This is probably the first journal post I’ve ever done. Meh. Not like you wanted to get anything done anyway, right? Might as well read it. There are some decent thoughts in here, I promise.
So I don’t know what it is with me and spiders lately. I don’t like them. But I can’t help but be amazed by them. For the past few weeks, every time I walked the dog…
…I passed a giant spider web. The spider web was smartly crafted over a flowering bush enveloped by a swarm of bumble bees. She was a very fat spider.
In those weeks, we experienced many torrential downpours. Every time it rained, the spider web would be washed away. But every following day, when I passed the bumble bee bush while walking the dog, there the spider would be, rebuilding with a patience and fastidiousness not typically seen in humans. Or, maybe she was really pissed off and mumbling spider curse words under her breath. It’s hard to tell with spiders, because they’re so small and you can’t really hear what they’re saying, and even if you could, who really understands spider-ese? Nobody, that’s who.
Anyway, it rained again and again, and every time her work was destroyed, the spider rebuilt her web over the bees.
As much as all the hairs on my arms stood up to look at that vile creature, I thought, “I want to be like that lady.” You know what I mean, right? It was very Charlotte’s Web, but without the desperate pig. You know E.B. White only added the cute pig to the story so we would appreciate Charlotte’s tenacity, right? We never would have accepted a story that was about a spider and only a spider.
Last weekend, Katrina came. She is my BFF. Do people who are 35 still say that? Anyway, we met when we were 15 and 14 and as soon as we discovered that we could both do “the roll” (A dance move; don’t ask.) we joined ourselves at the hip. It made orchestra rehearsal very uncomfortable, trying to share a chair and all that, but we managed.
When Katrina comes, we eat sushi and drink equal portions mean green juice and strawberry daiquiris. It also bears mentioning that during her visit, she had all this practicing to do (she’s a violinist), and while I was writing and she was practicing, I was listening to Brahms Symphony No. 1 on my head phones and she began practicing the exact same part (of a 45 minute symphony) at the exact same time I was listening to it. Weird, right? I know.
Then Lucas drew a picture of Juliet Rose Unicorn for Marisol and I thought it was DEAD ON:
Lucas has wanted to be a fighter pilot since he was two. When we told him the F-14 had been retired, he was inconsolable for about thirty minutes. Hence, when there’s an airshow within a thirty-mile radius, we go to the freakin’ airshow. Lucas had been nagging us to go to the airshow that was coming to town, but we weren’t promising him anything because my husband was supposed to work the whole weekend. But hallelujah, Husband got off Sunday and the weather was cartwheels-in-the-street-while-belting-out-Broadway-tunes perfect.
We went to the airshow.
When they played “Proud to Be an American” as the F-16’s flew over, I openly cried. I’m not even particularly proud to be an American, to tell you the truth (I’m moderately proud, but not to the point that a foreigner would think I was an asshole), but boy did I cry when they played that song. Something about the clear air, those massive, roaring machines having no business being in the air and yet there they were, the music reminding me of my own childhood, and feeling Lucas’s little heart pound with excitement.
Nah, screw it, I’m just gonna blame my period.
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