I am responsible for the brutal death of an innocent ladybug. And it bugs me.
When I discovered it on my daughter's lunch box, I got excited. Wow, I thought, now she will see her first real ladybug (we have a book full of all kinds of animals, there is a ladybug in there (not that she has shown much interest in it (she is more of a parrot kind-a-gal) but I have pointed at it at least 50 times already and I expect that leaves some impression in a 1 year old's brain)).
I picked up the box and presented it to her, still excited: "look", I said, "a ladybug!" She looks at me, looks at the ladybug and squashes it.
(of the ladybug)
Witnessing such cold, indifferent killing naturally leaves a mark on people. Ever since, I have thought about death, especially sudden, brutal death on a sunny day. It could hit us anytime. A gigantic hand that reaches from the sky, closes around us and then ... the end.
On another note: I have become really sloppy with the being grateful thing. Today, I could be grateful for cooking a lovely dinner, grateful for seeing a happy duck family, or grateful for having approximately three hours before bedtime to watch Supernatural. That is not enough time to make it to Lucifer's rising, but maybe tomorrow. Yesterday (S04E10), I was moved to tears by Dean's tears and by the sex scene with the red-haired angel on the backseat of his great car (btw: since I watch Supernatural, I keep seeing a black Impala on Zurich's streets. It's really eerie!!)
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