There are two kinds of people in this world: those who like wind chimes and those who don’t.
And apparently so do little old ladies and squirrels. Let me explain. My sister mentioned she once got behind a much older woman in a fast food drive thru line who had a wind chime suspended from the inside ceiling of her rusty Buick, visible from the back window. It was Spring, windows rolled down, wind chime swaying in the breeze.
They tinkled. And tinkled. A mini symphony before the main cheeseburger and french fry act. This I thought charming enough to use. I don’t waste much. In my newest novel is the sweet yet spicy Dottie Campbell, who happens to drive a car with wind chime in tow. Life is stranger than fiction as we well know.
Regarding wind chime loving squirrels: my birdseed was disappearing at alarming speed, and I caught a particular squirrel, lets call him Greedy Gus, using my chime as a springboard to the bird feeder. First he climbed up the kitchen window. It was like watching a big pinball, pinging from window, to chime, to feeder. Once there, he devoured seed as though he were a ravenous child attacking candy from a busted pinata.
The birds were glaring at me, so I moved the wind chime. That and I didn’t want to take on a part time job for seed money.
South Texas has a thing for wind chimes, too. When we first moved here, I did a double take when passing a cemetery on the way to the grocery store. Scratching my head, I mumbled, “What on earth is hanging from those trees?” On the way back, I did a triple gawk. Yep, wind chimes, just as I suspected. They were everywhere, dripping from trees.
Apparently being wild for wind chimes carries over to the hereafter.
Someone should tell the squirrel.