Curse of the Spider Woman*

Don't look at me even through squinted eyes. I am toxic. I am Typhoid Mama. No inanimate object is safe. Some animate ones behave too inanimately. It's been bad voodoo all over the place.

So far just since the rodents and the rat snake on the patio:

• Stove control panel died.
• Oven died.
• Microsoft support for Windows Home Premium operating system evaporated.
• Preschoolers took poopy pants to a whole new level.
• Brakes on Buick started grabbing and squawking.
• New electric range is delivered, but the old one is wired directly into the condo electrical system and giant delivery dudes are not authorized to remove old or install new range.
• Canon printer pooped out.
• Preschool pet rabbit plays possum while lead teacher is away on jury duty.
• Giant spider attacked library.

On the upside:

•  I finally got a photo of a funnel web spider.
• The eleven-year-old preschool rabbit revived.
• The lead teacher was not picked for a jury even though she was looking forward to being sequestered.
• The brake work was minor.
• I like Windows 7 and the new Canon printer.
• It's finally autumn.
• The condo mailboxes in the kiosk have been replaced after a year of broken locks and doors.

*Kiss of the Spider Woman was a haunting movie with William Hurt, Raul Julia, and Sonia Braga. Hurt won the 1985 Best Actor Oscar for his performance which did not involve mailboxes or rabbits as far as I can recall.

Once I had an evil eye charm given to me by an elderly traveling coworker.  Alas, I added the charm to a wire sculpture. The old blue eyes mystery of the Florida swordfish reminded me. I never had one of those creepy rabbit's foot key chains, thank heaven. I'm horrified to find they are still "harvested" and sold, even on Amazon.  

And so I close another crazed rant to go reweave my web.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Color commentary

It's a beautiful almost Fall battle of the complementary colors. Cheerleaders shake their pompons for the yellow and purple teams.  It's good to be outside watching the cosmic competition for bees. Just when it seemed purple would be the clear winner, yellow forced the game into overtime.

Spiny Eryngo, Eryngium leavenworthii, Heard Nature Sanctuary, McKinney, TX. Note tiny spider cheering for purple.

Water lilies, Dallas Arboretum.

Purple findings while walking Prairie Creek Park, Richardson, TX. (Over an inverted photo of a passion flower at the Heard.)

Morning glories, Arboretum All American Selections Trial garden.

Halftime.

 Tiger swallowtail on lantana at the Heard.

One of seven sunflowers along the fence of our school garden, Richardson, TX.

 Spider cheering for yellow.

Mystery eggs on one sunflower.

Overtime--Opening school sunflower vs. Dale Chihuly glass art installation at the Arboretum.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Webbed bliss

When I got the spider on the left in focus I didn't even notice the spider on the right. I love that digital photography lets me see things I wouldn't otherwise. Are these two frolicking in webbed wedded bliss?

Trouble with those pesky little b's and d's is rampant as the preschoolers prepare their Father's Day project. I love my dabby!  I love my baddy!

I love these turtles just hanging out in the sunny curve of the creek far below the trail. They seemed pretty blissed. I may need to find my inner turtle today.










© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Long-Term Plan

Long-term thinking mixed with short-term anxiety has gotten me stuck right here. My rut, but not my Jeep.  Lauren drives me home from the car fix-it shop in her husband's old green Jeep. I can barely climb up and into the Jeep, but falling out is easy.

Lauren is very clear on her line in the sand. She would rather live under a bridge than ever teach preschool again. I mention the spiders and bugs under the bridge, Lauren insists preschoolers bite more than bugs. I haven't been bit, but life under the bridge seems likely in my long-term future.

Lauren much prefers being the auto fix-it shop counter gal and sometimes mechanic. She makes me laugh.  Her story reminds me I  need some thinking outside the box to avoid a future under the bridge.


Michael Wollf's excellent heart-rending op-ed about long-term care was syndicated in the Dallas Morning News on June third, but is accessible at this link. Our nation needs, desperately needs, some rethinking on this issue.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Shared sightings

The trails loop around and crisscross in the woods above Rowlett Creek.  I was trying not to follow the young couple on the trail.  First spotted them as they were having such fun balancing like gymnasts on the big fallen log that blocks the trail.  I struggle just to get up and over the log each hike, praying not to break my hip.  I instinctively like the pair, as they seemed to be good friends, not just hormonal adolescents.  I miss having teen sons and their good friends gathered around my dining table.

