Bees

And right after the wonderful afternoon rediscovering the library, I was attacked by bees.

In my very own home.

Fucking hell.

I was on the phone with Elaine and I heard something flying around. This happens when I leave my door in the back open while I feed the birds or water the plants . . . flies come in and buzz around. So I thought it was a wayward fly.

Well, as it swung around the living room, I realized it wasn't a fly. It was a bee. Fuck. Fine. Bee. So I went and got the fly swatter. One bee . . . I can take it. As I came back into the room (all the while, talking to Elaine on the phone), I saw two bees throwing themselves at the front window and another one climbing up the wall. I said to Elaine, "There are three bees in my house. Oh my God! There are four bees in my house!" "What? Where are they coming from?" "They, they . . . they're coming out of the fire place!"

And there, climbing up the screen to the fire place, and climbing under the screen to the fire place and flying out from behind the screen to the fire place were bees. Many bees. Not a million or even a hundred . . . but more than 20. And as they liberated themselves from the fire place they flew directly to the front window and started throwing themselves against it.

"What should I do!"

"Get plastic and seal the fire place. Get plastic bags and tape them over the fire place. And call me back!"

So, I hung up the phone and got some garbage bags and tried to tape them to the brick fireplace and swore a lot and shook and swore some more. In a panic, fine motor skills like cutting tape to fit and sticking it to a plastic bag become overwhelming, let me tell you. (And, point of future reference . . . clear packing tape doesn't stick to brick. Industrial duct tape only works if it is stuck to the clear packing tape first and not the brick itself. A combination of clear packing tape, industrial duct tape and feverishly purchased clear, stringy duct tape seems to finally seal all the bee-sized escape holes). Sweat started pouring down my neck. I started to hyperventilate. More and more bees were flying out and throwing themselves at the front window. By this time, the front door was wide open, but none of the stupid bees seemed to be able to fly two feet to the left to find it. The only one who did was a poor sick little thing that actually climbed out of the fire place and walked across the expanse of the living room, out the front door.

By the time I got the bags up and holding to the brick, I had at least 30 bees frantically trying to fly through the glass of the window. They couldn't find the front door and were just getting louder and louder and more frantic. I hate the sound of flying things. I realized I was going to have to go over there and open the window and remove the screen if I was ever going to get these things out of the living room. So, I put on a heavy jacket and got leather gloves. I put on shoes. I approached VERY slowly so they wouldn't notice me and I very gently raised the blinds. I bent down and unlatched the window -- dodging the three jumpy ones who were gathered at the base of the window. Up went the window, out went the screen and I stepped back.

Well, all the commotion made the stupid fucking things fly to the top of the window, behind the gathered blinds for protection. None of them could find the opening.

Fuck.

I ended up Raiding them until they were nerve damaged enough to start to fall and flutter around. Falling was exactly what worked . . . because then they could find the opening in the window and were very promptly gone.

Just like that.

When I finally got the flying ones gone, I turned to see that some sickly crawlers were still finding their way out from underneath the tape that wasn't sticking on the fire place. I have two dead soldiers waiting for me now on the carpeting. I know there were at least three more liberated who flew to the skylight and not the front window. One was dispatched just moments ago in the kitchen when I went for a beer. One is flying in here . . . the office . . . and throwing itself against the window, but I can't seem to hit it, so I'm hoping it will die a natural, frustrated death soon. In the back yard there were bees throwing themselves against the kitchen window trying to get in for a while, but they seem to have drowned in the bird bath.

No one else has come out of the plastic, so I'm hoping whatever move this hive was doing went out the top of the chimney.

Freaked now and covered with drying sweat, I'm drinking a beer and looking up bees in the animal totem book . . . "Animal Speak, The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great and Small" by Ted Andrews. Bees, it turns out, are all about sex and fertility. They also have symbolized "royalty . . . hidden wisdom . . . also long-time symbols for accomplishing the impossible."

"If a bee has shown up in your life, examine your own productivity. Are you doing all you can to make your life more fertile? Are you busy enough? Are you taking time to savor the honey of your endeavors or are you being a workaholic? Are you attempting to do too much? Are you keeping your desires in check so they can be more productive?"

