Dr. Suze Espouses Blog

Swimming with Spiders

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Phoenix summers are not for the faint-hearted.  The stifling heat, skin-burning pavement, fiery hot winds are brutal to visitors.  As they exit the jetway at Sky Harbor, they quickly realize they’ve arrived in a place Satan vacates in July.

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When my eldest, Annie, was also my only child, I established a summer routine.  We’d don our swim suits around 11:00 AM, play in the backyard pool for an hour, change into dry clothes, eat lunch, watch a video, and then she’d toddle off to nap time, while I worked on my dissertation.

Unlike high humidity states, wet towels and swim wear were draped on patio chairs; they dried instantly and were easily accessible for the next pool frolic.  On Tuesday morning, I gathered up the swim suits from the patio, pulled up Annie’s suit, and put on my two-piece.  (Yes, I realize I never did/have/will cause men to ogle at my body in a two-piece.  I simply prefer them to those tight one-piecers that hurt in all the wrong places.) And just like every other morning, we frolicked in the pool.

Fortunately, the bathroom had an outside door from the pool.  I helped Annie strip off her wet suit and pull on her shorts and t-shirt.  She ran off to find a Barbie doll as I began my disrobe routine.

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When I tossed my wet bra on the floor, I saw it.  Right there.  In the bra cup.  A big bug.  On closer examination, not an insect…a spider.  And not just any spider.  A FEMALE BLACK WIDOW!

 

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OMG!  It appeared to be alive.  I swished my bra in the toilet and flushed the arachnid away.  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, did I just spend an hour in chlorinated water with a spider on my chest?  Am I like the princess and the pea?

Thankfully, I just laughed off this encounter and didn’t bother to research said spider species.  Had I knew then, what I know now, I would have died from my own imagination.

Female Black Widows, unlike males or juveniles, have a red hourglass shape on the underside of their abdomens.  Unlike males or offspring young, female venom is 15 times more toxic than venom of a prairie rattlesnake!  (Be still my heart.)  While death from a Black Widow bite is extremely rare, human victims are nauseated, experience  muscle aches, and may have difficulty breathing.

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In retrospect, I will never know why Wilhelmina, the Widow, didn’t bite me.  Perhaps, she took pity on my flat chest; she saw first-hand I needed to make up with cotton what God had forgotten.  Perhaps, she was weary of sweating in the relentless sun, spinning a web, and yearning for a splash in the pool.  Or perhaps, she had mated with Wesley the Widow, ate him for breakfast, and wanted to chill.

Regardless of your motivation or lack thereof, I want to belatedly thank you, Wilhelmina,  for sparing me of poison, vomit, pain, and gasps.

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Coming next week:  Spider in my ear….

 

 

 

 

 

How to Catch Flies

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Over three years ago, I began to blog with the intent of publishing a book of the most humorous ones.  My plan began to unravel this past summer; my mood changed.  I found myself engulfed in a humorless world filled with we vs. they. Even though, I’ve experienced the darkest side of life over the past six years, I was ill-prepared for the diabolical firestorm currently overtaking America.  My humor was suppressed–buried.

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Admittedly, I didn’t get much sense until about 40 or so years ago.  I paid attention to the debacle of the Viet Nam War, Nixon freezing my $6,000 teacher’s salary for two years, and Watergate.  Certainly, I found no humor in these events, but I managed.  When the Twin Towers fell, I was outraged.  Several nights following, I was in a crowded Mexican restaurant.  th-3

The waiter had just brought our dinners, when a mariachi band appeared on the balcony above and played God Bless America.  Every patron dropped their utensils, rose and sang in unison.  Tears ran down my cheeks as I sang; yet I wasn’t overtly sad.  The American patriotic spirit didn’t die in New York City; I had hope.

When the presidential election campaigns kicked into high gear this summer, so did the we vs. they mantra.  Civility and decorum vanished.  Extremism was rampant. Suddenly, it became socially acceptable to mock the disabled, use despicable racist terms, and blame the press for inaccurate reporting.  Following the election, the we vs. they went viral.  Somewhat cogent folks jumped on this out-of-control roller coaster and without serious thought and consideration demolished long-standing laws with the stroke of a pen.  A classic example of throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water–health care, public education, environmental safeguards.  Budgets of long-standing programs, such as the Center for Disease Control, medical research, the arts, and Planned Parenthood were slashed. Further this divisiveness was stoked with “alternative facts,” late night tweeting, erroneous wiretapping claims, and a cloak of darkness on Russian ties.

