Hey! Pay Attention!

Good Morning -

Sorry to all the arachnophobes who were startled and scared by the Virgen this morning. The image I used is actually a really docile spider image that turns a little unfortunate when it's blown up big enough to fit on the Virgen.

And why the spider? Sunday night, after watching The West and making the turtle tile, I headed outside to call my cat Owen into bed. As I opened the door, I was greeted by three black widows who had spun their way out of the crate of firewood on the porch by the door and were suspended in the air around it.

I had walked out on the porch barefoot and unconscious enough but was suddenly very aware as I scooped up Owen (who was rolling luxuriously around on the cement porch - he likes to roll and flop like a fish - I think it's like either a good scratch or petting himself) and, after checking to make sure that they were only by the woodpile and not dangling from the porch light and the ceiling above the door and on the doorknob and any other horror-movie spot, walked quickly and carefully back inside.

That's not an image one shakes easily. I love the message and meaning of Spider - master weaver, storyteller, wisdom, creativity, divine inspiration, etc. - and am not bothered by little spiders here and there in my house and around and about. But to see three black widows seemingly suspended in the space around the wood crate - powerful.

I shut the door and then had a moment of horror film anxiety in which I imagined them coming inside and biting me while I was sleeping.

This is not a fear unfounded. During the first Thanksgiving break that I had visited my parents after graduating from college, I woke up one morning to a little red zit on the back of my thigh. A week later, I was unable to walk because the "zit" was actually a brown recluse bite laced with the Staphylococcus aureus bacteria (staph infection to those in its inner circle) that had turned into a giant black sore.

I had an appointment at Planned Parenthood for my annual exam (they weren't covered by my crappy insurance at the time), and asked the doctor to look at the spot on the back of my leg because it hurt and I was having trouble walking. She looked, gasped, and said I needed to get to the ER. Oh.

The ER doc explained that, apparently, I had been bitten by a dirty, poisonous spider whose poison along with the bacteria had slowly eaten a giant hole down into the back of my thigh (because it was delivered via spider bite, the opening was too small for the infection to get out, which left it nowhere to go but down into my thigh). This dirty spider bite resulted in some heavy antibiotics, and a codeine-induced week of crazy dreaming on the couch in my apartment. It also left a scar on the back of my leg that effectively ended my swimsuit modeling career, such as it was at the time.

Still even after that, I've not been terrified of spiders. Yes, I have the same sharp and shaky breath in when I come across some detailed video footage of giant spiders or spiders eating on PBS that any reasonable person has, but I'm not immobilized with fear. They're a bit like the ocean to me - I can sense the power and have a deep, deep respect.

The spiders of my porch (sounds almost like a calendar, huh?) made it onto the Virgen because they clearly had a specific intent to their message. The next morning, I tried to warn my partner to be careful as she went outside to dump the coffee grounds. I was barely awake, so my words weren't working yet to sufficiently explain where the spiders were.

Because the communication was important, I got out of bed, opened the door, and went to point to where the spiders were - except that the spiders weren't. They were nowhere to be found. Clearly their message was a special delivery for me and not one intended for my partner, so I figured I better pay attention and pay honor by putting them on the tile.

And so I have. Thanks, Spider, for bringing your message of stories, weaving, fate, and creativity.

Here's to that. Here's to messages. Here's to creativity. Here's to the weaving of stories.

P.S. Don't worry - we've also agreed that we need to put on good shoes and long pants and, using the broom handle, drag the wood crate off the front porch and around to the back of the house.