Take another little piece of my heart now, baby

I wasn’t convulsed with spasms of delight.

I’d been bitten by something that wasn’t there.

I wondered if things that don’t exist could be arrested for aggravated assault.

They are minute pirate bugs, more often called no-see-ums and many other words I can’t repeat here. Other insects can be called no-see-ums, correctly or incorrectly. I’ve heard harassed people call black flies other names: buffalo gnats, turkey gnats, punkies, no-see-ums and sand flies. Again, these may not be correct monikers, but the black flies aren’t coming when we call them, no matter what name we use. Black Fly Specialist Carey Lamere of the Metropolitan Mosquito Control District in Minnesota said, “What’s the difference in a midge or a black fly? Midges don’t bite people, black flies do.”

But it wasn’t a black fly bugging me. It was a minute pirate bug, a species that shows up in large numbers when the soybeans leave. The black and white minute pirate bug is the size of a pepper flake, but bites far above its weight class, and it test-bites whatever it lands upon, which is too often me.

I swatted a couple. I’m not proud of the delight it afforded me. I’ll wait for a hard freeze to polish off the rest.

Take another little piece of my heart now, baby.

That song by Janis Joplin wasn’t on what Aunt Ingeborg had sent my wife and me, listing the things she wanted to take place at her funeral. She’d been a teacher, so it was as if she’d prepared a lesson plan including “I Come to the Garden Alone,” a familiar hymn played at my family’s funerals. If I consider it long enough, the thought of it brings a tear to my eye.

Aunt Ingeborg wanted Bob Frisk to sing it at her funeral. Bob is a great guy who was surprised to hear of her request. He told me he couldn’t sing a lick and never could. Tweaks were made to her plan.

My recent adventure as the long-lost fourth Stooge found me being asked what I’d like for operating room music, surgical music or ambient operating room music. I felt ready. I’d already given my full name and date of birth 97 times.

My favorite singer is John Prine, but his songs need to be listened to. Hearing only what’s playing while I count down from 10 to 8 in the OR is a waste of good music.

I enjoy Warren Zevon’s work, but I worried his song that I’d hear playing would be, “Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me.”

Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” is wonderful, but perhaps more suited for a funeral.

Janis Joplin’s “Take another little piece of my heart now, baby” was appropriate for my major surgery. Minor surgery is what someone else has.

I considered Neil Young, Louis Armstrong (“What a Wonderful World”), Bobby McFerrin ("Don't Worry Be Happy") and Louis Prima before I picked the Rolling Stones.

Before surgery, the anesthesiologist asked if I'd like to be knocked out with gas or hit over the head with a boat paddle. It was an ether/oar situation. After the surgery, I didn’t hear a choir of angels singing “Get Off My Cloud” or the Stones singing “Start Me Up.”

Medical professionals woke me frequently to check my vital signs before telling me I needed to get more sleep. I appreciated having the vital signs and a goal.

I learned that whether they ripped the adhesive bandages off quickly or slowly depended on my insurance. If Wile E. Coyote made it through his troubles, why couldn’t I?

Sherlock Holmes' famous quotes include, "You see, but you do not observe," "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," and "The game is afoot."

There was a game afoot. My grandson’s football team won its homecoming game. He had eight tackles from his linebacker position. I took comfort in his success and in the words of The Dude in the movie “The Big Lebowski,” who said, “Life goes on, man.”

There was a popular song called “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” performed by Gerry and the Pacemakers.

Another no-see-um bit me.

It wanted me to know that I wasn’t walking alone.

It also let me know I’m alive.

I didn’t swat it.

Life is good.