True, I didn’t get much sense till about 40 years ago, but in those 40 years, I never witnessed the outward hate and derision I see now.  In the past few months, I’ve lost long-time friends–not to death–but to their down-right argumentative, combative attitudes.  Intelligent, reasonable, civil discourse is fine.  Friendly confrontation has its place, but I have no desire to debate with blatant ignorance.

The world has shrunk.  Like it or not, we are all citizens of the same planet.  We must cooperate, communicate, collaborate, and even compromise.  As my grandmother frequently reminded, “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”  It’s about all of us–not some of us.

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Friday from Hell

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When I worked full-time, I rejoiced on TGIF. I reveled in a weekend of fun and foolishness.  However, Friday, March 24th was deplorable.

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First, I was awakened by the sound of heaving.  (One of my dogs, an inherited Heinz, burrows herself every night under the blanket.)  I leaped from the bed, threw back the cover, only to witness her vomit a disgusting mess of grass and yellow bile on the sheet and mattress cover.  I looked at the clock–5:50 AM.  Really?

After sentencing the soiled linens to the washer, I went to make a cup of coffee.  Damn! Out of K cups!  Remembering my grandmother’s advice to never leave home without donning clean underwear, I got dressed, semi-combed my bed hair, and drove to the Golden Arch’s drive through.  “One small cup of coffee, please with cream.

“That will be $1.08 at the first window.”

As I reached in my purse to retrieve the money, I remembered my wallet was on my kitchen table.  I scoured the bottom of my purse for errant change–67 cents.  Now what?  Fortunately, I don’t store my credit cards in may wallet, so I offered the clerk a charge card.  Her face was filled with disgust as she swiped my card.  I imagined her thinking, “Dumb old broad, driving a nice car, without $1.08 in cash.  She must not own a hairbrush either.”

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Wait! It gets worse.  The mail comes with my credit card bill.  I peruse it and quickly realize my account has been compromised.  Immediately, I phoned.  “Enter your zip code, enter the last four digits of your credit card number. Press one for….Press two…. ”  What?  I need to talk to someone; no choices dealt with my issues.

Two hours after this mayhem began, I finally talked to Amber, and my compromised card was cancelled.  But March Madness didn’t end.

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My house phone rang once, then stopped.  Again and again.  Once.  Then, nothing.  The house phone screen message, “Line in use.”  I can’t deal with this; I destined in end up in the emergency room on a Friday night.  I’ll suffer a full-blown heart attack, die on the gurney, while all the drunk, car-accident victims are ushered into ICU.  My cell phone quickly connected me to the cable phone service, and Frantesa answered.

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Swiftly, my Friday from hell vanished.  When I explained my problem, she offered help.  “What’s your first name?”

“Sue.”

“Miss Sue, let me reset your modem.  Are you physically able to unplug this and that?”

What?  I’ve not lost all the cards in my deck…yet.  “Certainly.”

“This will take a few moments.  Since you said you’re older than me, do you have any words of advice for me?”

What?  I’m trying to get my phone fixed.  She persisted.  “Frantesa, you are 29-years old.  Vote.  Pay attention to local, state, and national issues.”

“We’re not allowed to discuss politics with customers.  Come on, give me some to improve my life.”

What?  Now, I’m a shrink?  “Frantesa, your goal in life is to be remembered for what you gave, not what you had.”

“Wow, Miss Sue, those are powerful words.  I do give, but not enough.  I’m sorry I can’t resolve your phone problem.  A technician will be by tomorrow morning.”

NEVER in my long history had this cable company scheduled promptly.  “By the way, Miss Sue, I flagged your account.  You’ll receive a $10 credit, and I will receive an urgent message when your problem is fixed.”

The technician arrived three minutes ahead of schedule Saturday morning and within another five minutes, my phone problem vanished.  Even in light of the vitriolic hate currently spread across America, our country is brimming with wonderful people who give, regardless of what they have.  Frantesa, thank you.