I hate spiders, did I ever mention that? Of course I did... because more than anything else in the whole wide world, I HATE spiders most. Not just any spiders, but ALL spiders... and especially POISONOUS spiders. My son Art is fascinated by them. He hunts them in the yard all the time. Why must he always bring them in to show me? The day before yesterday he caught a black widow. He decided that he was going to donate it to the high school science club. I said 'fine, just keep it out of my house'. He laughed and said 'okay'. I should know better than to trust a kid when they laugh and say 'okay'. Yesterday morning, still groggie from sleep and without my morning caffeine boost I peered into a jar sitting on the dining table. I didn't see anything but a few twigs so I lifted the lid which was only partially covering the opening. I peered closer and then almost screamed. It was the black widow... there was a black fricken widow sitting on my dining table... with the lid partially off so it could have air I suppose. Once again my husband came to my rescue, he screwed the lid on securely and punched holes in it. I can handle frogs and toads, I can handle little birds with only pin feathers, I can handle snakes and lizards, but please PLEASE... no spiders, and especially no POISONOUS spiders!
My neighbor, the Chocolate-pusher (I only accept and eat the stuff because I don't want to hurt his feelings) sent over a huge pot of elk chili last night so I wouldn't have to cook supper when I got home. I love that man almost as much as I love my husband. So anyhow, we ate the completely awesome chili for supper while watching The Day After Tomorrow (interesting movie, improbable, but it gets you to thinking). This morning I am glad that my suggestion that farts be visable was never implemented because there would be zero visablility in my house right now... and only Art and I are awake yet!
Gabe called this morning. Steve took the call, but I got to tell Gabe that I loved him before he had to get back to business. They've shaved his head bald and he says his head is covered with scars he never knew existed. Oh, even after 20 years and 5 kids I could probably identify each and every scar, its a mommy thing I'm sure. I've been kind of holding my breath til now, it was so nice to hear his voice again, even if it was just 'Hi Mom, how are you? I love you, I have to go now... bye bye.' (Ohhhh dang, my eyes are leaking again!)
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6 comments:
AWWW, DORN, I KNOW YOU ARE SAD OVER GABE. MOSTLY WORRIED, I KNOW AND THATS SOMETHING THAT NOBODY CAN TALK YOU OUT OF, ITS NATURAL AND IN YOUR CASE WITH YOUR FRIEND THAT PASSED AWAY, I KNOW YOU ARE MORE THAN AFRAID FOR YOUR SON. YOU ARE IN MY THOUGHTS.:)
THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENT YOU LEFT IN MY JOURNAL. IF IT HELPS YOU AT ALL, ITS BEEN MY EXPERIENCE THAT WHEN THE MOMMY DISAPPEARS, SHE ALWAYS RESURFACES. YOU WILL SEE THAT BABY SOON. :) YOU ARE GOING TO BE A FANTASTIC GRANDMOTHER TOO.
KIM.
I'm glad you got the chance to talk to Gabe, I know how much comfort that brings justh hearing their voices and that 'I love you'. Boy, my eyes would leak everytime. Oh, wait they still leak on a regular basis.
Elk chili huh? I bet it would be good and very low in fat.
Monica
Bless your heart. I know you miss Gabe. I can imagine. Take care and think good memories. He will be home sooner than you think. God bless, Beckie
OH my! This sounds just like Son & Son 2( our lil buddy in boot camp). I knew wehn they came thru the door with a maxwell house can, I needed to beware! Son2 has no fear of spiders, and always proudly opened the can to show me his prize! Of course, I'd stand there all proud, and say "how nice boys", when in reality in my head I was screaming, "Get the F*** Outta here NOW before I puke from anxiety!!!"
I have this idea about undergarments for "Gas Days". I would like to patent a pair of underwear with charcoal inserts to filter the smelly ones ! Whatya think?
THAT LIDLE DUST FARIE IZ KUTE
I'm glad you heard from Gabe, I know that made you feel better, plus a little sad. I still pray for him everyday.
R.C.
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