The ancient Greeks would look to nature for signs before the beginning of an enterprise great or small. The flight of a bird could portend greatness or warn of coming disaster. Before dawn on the morning of the first day at my new school, I opened the front door of my house to begin my commute. I felt something bump into my shoulder and then into my head as I began to step out through the door. I jumped back to see a plump arachnid spinning only inches from my eyes. This was the very worst of omens, if not for the ancient Greeks at least for this modern American. You can read about my earlier experiences with what I term "Spiderfall" here.
Later that day I introduced myself to my classes. My new school is the main rival of my old school, and I knew I had to get the fact that I was coming from their cross-town rival out and over with as quickly as possible. I revealed my dark secret in different ways to my five different classes. In one class I said, "For the past six years I have been teaching at another local private school," when a girl exclaimed, "As long as it isn't [the name of my old school]."
In truth, it was a pretty good week. While my move to a new school has been mostly a horizontal move, there is much more vertical potential, and the leadership is much more gifted in, well, leadership. I also get a new benefit: free hot lunches. I was, at first, skeptical of the value of this benefit, but the first week's menu has me excited to go to work everyday if not for the students at least for the food. There is always a salad bar, sandwich bar, hot soup, choice of Mayfield frozen treats, and two entrees. By Tuesday's Blackened Flounder with Rice Pilaf, I was happy I made my move. I think this a job in which I can really grow.
We went to a local mega-church Sunday. My wife and kids have been before, but today was my first day. It is a huge institution. It takes some time to get everyone where they belong. Everyone was very nice and the twenty-minute Sunday school lesson was good. But on the way out, I realized that we had spent at least twice as much time walking around, signing the kids into things, and picking the kids up from things than we did learning about the Word of God. I have trouble getting past the fact that there is valet parking for pre-school.
My son just came downstairs to let me know that he had just finished reading the Bible. He has been working on a Toddler Bible for the past three days. It has a picture and one or two sentences per page. There are over 400 pages.
Peace
..._
Showing posts with label spiderfall. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiderfall. Show all posts
19 August 2007
26 June 2005
Fear and the Four Year Old
My wife and I have worked consciously to ensure that our personal fears do not become adopted by our children (4-yr old boy and 2-yr old girl). For the most part it has worked. I hate spiders. Loathe them. No shoe is big enough for the spiders of the world. The existence of spiders has, at times, challenged my faith (how could a loving God create spiders).
My favorite season of the year has always been Autumn, but my growing realization that September is the time in Georgia that massive arachnids choose to stretch their massive webs from tree to tree has made the onset of the season bittersweet. Last September these spiders decided to invade the exterior of my house. They come out at night, stretch their webs, pack up after sunrise and then wait till dusk to begin their evil enterprise again. I leave my house for school before sunrise (or spiderfall as I call it in September). Apparently, the two pines trees in my front yard became the gateposts of a spider hellmouth. They stretched webs from the trees to the front of my house so that their webs would dangle above my sidewalk like a gauntlet of swords' of Damocles. I would run the gauntlet only to find that others had stretched their odious nets across the driveway to the dogwood on the other side, happily bouncing in the Autumn breeze above my car. Having had enough, I went to my local Ace Hardware store (they still have them, I love it, they are friendly, helpful and have all of the unusual parts you won't find at the Big Orange Box or Big Blue Box) and purchased an industrial-strength can of wasp spray, guaranteed to kill up to twenty-five feet. I needed that kind of reach, as some of them were very high in the trees. The next morning I went to work. Before the sun rose I donned cap, grabbed a high-powered flashlight, and completely freaked out my neighbors by performing an elaborate spider-exorcism dance, or so it must have looked to them. I would hold the spider in the center of the beam and then soak it and its web with foam. It was a beautiful death. Each line of the web, coated with foam, gleamed in a poisonous frost. The spider ran excitedly about the web, perhaps thinking that thousands of tiny white bugs had been miraculously, simultaneously delivered to her web by her demon-lord. Then she would drop a bit, the poison sinking in to every pore. She would spin, flinging flecks of the killing foam off in every direction. I would whisper, "Die daughter of Shelob" and hit it again. It would drop another couple of feet as its rate of spin picked up. I would hit it again. This would continue until the great carcass of the beast would lay shriveled and wet in the bed of pine straw beneath the tree.
