A Spider Funeral.
June 25, 2008

  “We need heart to heart resuscitation.”

Ram Dass

 What are you reading, today? After finishing The Diddakoi by Rumer Godden, I’m now reading another novel of hers, An Episode of Sparrows.

If she were still alive, I’d send her a fan letter and thank her for her wonderful mind.

Much like oxygen, food and water are necessary to survival, so are words and thoughts and books. I believe books can change people, and therefore, the world. Also, sometimes that better world we wish for can be found inside the minds of our favorite writers, and that’s something. It isn’t everything, but it’s a lot.

Really, aren’t we all writers, now? Especially with the advent of email, instant messages and text messaging, we live on a planet of writers. We all get a taste of creativity each time we peck out the letters and hit “send”.

Maybe even, sometimes, things happen to us for the sole purpose of being written down. For instance, waking up on top of a large spider, now a spider-pancake, with two dismembered legs stuck to your own leg. (It was a spider minding its own business, most likely, having burrowed under the covers while I was out flaking horses or getting the mail, on a quest for warmth in the frosty, air-conditioned bedroom.)

Or, how about the panty-liner flying out the front door, (you know that’s not what those wings are for), getting mixed-up with a pre-monsoon wind only to end its journey stuck to the leg of the UPS man?

Let me backtrack: some people say terriers are difficult to housetrain; for mine, that’s true. I found these nifty potty pants (or, “big-boy pants” as we tell the dogs) which they sleep in at night. For ongoing potty-training and a clean house, this product is a godsend. Called “Simple Solution”, they wrap around the offending part and stay snugly in place thanks to a velcro closure.

Inside, you fit an absorbent pad to circumvent any accidents, but those pads are a lot less expensive if you buy women’s generic panty-liners, instead. And so goes the story of the flying panty-liner, the blushing UPS man and the quick explanation he most likely thought I’d made up like fiction, on the spot.

I’ll save the story of the relocation of seven desert toads for next time. In the meantime, this site is only two days old, spanking new and full of promise. With all there is in the world to demand our time and attention, you’re here, reading? Thank you. I’ll keep you here in spirit, too, at the spider funeral at sundown. Who knew a silver-blue earring box could make such a fitting coffin?