It is a spiritual axiom that every time
we are disturbed, no matter what the cause, there is something wrong with us –
The “Twelve and Twelve” (p. 90)
Autumn is the season when pests begin migrating into places
they just do not belong. Not all pests were created equal, of course. I am
still allowed to frequent homes, medical centers, businesses, and the like
without too many complaints. But still, there are other vermin that can be
quite annoying, and it affects my psyche more than I would like to admit.
The other day I was on a hospital visit and a young lady
jumped up from her chair while we conversed. I gave her one of my inquisitive
looks – the one with head cocked, one eyebrow raised, and complete, total, and
utter confusion written upon my face. She said, “There’s a spider.”
I looked and, sure enough, there was one of those little brown
critters hiding in the shadow where the wall and floor meet. Remarkably, I kept
my poise, for I have found little alarms a patient more than a priest who goes
running from a room screaming like a little girl (meaning no offense to little
girls, by the way).
This was quite ironic as I had awakened just hours earlier
from a nightmare in which there were spiders crawling all over me (and the more
I brushed them off, the more they multiplied in horrendous fashion). I
wondered: Was this a coincidence or a prophecy?
To play it safe, I asked the young lass if she planned on
doing something about the spider. I wasn’t being timorous or coy, by the way. I
am simply a non-chauvinist and wanted to give her first dibs tackling this
unwanted visitor (I’m referring to the spider).
She returned a look that can only be described as one-degree
short of calling for a SWAT team (or Seal Team Six, if they were available), so
I offered to take care of the problem and asked her for a paper towel.
She handed me a massive fistful of paper, from which I deduced
she also retains a plethora of banana clips and ammo for her Uzi. I thanked her
for her generosity and assured her that one towel would be sufficient to handle
the arachnoid menace.
Having developed most of my hunting skills from regularly reading
Art Kehler’s Hollow Top Smoke Signals, I slowly and stealthily moved my companion’s
chair out of the way. I wanted nothing to slow me down once I launched my arach-attack.
It’s a good thing I did, too, for no sooner had I begun to approach that little
brown beastie, she discerned my intentions and made a run for it. Suddenly, it
was Speedy Gonzales vs. Elmer Fudd!
Not to be outpaced, outwitted, or outmaneuvered by this dreadful
denizen of the dark, this fleet-footed skittering skedaddler, I instantaneously
intuited where she was heading (to avoid death by alliteration, I presume), and
dispatched her to the Great Flytrap in the Sky (with a mighty smoosh), where
she has no doubt sprouted wings and is now scaring the perdition out of
unsuspecting angels.
The question that most naturally comes to mind is why such a
little thing as a spider would scare those of us who are so much bigger.
I consider myself
quite the man’s man; I don’t even bother carrying bear spray with me in
the woods – for one thing, I make it a point to stay out of the wilderness, but when I
DO go hiking, I make sure I have someone with me I can outrun. That’s why they
say there is safety in numbers, don’t you know.
But little things like spiders are simply and irrationally
scary. I remember getting dressed one morning as a child and having this big
gorilla-sized tarantula (or a near relative) climb out of my shoe as I prepared
to put it on. I must have lost ten pounds right then and there! Of course, I annihilated
the eight-legger with the aforementioned shoe.
Over time, I have learned to overcome some of those things
that used to bug me badly. Facing one’s fears and overcoming them helps build
the confidence we need to adapt to our ever-changing environment.
I’ve learned to walk softly in this, our valley (but I still
carry a big shoe, just in case).
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