The second time our paths cross, the couple was studying something in the tall grass.  They excitedly waved me over to see their find, a very big orb spider.  They were trying to take a cell phone photo without disturbing the web or getting into the weeds.  Sensible young spider enthusiasts!

"I feel like I'm cheating," I told them.  "I hike these trails looking for spider moments.  You found the spider, not me."  They finished their photo shoot then told me, "She's all yours now."

Fitting for a cheater, my photos of their spider did not turn out.  This photo is a similar spider I found all by myself two weeks ago on the other side of the creek.

Third time we met I thanked the teen couple for sharing their spider and followed them on the shortcut out of the woods and back to the pond.  Then they headed left to be hormonal adolescents, polite but glad to be rid of my chaperoning.  I headed right looking for a great blue heron.

Bumbling along taking photos of dried seed heads and cattails, I met an older cyclist paused and staring at the empty fishing pontoon pier.  He waved me over to see what he saw.  What the hey-ho?!!  A big dang water snake was writhing and slithering on the pier.  It was at least as big around  as a toilet paper tube.  I can speak with some authority here, having spent part of my day with the preschoolers making festive Thanksgiving napkin rings using toilet paper tubes and gold tempera paint.  It was a seriously goose-bump inducing snake, but the older cyclist was cute in a mature nature-watching way.  The snake slid off the edge of the pier back into the pond.  The moment was over, just a pushpin on the Geography of Bliss trail map.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

A small dish of perspective with a large dollop of real whipped cream

Remembering my first job in the hospital kitchen.  Visualizing the walk-in refrigerator with the big steel door.   Going in to retrieve shallow pans of cherry jello.  Me a gawkward geek in a low cost white uniform and hairnet.  Goosebumps.

The scraping sound of cutting stripes through the red jello with a dinner knife.  Cross stripes to make cubes.  Dishing up the cubes with a large spoon--servings by the hundreds.  Then back into the walk-in to retrieve the giant stainless steel mixer bowls full of real whipped cream.  Most of the jello dishes then received their dollops. Each whipped cream topping looked like an @ sign atop the # of jello cubes.

See the #?  That is how much jello I want.  See the @?

See the asterisk * on your keyboard?  That is the size of the yellow translucent spider walking on the armrest of the park bench at noon.  It's only 95 degrees outside, so it feels cool.  Woodpeckers and chickadees are having a fabulous time.

See the 8?  That is the size of the quick brown spider following the yellow spider on the armrest.

Oh, isn't that cute?  Maybe the * and 8 spiders are friends! We can all share the park bench. Let me just find my camera in my purse so we can pose for a happy friends photo.


The 8 spider is an inch behind * and gaining rapidly.  I pull out the camera and switch it to macro.   Dang, 8 has already grabbed * and eaten *'s head!  8 is carrying the rest of * to the shadiest side of the armrest, but alas, has dropped one of *'s legs.

Forget the quick brown fox and the lazy dog.  The quick brown spider is amazing. This drama is taking place a foot from my elbow. Grateful  I'm just the camerawoman, and not one of the two leads in this movie.




© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Like toenails on the blackboard

At circle time my lead teacher lifted the live cicada from the bug box.  She let it crawl around in her hands, then offered it to the first student to hold.  All the hairs on my arms stood up and screamed, "No way!" Visceral revulsion, the same as I feel whenever our Texas governor is proposed as a presidential candidate. Well, not quite that bad.

Part of my job is to model for the students the response expected by the lead teacher.  This time, though, I couldn't do it. Holding the cicada was as desirable as prolonged drilling for my dental crown.  Less expensive, but ....

All the kids except one were game to hold the cicada.  Sometimes it fell out of their hands and made that grinding sound.  Sometimes it tried to fly.  I was ever so grateful when we took it outside to return it to the wild!

The drone of the cicadas is omnipresent, cancelling out the back pocket tingling notification of my vibrating cellphone.  The wound care nurse has cleaned and dressed Dad's toe where the latest nail pulled off.  His bath aide was there, and the hospice RN was aware.  Dad has enough feeling left in his toes that this was very painful.  Dad kicked and struggled when the nurse showed me the toes earlier this morning.  My toenails screamed in sympathy.  The hairs on my arms went berserk.

