Walking Ben to school in a downpour (or, in Ben's lingo, a pourdown) this morning, I discovered the sidewalk was adorned with stretching and squirming earthworms flushed out of the mud. How many might I have squished before I realized they were there? Poor worms. Once I saw them, I was careful to step around them, clearing my worm karma à la "My Name Is Earl." You see, when I was 4 or 5 years old, I once collected worms on a rainy day. I plucked the worms out of their puddly milieu and put them in the pocket of my raincoat. And what a raincoat it was! A clear vinyl shell showing the fabric liner with pretty pink flowers. I do not recall whether the pockets were clear and revealed their contents to the casual observer, or if my mother had to wait for the smell of dried-up worms to waft out of the jacket before she knew there was some cleaning to do.
Worm karma? Worma.