Spiders

I bought spiders today – electric light ones – that were on sale; I was in CVS getting Mother’s prescription when I saw them and thought, “Aha! Grover would like me to put these up to give Summer the creeps.” So, I bought them and then I went up to Scott with the medicine and on the way back pulled over at the little Sidener Cemetery to see if Catherine Fowler had been buried there in 1851. Yes, she had and there was a broken off Fowler stone leaning against hers – but it was so worn away I could not read all the information. There was a lot of open space in those first five or so rows of white soapstone headstones. I suspect a good many are gone.

I just realized I went from Halloween spiders to dead people – that connection was not my point; my point is the excursion into the chilly wind of the cemetery compounded my fatigue from yesterday’s Apple Festival and I went home and snacked and napped. No spiders were hung. That sounds as if I am stating a disclaimer: No spiders were harmed in this production. The truth is the production got postponed and when I’m climbing around on a ladder tomorrow, some spiders might be whacked against the ladder or ceiling or even dropped. Then again they could tangle me up in the web of wires and I will splat myself off the ladder.

ooooooooooh . . . AmeliaJake vs. Eight-legged Freaks.