When I was a kid, there were no computers.  There were no video games, and way back when I lived in Greece they didn’t even have television yet!  What ever did we do with all of our time?

We played.  We learned about our neighborhood.  We blew bubbles with bubblegum, and the bigger the better.  I was the best bubble blower in my family.  See?  

My dad thought it was photo worthy. 

I thought being a good bubble blower would stay with me, but I think they have changed the bubble gum recipe since then, because I can barely blow up one to baseball size.  (That or the years of smoking took a terrible toll on my lungs, which is probably closer to the truth.) Besides that, I’ve learned someone will always come along and burst your bubble, sometimes just because.  People who constantly pop other people’s bubbles have way too much hostility for my taste. 

I have used those bottled bubbles with the silly plastic form, but never once did I manage to get a bubble bigger than the one I did with bubble gum.  Maybe I quit trying because there was always some kid who stuck their finger into every rainbow colored glazed bubble I blew.  I didn’t much care for the soapy dripping mess either.  It seemed like a waste of a good quarter to me.  

The metaphor of blowing bubbles has never left me.  In my bubble world I see wonderful conversations, snippets of life.  Sort of cartoon-like bubbles filled with the chatter of every conversation I am fortunate enough to overhear.  I like sitting back and listening to what other people are saying.  I like to create my own bubbles too.  Of course I call it dialogue.

Like this morning for instance.  My dogs awaken me each morning, well, one of them does, Frasier.  The Maltese.  He loves to go out at the first light of dawn.  I first hear him jump off of the bed.  I wait a beat then I hear him fake dig on the carpet.  His nails snag the loops of the Berber.  I know I won’t get any more sleep, so I get up, pull back the curtain to make sure no coyote is lying in wait (and they do sometimes) and then let him out.  I pad past my coffeemaker and flip the switch to turn it on, and head into the bathroom.  

 ”AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” I scream. 

There on the wall next to the commode, climbing slowly up the wall is...a Tarantula.  I’m not afraid of them, I was just startled to see one on my bathroom wall, especially at that hour.  I’ve encountered them so many other times in my house, and each time I do the girly scream; even though I know I am the one who will end up scooping him up and walking him outside, set him down and send him on his way to wherever it is he lives.  

You know me enough by now to realize I grabbed my camera so I could share this wonderful, special moment with you...well, I have named him Harry. Perhaps not the most creative name, but naming a huge spider while you sit on the toilet at six in the morning...well, it is the best I could do.  Introducing Harry...

Perspective shot

A tad closer.

The fact it has been seven hours and he is still in the same place is slightly comforting...I say slightly, because I know where he is, but I would like it better if he would move into a reasonable position so I could relocate him more easily.  The thought of him climbing down at night and me possibly stepping on him, or a dog pouncing on him is distressing.  I suppose I will have to get the ladder out eventually...but he could make it much easier.

“Harry, you need to come down now.  Oh, and don’t be jumping either.”

“Sorry missy, I like this spot...”

“I’m sure you do, but I don’t.”  Oh great, a spider with an attitude.  “Are you whistling...u-m-m...Harry, you are whistling dixie aren’t you?”

I’ll just close the door and leave him alone.  ”...away...away...a way down SOUTH in Dixie...”  Oh great he sings too.  I suppose next he will be wanting me to take him to the next American Idol tryouts.  

Not going to happen Harry, you live here, you are not the boss of me.  It's not how we roll.   

I hate it, but I may have to burst me some bubble...but for now could you try humming a few bars of, The itsy-bitsy spider?  Amuse me Harry.