Spiders

Brown recluse. Black widow. Wolf spider. Every city I've lived in has had its urban legends of the local spider population. While we lived in Lawrence, Kansas, the brown recluse was said to be invading the state. These unprepossessing little guys would hide in dark places and when they bit you you would be really sorry and probably die. I never saw one, but I did spend a lot of energy worrying about what I would do if I did see one.

 

In Denver it was the wolf spider. They were huge and very hairy, larger than a tarantula. And they jumped. They weren't poisonous, particularly (not more than any insect bite), but they would give you a heart attack by jumping in front of you (or—imagine!—on to you). They were the size of a newborn kitten, but with a lot more legs than a kitten and a fearsome mien, unlike the kitten's innocuous cuteness. Wolf spider, oh lordy. But I never saw one and never met anyone who had seen one.

 

I have a friend whose house is "arachnid-friendly," which I think is an admirable goal. I sweep away webs when I notice them (about once a year), but I don't harm the spider. But a wolf spider would send me scurrying up the stairs. And a brown recluse would bite me as I tried to do the glass-and-cardboard thing to take it outside. And do I really want a brown recluse hiding in my garden? I'd have to give up deadheading.

 

Whether you are an arachnophobe or an arachnophile, you will want to see the Larry Sanders show about spiders, with Carol Burnett as a guest. If I ever need to make myself laugh regularly in order to cure a disease (a la Norman Cousins), I'm going to watch this show twice a day.

 

Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com