Why I Will Never Like Moths, Part 1

Growing up, we had a few rules at my house that always held a priority over much else:

1) The bathroom door must stay closed at all times unless instructed otherwise.

2) If you turn back the heat, be sure to turn it back up when finished.

3) The front and back doors need to be locked every night so Mom-mom does not become paranoid.

4) Never lock any of the other doors. Ever.

5) Always close the front door and the cabinet doors in the kitchen.

Rule 1 came about because we live in the boondocks away from things like Central Water and sewer systems. Instead, our house is located on a flood plain along a river and aquifer system with a high water table. This meant that every time the water table rose higher than normal, the septic tank would flood and we would be unable to flush the toilet till the water went back down. It became an unspoken agreement amongst us all to keep the door closed to keep the funk of feces from permeating through out the entire house.

Rule 2 had a similar reason to rule 1 dealing with us being out in the boondocks without Central Water. Also, because we didn't (and still don't) have a hot water heater. In order to ensure hot water for a shower, or washing dishes, or whatever other reason you might have needed hot water and could not heat it up on the stove, you actually had to turn back the thermostat twenty or so degrees ten minutes prior so the hot water in the pipes that usually went to the radiators (because yes, the house IS that old) would be redirected to what ever faucet needed that water. Needless to say, the longer the thermostat was set back, the colder it would become in the house. In winter, it sucked like hell so you were sure to turn the heat back up as soon as you got done.

Rule 3 dealt primarily with my grandmother and the sensibilities she developed growing up during the Great Depression. She was, and remains to this day, throughly convinced that the moment it got dark, looters and thieves and what have you would try to break in. The installation of the locks on the doors and the locking of them each night were the only way my parents could appease her paranoia and get her to stop going to bed with a shotgun under her pillow. (I wish I was joking about the shotgun, but it's all too true. The gun is currently stored in the garage to stay out of her fingers.)

Rule 4 is the imminent result of 3's need for locks on EVERY door. These locks were installed before my brother Charles was born. He is six years my senior, which makes the locks at least twenty-six years old, but probably more like twenty-eight. Needless to say, these locks kind of stick and after having several interesting episodes of the doors locking themselves (of which I may go into on a later date) and never opening again unless the knob itself was removed, it became another mute point in the family to just not lock any other doors apart from the ones that would keep Mom-mom sane.

But 5, I feel, was the most important rule of them all. The family instated this rule because, again, we live in the boondocks. The front door's screen needed to stay shut to keep flies out. The cabinet doors in the kitchen ( a.k.a the cupboards) had to be closed for another reason. If left open, the food in the cabinets would become full of brown moths.

Again, I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. My childhood years were spent having to check and recheck everything I ate to make sure it hadn't fallen victim to the ever present moth plague that still grips the family kitchen. Cookies, crackers, cereal, anything that dwells in the confines of the cupboards is fair game, even chocolate. And trust me, nothing spoils an appetite like pouring out a bowl of Cheerios and finding wiggling little caterpillars chilling in the the honey coated O's.

But, sometimes, it's the moths you don't see right off the bat that are the worst. I speak of one incident in particular that happened a couple years back around Christmas.

My sister, Dorothy, and I were baking cookies for the holidays. We had baked several standards: chocolate chip, peanut butter, short bread, the like. We had just gotten started on the oatmeal cookies for my dad and I was sifting out a just opened bag of flour while Dorothy busied herself with prepping the the ingredients. But as I shifted, I started to notice something about the flour.

There were moths in the flour. THERE WERE G-D MOTHS IN THE G-D FLOUR!

I remember my mind just going blank as I watched the small severed limbs come out of the sifter. It was so surreal, like I was one of those machines in the horror movies that one of the heroes falls into and ends up being chopped to slurry.

Before I could think to say anything, my sister took my sifted flour and poured it into the mixing bowl with the other ingredients. My sifted moth flour.

Needless to say, I kept my mouth shut about the entire thing and never told anyone. I also was the only one to not eat the oatmeal cookies.

Shame this is how they had to find out.