This evening I'm watching a hummingbird at the feeder, and enjoying a chilled adult beverage.  Recent mornings I can't take my coffee cup out to the patio because I have a spider.  [I've known several people who claimed they could not go to work because they had a cat on their lap.]  My spider started out making little practice webs behind the pepper plant.  Now it makes a perfect web between "my" hummingbird feeder and the lawnchair or tomato cage each night.  The spider and I have a time-share agreement.  I don't smash through its web while it is eating breakfast.  It packs up its circus and leaves me unensnared in the evenings while I get myself unspun!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Childhood lore

"Indians," the neighborhood big kids told us little kids, "can walk so quietly in their moccasins that Bambi can't hear them coming.  Neither can you."  So out playing in the front yard picking blue juniper berries and plinking them into a Swanson's chicken potpie foil pan pretending to be the star of Blueberries For Sal, we couldn't just worry about Little Bear and his mother.  We had to worry about Indians sneaking up to take us captive.

Don't think this was a bad thing, really.  We felt a great safety in knowing our movements were monitored by mothers watching out kitchen windows, dads walking home from the bus stop, and the big kids generously managing our wide-ranging play.  We sorted out pretend and real, and mixed the juniper berries with mud or maple twirlies.  Then we practiced walking so softly we would not disturb Bambi.

"Indians," the big kids told us, "pick the honeysuckle blossoms, then suck the ends for a sweet drink."  This was a nice change from the blue juniper berries that were POISONOUS, and the chicken potpies that were salty fake cardboard and often burned. 

We loved that word, poisonous almost as much as the magical QUICKSAND.  We felt stronger as we dealt with these risks.

Feeling sucked into quicksand up to my neck often, I'm learning to take long walks at Oak Point Nature Preserve.  The gas to get there should be deductible as a medical expense for sanity. 

Tuesday I walked the high meadow trails marveling at the sulfur and monarch butterflies, then headed into the trees on the Redbud Trail.  I was snapping too many twigs.  Bambi would hear me coming!

Rounding a bend, fragrant honeysuckle slowed me.  I stopped to savor childhood associations.  Suddenly sad, I remembered Dad's first hip break in 2006 when he got tangled in the honeysuckle vines growing on the front yard light post.  Struck still, I caught the glistening five o'clock light on a web, and traced it to the small spider. 

Location, location, location!  This spider has a spot that will keep it well fed to grow into a big garden orb spider (although my spider ID superpowers have not kicked into gear yet this spring).

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

New butterflies and a casserole

Thank heaven fall has finally arrived in North Texas.  We wait soooooo long, so I've been crazed to get outside every chance this weekend.  The timing is perfect as I need to walk off lots of stress related to my father's health and the sale of his house.

Friday I took a long walk at Plano's Oak Point Nature Preserve.  Saturday I walked along the creek in Highland Park.  Sunday I visited the Heard Nature Sanctuary in McKinney.  Today I walked along my own little creek, and then out at Arbor Hills Nature Preserve. 

Concentrating on nature photography takes every problem out of my mind.  When I get back to the computer, there are still logistics to figure and phone calls to make.  For a little while, though, the butterflies and spiders take charge.

At the Heard there were many medium sized butterflies obviously attracted to tree trunks.  They didn't seem to be exactly the same, but they had the same ability to become camouflaged on the trunks.  Hackberry Emperor butterflies, Asterocampa celtis, were new to me; not colorful or flashy, but intriguing.





Look hard for these two.

 

This is a common checkered skipper, according to my Audubon field guide.  I'm sure I've seen them many times before, but the sun caught the slightly blue body just right today on the blue salvia.  So now I know its name. 



As for the casserole, it is exciting to use my oven again without overworking the air conditioner.  I walked to the grocery store for the ingredients this noon.  I needed to use up some frozen hash browns, so got chicken, cream of chicken soup, frozen broccoli, and shredded monterey jack cheese.  Plebian, yes.  Satisfying, indeed.

And now for the spider:




© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Seige continues

I almost got caught again heading out for an early walk.  I managed to go under the web to escape.  She must catch lots of yummy treats, because this spider's sure persistent.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Spider siege

The eensy weensy spider had gone a step too far.  I got up pretty early.  Needed something from my car. 

The eensy weensy spider had a lovely orb web completely blocking my sidewalk.   She spun it between the two flanking "ostrich" yaupon holly bushes.  If she hadn't been sitting right in the middle looking suspended in midair, I never would have seen the web.  I felt bad knocking the web down, but I couldn't go over it, and couldn't limbo under it.  I hope she takes it as constructive criticism, not a bad review.

