Some are not. I’ve kept track of my first black fly each spring: average date, May 5, and it’s downhill from there till at least July. There’s the annual invasion of the leaf-peepers, which pumps life into our economy, but clogs our roads to distraction. The month of March, when we’re all pretty sick of winter, mocks the calendar with heavy, wet snowstorms, downed branches and powerlines, and mud season.

But to me, the worst phenomenon is the invasion of the cockroaches. I’m pretty sure it’s not unique to New England; yet, given our distinction vis-à-vis the rest of the nation (a difference emphasized by the last national election), it feels as though we’re being singled out.

I don’t mean the usual run of roaches. Some of us had them around when we were kids, and tried to squash them before they made it back under the sheltering baseboards. No, not those. I mean the kind that come sneaking into our homes via any means of communication – mail, phone, internet. They seem most active during the holiday seasons. And according to various media, they target mostly the elderly. I rate them on the social scale somewhere around celebrity reverse mortgage spokespeople, racist sheriff’s deputies, and child molesters.

One of ‘em got me and my wife once. Purporting to be a grandson, he called me from Mexico City, told me he’d been in an automobile accident, and needed $1500 to get out of his legal jam. We borrowed against our home equity account to send him the cash. Two days later he needed $4000 to clear his hospital bill. When I showed up at the bank the second time, the manager came out and informed me that we were in the grip of a “granny scam.” Expensive lesson. I still get occasional calls from purported grandchildren. I stretch them out as long as I can; but they know the game better than I do, and at the first hint of skepticism, they’re gone.

I get at least a dozen notes a week on the internet thanking me for my payment of several hundred dollars for something or other. If I want further information, I should call. Uh-huh. I’d rather have a colonoscopy than touch that number with a ten-foot pole. And yet some people must fall for it, because it continues. It seems to me that, considering the sender has entered my domicile to steal money, his effort ought to be classified a home invasion or attempted larceny. But I’m not aware of any action of legislatures or law enforcement to stop the flood of such felonious phishing.

Many such invasions hint at legitimacy by using what appear to be recognizable corporate logos or friendly language (“Hi, Willem. We noticed an attempt by your account to log in from an unfamiliar device near Boston. Was this you?”) Unless I lose my mind, neither of us will ever know. (One came in just as I was typing this) Others, using a recorded message from, for example, “Jessica here at Medicare Advantage,” try to get you to say the word, “yes,” so that, in the event of a dispute over a bogus transaction, they have a recording of you appearing to agree with their sales pitch. If I haven’t already hung up or clicked off before the question, I respond with “You know I do” or a positive response worthy of Sergeant Schultz: “Oh, jah, I sink so.” If I decide to play along with the Medicare scam, I know the first question from South Asian-accented “Kevin” or “Samantha” will be how old are you. My response: “Too old for you, sonny (or sweetie). Eighty-nine.” There’s not even a click anymore as they move on to their next dupe.

I’m pretty certain I’ve spurned many legitimate attempts to improve my lot, but I can’t tell. It’s taken many months to reach this condition: I no longer credit any apparently authentic incoming ads, no matter how innocent they appear. Matter of fact, the more innocent and attractive they appear, the shorter the shrift they get. My mother’s oft-repeated dictum reverberates: If it sounds too good to be true, it is.

So here we sit, with almost unlimited access to the most effective communication system ever devised; but instead of being its masters, we are, because of rampant misuse of the system, its prisoners instead. Josef Goebbels’ ideal is at last realized. Repetition of the lies, he said, is not to make you believe them, but to cause you not to believe or trust anything. Merry Christmas from the cockroaches.