"The bee is the reminder to extract the honey of life and to make our lives fertile while the sun shines. The bee reminds us that no matter how great the dream there is the promise of fulfillment if we pursue it. The elixir of life is as sweet as honey, and the bee is a symbol that promises us that the opportunity to drink of it is ours if we but pursue our dreams."

. . . So, huh. After a day in the library researching the Exit Strategy . . . I am swarmed by bees.

Go figure.

God Bless America

Because we still have public libraries. Oh holy heavens! I haven't been to a library to actually use the services in over 12 years. I always knew they were important . . . that you save them before the churches . . . but oh holy heavens, is all I can say.

Today I went over to one of my local branches and I got there too early. I walked up to the very dark front doors, up these lovely broad stairs and into a garden courtyard. A dad and his son sat at a metal table, both with books and papers spread before them. And older lady sat across the way, in the shade, waiting for the doors to open. I found a table for myself and just sat reading about small business financing, letting the cool breeze blow my papers around. More and more folks gathered, all convinced the library should be open long before 1:00 p.m.

While we waited, I was joined by a VERY chatty little boy. He wanted to sit exactly here, at my table out of the sun. Then he told me all about his Spiderman books, how Spiderman couldn't really climb walls because it was just a fake movie, how his Dad works for South Suburban counting oil and has too many bosses (?) and how when he buys a car it will be a Hummer because they're so cool looking, and how he was going to catch crawdads later on this afternoon at Ben's house. No wonder the Dad was fine letting him sit with me and found his own bench rather far away.

Once the doors opened, I found the reference section and went to work. With a few false starts I was able to find some helpful, albeit incomprehensible, information. Ratio tables? Ok. I made some photocopies and will have Ellen tell me what they mean. I also talked with the reference lady and she showed me how to find all kinds of reference stuff -- trade journals and the like -- on line with my library card. Whoo hooo!

The only drawback were the teenagers. They were all over the place with books in front of them, yapping. In fairness, the girl group who arrived requested a study room and went behind closed doors to yap. The boys just sat there in the midst of everyone, whisper-yapping away. I wasn't interested in hearing how bitchy the math teacher was nor how Huck Finn's father was really on the raft at the end of the story(another ?). Once I moved tables and sat next to an old guy reading a paper, I was fine.

But it did make me remember going to the library in Littleton to get away from my parents and do Important Writing Work right after I got out of college. I still want the reading chair that was next to my study carol at Kenyon. So comfortable for reading. So isolated and comfortable and situated so you sat looking out the third story window into the trees. And all those millions of hours in the phone booth in the basement of the old part, talking to Ellen. AHHH the quiet, beautiful land of libraries!

It was like a reawakened miracle. I forgot . . . I haven't needed them in so long so I forgot . . . I forgot how FUCKING COOL libraries are. I loved it. What a wonderful place to spend a Sunday!

And now I have my library card so I can get on line or go back and check stuff out or go downtown and REALLY research something, really a lot!

Man alive. God Bless America for making these beautiful places free!

Re-Railed

This morning I woke up ok. I didn't feel like judgement was peering in my windows, or that little harpies were flying around screeching the words "should, should, should" all over the house. Safety restored. I got on the treadmill with loud great music. I made some coffee. I listened to some Prairie Home Companion. And today, I'm going to go over and buy some plants. Do the weekend I thought I would do yesterday. It will be great.

Yesterday was good for awaking the anxieties within. All will need to be dealt with. But today, the sun is out and the plants are calling and it's going to be ok.

Ahhhh.

"You really should go. It'll be fun!"

Holy shit. Here's one for you.

A few weeks ago I RSPV'ed to a baby shower. I declined. "I won't be able to make it, but I really hope you have a great time!" And I thought that would do it. Why I'm not going isn't anyone's business. If you have been reading the blog here, you know why I wasn't going to make it. I have sworn them off. I hate them. They suck. I hate baby shit. I don't care about boppies and nose sucking devices and little bitty clippers, and I hate what women are supposed to be like at these things. They're dreadful.