Dolores the Doorbell Spider

While I wasn't sufficiently gracious and inviting toward abundance and prosperity, my unconscious has been welcoming spiders into my life. My status proves the premise of all those self-help books. You give your attention to X, and you attract X into your life. You visualize spiders. You get spiders. You visualize lizards. You get lizards. You offer unconditional acceptance to cobwebs, and they take over your condo.

First I considered naming the tiny spider guarding my doorbell "Miss Haversham". After a few days of nodding at each other whenever I unlocked or locked my door, I realized the spider was more of a "Dolores". My fifth grade teacher at Eastridge Elementary was named Dolores. She was steady, calm, creative, artistic, and unassuming. I always think of Mrs. Broz as brown in a leaf compost, enveloping, nurturing, competent, molasses ginger cookie anchoring way.

Dolores would be astounded if a human actually rang my doorbell. She has a quiet location for catching small insects
like an arachnid Maytag repairman.

Dolores might be related to the small spiders making their very disorganized webs all over the holly bushes along the walk to my front door. I don't recall ever having webs in these bushes in ten years of residence.



The little spiders are brown. Each messy web holds a tiny former student who flunked out of architecture college, but did fine in the real world. They opened successful franchises, and are unaware of the true exterior web designer on the other side of the walk .




© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Clockwise and counter

Watched in awe as this small spider did its morning's work.
Circling from the center, moving outward, it connected the radial threads already hung.

Our hard rain would have ruined yesterday's web if the spider hadn't eaten it already.

I was glad the spider had a mid-morning snack dangling like the proverbial carrot.

Managed to get back into the bushes behind the web for a counter-clockwise look. Managed to get mighty bit by mosquitoes, too.

It's raining hard again. Out by the creek a spider will have to start all over tomorrow morning.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

A good week for spiders

Spiders portend good luck according to my dream-guide friend. I've had lots of luck finding and photographing spiders this week. Maybe that's because I read Gerald McDermott's Anansi the Spider to the extended-day children. When Anansi got in a predicament, his six children worked together, each using a special ability, to extricate their father. And, the moon ended up in the sky, which is good!

Spiders' special ability to spin webs probably inspired human inventions of spinning, weaving, knots, and nets. Spiders certainly inspired myths and legends. Every time I spy a dewy web sparkling in the sunlight I feel transported to Aladdin's cave of jewels.

Was Helen Augusta Blanchard, the inventor of the zigzag sewing machine (1873), inspired by spider webs? Alas, there are so many things it would be interesting to learn, and so little time. The zigzag pattern appeared in most of my lucky spider webs this week. The zigzag is called a Stabilimenta, but stabilization is not thought to be its purpose.



Thanks to the macro function on my little Canon camera, the designs on spiders' bodies have been revealed. Each spider seems like a design for a Persian rug or Navajo blanket. The markings are amazingly intricate whether the spider is the size of a pencil lead, or the size of my thumb.




Spider education in my childhood was limited. Nancy Drew's cases with black widow spiders in old attics fueled scary slumber party stories. Camp Fire Girl warnings about brown recluse "fiddle-back" spiders taught me to shake out any shoe that hadn't been worn for awhile and to be very wary of violins. Lazy summer evenings sprawled on the warm concrete driveway with the other neighborhood kids included building obstacles for Daddy-Long-Legs between hopscotch and jacks. We didn't learn anything about the beneficial spiders in nature.

I'm including a photo of the biggest spider I ever saw outside of a "bug zoo". It was among the cattails at the bottom of the Oak Point Preserve pond. Its leg span was the size of my hand. And instead of feeling arachnophobic, I was cheering this Argiope girl's capture of a large grasshopper for her lunch. I've known lots of red-blooded grown-up American males who were mighty scared of spiders. Me, I just get the heebie-jeebies from grasshoppers.



© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Spider gems

My photo doesn't adequately depict the magic of the experience. Decided to kneel and observe this sheet web made by a grass spider or a funnel web spider. My field guide says these spiders are "quick-running", and that is an understatement. See the circle in the upper right corner? That's where the little brown spider waits inside the curled leaf. The spider has constructed a system of telegraph lines around the web.

When I blew a puff of air at the telegraph line, the little guy came dashing out of his cave to check his web, before I could get my camera ready. I was in awe of the dewdrops still sitting on the web at noon. I'm wondering if the story-weaver of the 1001 Arabian Nights was inspired by a similar spider to create the tale of Aladdin.



© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder