Basement Widow’s Domain


A few days ago I noticed bathroom widow had moved on. She does this every autumn, bathroom widow is always the first to go. It took her conspicuous absence to prompt a reconnaissance mission. Scolding myself for being so remiss I took a long overdue, busy is no excuse tour of my house widow lairs. “Reconnaissance mission” is a tad dramatic, in truth there are only two widow camps left in the house. (There used to be four – bathroom widow moved out and bedroom widow succumbed to an unfortunate vacuum mishap several weeks ago ).

Kitchen widow hadn’t budged, nor by all appearances had she consumed a proper meal all summer. Much as I respect impeccable manners and polite adherence to house rules, she could learn a thing or two from basement widow.

Basement widow didn’t flinch when pulled blind thrust her into the spotlight. Presiding over a berm of skeletal remains, her marquee read “this is my domain”. “Outstanding” rolled off my lips. Beaming respect accompanied a closing of blind retreat. Reign on basement widow, reign on.

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Polite Spiders Would Stay Out Of My Bed


Forget calendars, spiders are first to recognize spring’s breeze. Before bulbs break ground or buds blister naked branches – spiders abandon winter crevices with purposeful determination. First, the house spiders – dedicated arachnids who didn’t leave at first frost, spiders sensible enough to hunker down for dibs on spring real estate. Neighborly perfection, well mannered widows unaware of their mesmerizing bellies, spiders intent on maintaining the sanctity of property lines. Unobtrusive guests so mindful of personal space, I’m left to smile fondly at the promise of spring.

A few weeks later the mercenaries arrive. Defined by guile and opportunity, legions of irreverent lunkheads infiltrate the sanctity of my home. Unruly spiders determined to bully spring with paraded exhibitionism. Unsophisticated numskulls without dignity or common sense. Wave after wave exhaust abundant spiderly tolerance. “Shoo, shoo – get off my computer”, “that’s quite enough, why are you in my drawer?”. Diligent capture and release does little to squelch the rogue spiders of spring.

Ever the optimist I made excuses for their folly, cutting slack after springtime slack. Barely a whisper of exasperation accompanied robotic rituals of catch and release. Yesterday brought tolerance to its knees – spring spiders set foot in my bed. Stupid spiders, you blew your welcome – a polite spider would stay out of my bed. Gloves off, try again next spring.