Bees February 2024

Dad and I did a little work in our garden this extended weekend.  We were catching up on what we missed in the fall.  We burned branches, collected leaves, and cut off bloomed flowers.  Monday being the hottest day, Dad and I went to Wisconsin to check our beehives.  Dad inspected the hives in a beekeeping suit, and I checked him from a safe distance.  Suddenly, Dad's movements sped up somehow, as if he started dancing.  He had been in a good mood since morning, but it didn't seem he would be in an excellent mood to dance in the meadow.  It wasn't some kind of waltz but quite a rough break dance in first-class quality and speed.  I was even more surprised because Dad always claimed he couldn't dance.  And even in high school, in dance classes, he had a tight nickname, "Panzer's Fist," among the girls.  He sweeps everything and everyone around.  Out of the blue, I noticed that Dad goes to a higher level during the dance.  He starts to add striptease to the dance.  The striptease is chaotic and of terrible quality. He hurriedly checked his pants around the front pockets when freed himself from the beekeeper's suit, a speed that even the famous Houdini would not be ashamed of.  And when he pulled out a vibrating phone from his front pocket, a look of immense relief appeared on his face.  He immediately explained to me that he evaluated those vibrations as a beekeeper's suit was not correctly buttoned up. He became convinced that intruder bees had gotten close to certain male parts.  When he wiped the sweat from his forehead and his pulse left the pre-infarction frequency, he sighed: "Why didn't I start collecting postage stamps."  So the weekend went as usual. I had a blast, and Dad was glad he had survived.