But it wasn't enough. A few days later, I was walking by my neighbors' front door and the husband flies out to stop me. I say hello and he tells me his wife told him to grab me, so they could say hello. She comes out, sits down on the front steps, and asks me why I can't make it to her shower. I'm trapped. And, instead of telling her that I hate baby showers, I lie. I tell her I'm committed to a family thing. My sister is in town and I have to go to this family thing.

I should have just told her. I didn't because real, socialized people go to stuff like this . . . showers and dinners and parties . . . because they're supposed to. Because that is what we are supposed to do when we live in society. Right? And the only way you don't have to go is if you already have something else to do. Right?

So, I lied. I thought that would do it.

Then today I opened my back door, not even awake yet, to refill the bird feeder and there was my neighbor's voice from over the fence, "Hello, Beth!" "Good morning!" "Aren't you hanging out with your sister today?" Fuck, I thought. The fucking baby shower and she's fucking watching my every fucking move. "Yep! I'm just about to leave!"

Pleasant pleasant pleasant pleasant. Pleasant all day long.

I WAS just about to leave . . . but not to hang with my sister. She left town a week ago. I needed to go into work and do a graph for next week's meeting.

I lied again.

So I went in to work and did the graph and it didn't take all afternoon. I was done in time for lunch. So I was stuck. Do I go back home where she will see me again and watch and take note and surely later comment? Or do I grab lunch out and just stay out until I know they will be at their fucking shower? I decided to go home, guilt ridden and pissed off that she's so fucking nosey and doesn't get the concept of the Polite Decline and that my business is none of hers. I hoped to sneak in. But of course, the husband was out on the back patio (where they always seem to be) and he, of course, watched me walk into my own house.

Caught.

I ate lunch. I balanced my check book. I listened to the NPR news quiz. Then I decided to leave again and go to the library to look up stuff for The Exit Strategy. That will get me out of the house and they will see me leave again and then it will still look like I have another engagement.

I started to freak. I closed all the blinds. I started to get good and pissed that I ever told this lie to this nosey-assed neighbor, and now I can't have the great and productive day buying plants that I had planned.

I gathered all my stuff for a trip to the library and left. I drove away from my house, (where I should be able to be whenever I choose to be there, God damn it),and I headed for the library. Unfortunately, the library is right next to the neighborhood where the shower is being held, so I freaked out again and turned to my parents' house instead. They are away on a trip.

So, now I'm here . . . at my parents' house . . . with all the blinds closed . . . sitting in the basement hiding because I have to not be caught in this lie for some reason. Like it would have ever mattered to tell the truth in the first place. For fuck sake. And all this anxiety has completely derailed my day. I really thought I would be able to come and go and whatever . . . they wouldn't notice that I was doing my own fucking life instead of cooing over tiny socks, surrounded by people I don't know.

I'm so pissed at myself for lying. I'm so pissed at them for being so watchy and nosey and impolite. I'm pissed at myself that I couldn't go to the library, not because they maybe would drive by just then and see me. That would be ridiculous. But more because I was afraid of what I might find researching The Exit Strategy. And now I'm holed up in my parents' empty house, hiding from my neighbors. The whole day I had planned is ruined. For fuck sake.

This. This is a wonderful example of why I hate people and why I'm so scared of not deploying. I would actually have to admit I live here and I would have to continue to find ways to politely decline. And I would be faced all the time with things I feel I have to do because they are polite in society, but things I really really really don't like to do. Like going to baby showers or attending parties where I don't know everyone.

Deep down, I'm a fucking recluse, people! Always have been!

Or, maybe I'm just going to have to abandon the party manners.

Maybe I need to learn to look people in the face and actually say, "I'm not coming to your party because I hate babies and hate the self obsessed enthusiasm of new breeders, and having to sit around in some stranger's garden trying to look interested would suck what little life I have left in me right out of my body and I would die and turn into a huge pile of bored, disappointed dust, right there in the flower bed."

Is that how real people live?

Or are they dust already? Dust from all those baby showers and bridal showers and little kids birthday parties and work dinners and soccer games?

Today . . . quivering in my childhood house . . . I am so ready to run again. Just leave and live somewhere all alone where I never have to face down this particular anxiety.

The anxiety of saying no thank you when I "really should go."