted the honey. And I had no idea what I wanted for lunch.