I went through three bottles of wasp spray last September. I know I got at least fifteen of the buggers. I rationalized the slaughter by telling my self that I was "making the yard safe for famocracy".
All of this was to explain to you my joy, when on Wednesday evening, when, from my office, I heard my daughter saying, "ants, ants, ants". My daughter uses the word "Ants" for any bug so I knew she had spotting something. I came out of my office to the living room and, crawling across the carpet, I saw a small spider. The adrenalin immediately began to flood my system and I prepared to engage in an emergency spider-hunt. I stepped back...no one was panicking. My daughter was assaulting it with a doll's shoe, and my son's weapon of choice was a massive volume of Harry Potter (I wonder where they learned these methods of bug disposal?). My daughter's attacks were vicious, but poorly aimed while my son's were on target, but non-lethal. Neither one was afraid. This was a business transaction. They would make a tag-team assault, withdraw, examine the target with interest, and attack again. I was about to step in and take care of the problem myself when my one of daughter's wild swings finally connected. The spider was splattered, with no fear, no crying, and no calls for help. They grow up so fast. I was so proud.
Maybe this is some kind of anti-PETA website.
Peace
My favorite season of the year has always been Autumn, but my growing realization that September is the time in Georgia that massive arachnids choose to stretch their massive webs from tree to tree has made the onset of the season bittersweet. Last September these spiders decided to invade the exterior of my house. They come out at night, stretch their webs, pack up after sunrise and then wait till dusk to begin their evil enterprise again. I leave my house for school before sunrise (or spiderfall as I call it in September). Apparently, the two pines trees in my front yard became the gateposts of a spider hellmouth. They stretched webs from the trees to the front of my house so that their webs would dangle above my sidewalk like a gauntlet of swords' of Damocles. I would run the gauntlet only to find that others had stretched their odious nets across the driveway to the dogwood on the other side, happily bouncing in the Autumn breeze above my car. Having had enough, I went to my local Ace Hardware store (they still have them, I love it, they are friendly, helpful and have all of the unusual parts you won't find at the Big Orange Box or Big Blue Box) and purchased an industrial-strength can of wasp spray, guaranteed to kill up to twenty-five feet. I needed that kind of reach, as some of them were very high in the trees. The next morning I went to work. Before the sun rose I donned cap, grabbed a high-powered flashlight, and completely freaked out my neighbors by performing an elaborate spider-exorcism dance, or so it must have looked to them. I would hold the spider in the center of the beam and then soak it and its web with foam. It was a beautiful death. Each line of the web, coated with foam, gleamed in a poisonous frost. The spider ran excitedly about the web, perhaps thinking that thousands of tiny white bugs had been miraculously, simultaneously delivered to her web by her demon-lord. Then she would drop a bit, the poison sinking in to every pore. She would spin, flinging flecks of the killing foam off in every direction. I would whisper, "Die daughter of Shelob" and hit it again. It would drop another couple of feet as its rate of spin picked up. I would hit it again. This would continue until the great carcass of the beast would lay shriveled and wet in the bed of pine straw beneath the tree.
I went through three bottles of wasp spray last September. I know I got at least fifteen of the buggers. I rationalized the slaughter by telling my self that I was "making the yard safe for famocracy".
All of this was to explain to you my joy, when on Wednesday evening, when, from my office, I heard my daughter saying, "ants, ants, ants". My daughter uses the word "Ants" for any bug so I knew she had spotting something. I came out of my office to the living room and, crawling across the carpet, I saw a small spider. The adrenalin immediately began to flood my system and I prepared to engage in an emergency spider-hunt. I stepped back...no one was panicking. My daughter was assaulting it with a doll's shoe, and my son's weapon of choice was a massive volume of Harry Potter (I wonder where they learned these methods of bug disposal?). My daughter's attacks were vicious, but poorly aimed while my son's were on target, but non-lethal. Neither one was afraid. This was a business transaction. They would make a tag-team assault, withdraw, examine the target with interest, and attack again. I was about to step in and take care of the problem myself when my one of daughter's wild swings finally connected. The spider was splattered, with no fear, no crying, and no calls for help. They grow up so fast. I was so proud.
Maybe this is some kind of anti-PETA website.
Peace
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