SERIES:
HASTA LA VISTA!
(taken from Wanda's "Diary of a Banana Gummer" - Day 54)
Wearing the same old grubbies in which John Schultz captured this photo of me on the white wrought iron bench that’s now on my patio, I set out to fulfill the promise made on Day 51 to sweep the ceilings and walls to clear away cobwebs, spiders and their eggs. If one thing is different, however, it’s the fact I still had my upper teeth in this photo. Another difference is the 25-year-old Springfield Writers’ Guild “Write On!” sweatshirt from Missouri; it’s now falling apart and is only good for sleeping in or housecleaning chores. In this shot, I was sunning myself under a fake palm tree I got for $15 at a flea market while hair color was drying in my “California Red” top knot. My Grandmother Cain, a redhead all her life, wore her hip-length thin hair like this all her life. I just do it when coloring my hair. It reminds me of one of the German helmets from World War One, but the advantage this style provides is that I can feel the hair color “fizzing.” When the feeling fizzles out, I wait another ten minutes and then turn on the shower and rinse the color out.
Speaking of showers and baths, I plug up the tub and save the water when I perform ordinary, non-hair-dye-day, ablutions. The water thus saved, filled with skin flakes, Ivory soap, and bath oil or Epsom salt, becomes recycled food for my outdoor plants. Huge tubs of red and orange geraniums thrive on it, as do rosemary, onions, potatoes and the ever-ubiquitous nasturtiums and the tall pink roses. So, clad in this same outfit, I set out to do my annual ceiling sweep, beginning in the hallway and working my way through the living room and ending at the front door, where a granddaddy longlegs had been observed in a web for two or more weeks unmoving. What can it be but dead, as there’s no food or water that I can see, I thought. Working the broom carefully down the corner, starting at the ceiling, I was taken aback when the web in which the spider was suspended suddenly jerked and then went into a frenzied spin.
“It’s alive!” I gently lifted the broom, which was at least 6 inches above the spider. Its legs were akimbo, clutching, frantic, and the entire invisible net of silken strands went into a dance, like a whirling dervish. I watched the web stop moving as the spider crawled free of it onto the wall.
I hurried to the kitchen, mumbling, “It’s okay, old fellow. I’ll put you safely outside and you can start a new life” Seconds later, with a jar and piece of cardboard in hand, I returned, but the wall was bare.
For a creature that can remain immobile for weeks, when a starving granddaddy longlegs flees, it doesn’t walk or even run. It must fly!
I finished the sweep, then changed my clothes and went to dinner with fourteen homeless women at my church, where, despite having no uppers, I ate barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes and a huge piece of pumpkin pie. If granddaddy longlegs reappears, and I learn the secret of its life-sustaining diet, I’ll let you know. Photo courtesy of John Schultz
Speaking of showers and baths, I plug up the tub and save the water when I perform ordinary, non-hair-dye-day, ablutions. The water thus saved, filled with skin flakes, Ivory soap, and bath oil or Epsom salt, becomes recycled food for my outdoor plants. Huge tubs of red and orange geraniums thrive on it, as do rosemary, onions, potatoes and the ever-ubiquitous nasturtiums and the tall pink roses. So, clad in this same outfit, I set out to do my annual ceiling sweep, beginning in the hallway and working my way through the living room and ending at the front door, where a granddaddy longlegs had been observed in a web for two or more weeks unmoving. What can it be but dead, as there’s no food or water that I can see, I thought. Working the broom carefully down the corner, starting at the ceiling, I was taken aback when the web in which the spider was suspended suddenly jerked and then went into a frenzied spin.
“It’s alive!” I gently lifted the broom, which was at least 6 inches above the spider. Its legs were akimbo, clutching, frantic, and the entire invisible net of silken strands went into a dance, like a whirling dervish. I watched the web stop moving as the spider crawled free of it onto the wall.
I hurried to the kitchen, mumbling, “It’s okay, old fellow. I’ll put you safely outside and you can start a new life” Seconds later, with a jar and piece of cardboard in hand, I returned, but the wall was bare.
For a creature that can remain immobile for weeks, when a starving granddaddy longlegs flees, it doesn’t walk or even run. It must fly!
I finished the sweep, then changed my clothes and went to dinner with fourteen homeless women at my church, where, despite having no uppers, I ate barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes and a huge piece of pumpkin pie. If granddaddy longlegs reappears, and I learn the secret of its life-sustaining diet, I’ll let you know. Photo courtesy of John Schultz