Death By Spider

Jared wants me to get counseling of sorts for my arachnaphobia. I’m not opposed to the idea, inherently. I’m just opposed to those immersion methods that I’m afraid is what they’ll really do to me even if they say they wont – the one where they lock me in a small closet full of tons of big hairy spiders, Indiana-Jones-style. I swear, I will actually go into cardiac arrest.

Anyway, this counseling idea all came about because of a recent spider-incident in my new house. We just bought this house built in 1940, and it comes with all the associated pestilence of old houses with crawl spaces, attics, plaster walls, and old inbred species of dark black insects who've evolved with the house. See, there’s this picture rail along the top of the wall with a very small gap between it and the ceiling, so you can put picture hangers in it without damaging the plaster. The problem is that this is really actually a spider rail. They live in there, in the gap. Or in the walls, I’m not sure. Jared says the gap goes through to the inside of the wall, and the spiders live in there, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Regardless, I’m amazed at the size of spider that can come out of this tiny slit.

Mind you, I’ve calmly handled quite a few spider-findings to date. I’ve informed Jared, in a soft and controlled voice, that there’s a spider in such and such a place, and I measuredly leave the area while he takes care of it. A couple of times I’ve even got the spider killer spray and poisoned the dickens out of them myself, much to my own fear and trembling, but nevertheless it took care of them.

A couple of weeks ago, however, a spider appeared that could not be reckoned with by me. No sir, this thing was huge. I still don’t know how it got out of that rail, it’s legs alone were so beefy and black and muscular that it seemed they would get stuck coming through. It was morning; I was home alone. I quickly determined that this was beyond me, and called Jared. He told me to deal with it myself, gave me some instruction and advice. I got closer to it and felt my stomach turn, my face burn hot, and my hands go numb. Nope. I couldn’t do it. It was overhead. If I tried to spray it, it would fall down, right on top of me, and he was so burly that the poison might not kill him anyway. If I tried to crush him with a broom/towel/duct-tape apparatus, I would hear him crunch, which I can’t handle, or else I’d miss or only injure him and he’d run around and I’d end up smashing all the lamps and pictures and wilt into a crying mess afraid of the house for two weeks. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.

I called my brother. He would come, but he’s 30 minutes away. “There’s no way it’s not going to move for 30 minutes. Can you maybe get a broom?” The same things Jared said, only Jared said 15 minutes. I figured Bryce was right, but Jared might be wrong. Maybe. It hadn’t moved for the last 10, had it? So I called Jared back. While on the phone, it began to move, and panic overcame me. “Oh damn, it’s moving! It’s movingitsmoving! Oh damn oh damnohdamnohdamn...” I was getting shaky and I thought I was going to throw up. Jared could hear it in my voice. “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” click.

I’ll spare you the description of the next 15 minutes of horror (it was eventful and terrible). Suffice it to say that Jared arrived in time, took care of it and I collapsed into a sobbing, quivering thing. That night, Jared vowed, he would caulk all the openings in that damn picture rail.

Since this incident (or maybe before, I don’t know), Jared has decided that if he had to place bets on how I would die, it would be on: Death By Spider. Spider in a car, to be specific. That’s what he thinks. It’s bound to happen sooner or later, and if I don’t get this under control, I’m going to kill myself. Scarily, he’s probably right. I’ve almost killed myself already at least once in my driving career because of a spider in a car (saved by my passengers who yanked me out from in front of the oncoming semi in the lane where I’d run to get away from the spider after screeching to a halt on the freeway). I’ve also jumped into dangerous cold-water rapids, out of cars onto shoulders, leapt backward down stairs, and a host of other stupid things because of the irrationality of this phobia.

But it seems such an insurmountable task to get over it. I mean, there’s nothing rational about it. It’s not like some therapist in a tie is going to be able to logically tell me why I shouldn’t be afraid of spiders. I KNOW! I get it. I got all that. I’m bigger than it. It’s more scared of me. It’s probably harmless. Blah blah blah. Phobias are not driven by any rational part of the mind. No matter how many times I tell myself a spider is harmless, I still experience a primal, uncontrollable terror when caught with one.

If only they could all be bees. For some reason, I have a deep affinity for bees. Since I was a child, other kids crouching in the corner afraid of the bee on the floor, I walked up, coaxed him onto my hand, took him outside to a flower, “go, little bee!” I love bees. They could sting me and I wouldn’t care. I mean, it hurts a little, so what. They love flowers and sunshine. Not deep, dark, dank, secret, evil places. Like spiders. And like that place in my mind that holds onto my fear.

25 years later...

July 16, 2006
I woke up last Sunday morning to four ladies in the living room, all in pajamas and blankets, all behaving like 13-year-olds. But they are all in their 50's.

See, I was in Seattle for my sister-in-law's wedding, and my mother-in-law, of course, was frantic putting it on. A few days before the wedding, her three best friends came into town (no short trip). They stayed the whole time, cleaned, helped, arranged. But mostly they talked, laughed, teased, told stories. They loved and supported this old friend of theirs through her daughter's wedding. I got up on Sunday to find them all in their pajamas and blankets in the living room talking and shreiking so loud it rang through the house. They told stories about each other, made fun, laughed, went on girly tirades, accused each other of all kinds of funny stuff. It was hilarious. And it reminded me so much of me and my best girlfriends, and I longed for them so much.

How cool is it, that this woman, in her 50's, is still so close to the girlfriends of her youth? She bore and raised children on the same block as some of these friends -- at the same age or younger than I am now. I saw the Emily, Lumina, and Michelle of her life rally around her, in the most beautiful ceremony of women and women's love I have almost ever seen. And I bet most people didn't notice a thing, or think about how special it was.

When we have big events in our lives, all my dearest friends, will we rally around each other and come to each others' sides, even across long distances? Will we come together in a circle of women (or friends), and be the love and support we have been to each other in our youth and vibrance? I know I have experienced this kind of love and support from you. I was surprised, somehow, to see it surface in someone's life who is in stages so much later than mine. It's given me a new appreciation of you my friends, and rekindled my desire for us to be forever a circle of love for each other.

I love you all. I hope you will call me when your children marry and you could use an extra cook, or musician, or flower arranger, or... friend.