Disagreeable creatures, the Harpies, the bird women, from Greek and Roman mythology. Horrible to look at and repulsive to encounter. You will remember that they had the heads and faces of women, but were fowl-like otherwise.

They carried off the souls of the dead and snatched the food from the tables of the living. They didn’t snatch the food because they were hungry, but defiled it, so their victims couldn’t eat and enjoy.

Tragically, I fear, Harpies don’t exist only in the old mythology. They are now in human form, still among us. The creatures of darkness, unhappy themselves and passionately eager to make their victims equally unhappy.

I know you’ve met a Harpy or two because I’ve met several. I used to encounter an elderly woman who loved telling a story of her younger years. She laughed so hard when she told it that it was all she could do to get through it.

It seemed that her sister had a crush on a young man in the little town where they lived. He was interested, however, in the Harpy.

Meeting her one afternoon, he asked if she’d meet him at the movie that night. She agreed and then told her sister that he had asked the Harpy to have the sister meet here. Which the infatuated sister did.

Strangely enough it worked well. The young man kept his mouth shut about the substitution. He and the sister enjoyed each other’s company and after some months became engaged.

On the evening when her sister returned home walking on air, joyful and pleased beyond words with her new engagement ring, the Harpy couldn’t resist. Harpies are like that.

She promptly came forth with the whole story of her sister’s first date, making it plain that her fianc had chosen her on the rebound. She made fun of the ring, too.

&8221;Tiny, little stone. Looked like something that came out of a crackerjack box.&8220;

Well, not everybody is mature enough to stand up to a Harpy. By the time she’d been well worked over by her Harpy sister, the newly engaged one was in such a state of misery that she took a hammer and smashed the ring.

It was an unhappy time for her and the young man of her choice.

Eventually they got back together and had a long and as far as I know, happy marriage. But a day that should have been happy for her was darkened and destroyed by a Harpy.

Although Harpies are generally thought of as female, they can also be male. I knew a man once who had two small sons, not yet school age. They were both looking forward to the approaching

Christmas holiday. That’s when he announced to a group of us that he had told them that morning that Santa, coming by plane to Minnesota, had died when the plane crashed.

A plumpish man, he was absolutely purple with chortles and giggles as he imitated their piteous crying when they learned that Santa was dead and the gifts that they were so joyfully looking forward to would never, not this year or any other year, be delivered to them.

His wife was a frightened little creature without the courage to stand up for herself or her children. The rest of us expressed our opinions on the matter loudly. It did no good. And if he was telling the truth the &8221;joke&8220; went on for some days.

None of us knew, because without unnecessary consultation we started taking our coffee breaks elsewhere.

It’s been many years since I’ve attended any gathering that has required me to do much walking. Many of my friends, though, spend time and energy in making the Rendezvous a magnificent event.

Others of my friends talk of it with joy and delight. It is more than special for all of them.

This year, an obvious Harpy tried to spoil it. I don’t know enough about ancient mythology to know what spells are cast against Harpies, but I do know that one should not be influenced by them.

To stop enjoying anything Albert Lea has to offer because some crackpot wants to be noticed is cutting off the nose to spite the face.

All it does is make the Harpy feel powerful. And who wants to do that?

And now to change the subject to something more pleasant: Congratulations to the Trumble’s Restaurant. A friend being brought from the Twin Cities airport was puzzled when the driver of the car gave a series of honks when passing the restaurant.

&8221;Out of respect to Love Cruikshank,&8220; the driver explained, &8221;this is her home away from home.&8220;

(Love Cruikshank is an Albert Lea resident. Her column runs Thursday.)