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.