Notes from the Super Palazzo and Spider Ranch

September 1999

9/9/99 was, as it turned out, the first day of term.

And although we have shopped for new notebooks and a book bag (a.k.a. a funky new canvas briefcase), although we have revised our academic web pages and set up new class schedules and assignments, and although someone has even started switching off the trees, resulting in a small drift of yellow and red maple leaves beneath the bird feeder, it is as hot and sticky as any eastern mid-summer day ever was.

We have an ever-increasing crop of newbie, tenderfoot spiders here at the ranch. We don't know if it's the unrelenting humidity (93% last night at midnight and worse this morning at 6:30), or whether they just like what we've done with the yard. Whatever the attraction, it benefits one to be cautious in the morning when opening doors and strolling outside. Overnight, indeed, often in a matter of a couple of hours, new and intricate webs have been spun and another multi-legged tenant is squatting on the property--- occasionally at eye, cheek, or hair level and right in the doorway.

This morning took the cake. I was bustling around trying to affect some semblance of normalcy and cheeriness on the first day of term--- when I'd rarely been out of bed before 10 or 11AM for months. But it is my pleasure to get up with Himself on school days and see that he's off in one piece and with a full belly, so there I was, headed for the kitchen sink to water the animals as the day's chores commenced. Thank god I had managed to pry my eyes open sufficiently to notice that a Golden Orb WebSpinner had managed to get INTO the house overnight, and was now residing comfortably in the center of a web he had spun IN THE KITCHEN SINK.

No. I am not fond of spiders. Though I will, if they are outside and I have a broom with a 10 foot handle, brush them gently down off the eaves and the porch and the gutters and the window sills and the door frames and into the grass where they can straighten themselves out and get a fresh start. But I am not the sort of person who must serve and protect every life form with which I share the planet. I am especially cool to those who sport more than, say, four legs, and can get into my hair. So the sink-squatter got gently hosed down the drain, and the morning continued.

Himself is usually dressed to the nines on the FDOT--- three-piece suit, natty bow tie, etc. But this morning he looked as wet when he came downstairs all dressed as he had when he emerged from the shower. And no natty today. The lightest weight trousers he owns (still not light enough) and a rayon sport shirt were the order of the day. Oh--- and stiff, heavy, black dress shoes. Unfortunately.

I got a phone call from my professor after his first class was over. He sounded anything but cheery. His heels, he informed me, were shredded thanks to the shoes, and he'd just hobbled back to his office from the university health center where they had debrided his blisters, cleaned them up, and bandaged both heels heavily. Could I bring him his backless, slip-on sandals--- and some lunch?

I zoomed into action, grabbing the sandals and a clean shirt (he said he was soaked) and making a couple of quick wraps for his lunch. I popped them, along with some cold chunks of melon, a couple of cookies, and a cold bottle of mineral water, into a small cooler, and headed for the car.

Now I have always had Good Cop Karma. Really. I could do (and have done) 110 mph on a dead flat stretch of Arizona highway and pass two cops on the median and they would sit there like statues. (When that actually happened, my ex-husband ranted for twelve miles in utter frustration. He gets a ticket if he goes over 60). I was counting on that karma as I took the Prospect Road at 100 (kph. The limit is 70 for most of it) No sweat.

I hit the Armdale Rotary doing 80 and zoomed right in, around, and past a motorcycle cop squatting there like one of the spiders at the ranch. Eeeuuu, I thought, as I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw him pull out into traffic right after I zoomed by. Then he turned the opposite way and took off after a red pickup truck. Whew! There wasn't much I could do on Quinpool Road--- too much traffic. So I cut out and over a cross street, and gunned it down to Jubilee Road. I was almost there. I only had one block left to go! I had to make a left on Jubilee, then a right on Henry, and I'd be laughing---as they say hereabouts. I rolled into the stop sign at Jubilee and glanced to my right. There was a white van at about mid-block. Even if he didn't have a stop sign (which he didn't) I had plenty of time to make my left before he got to the intersection. I floored it. And almost immediately the van was up my tailpipe--- with flashing lights and a wailing siren. Gee, I thought, turning right into Henry Street and pulling to the curb--- is it an ambulance?

Well, no.

I rolled down my window.

"Hallo. And what kind of driveeeng eez zeess? You are not stopping for the stop sign, you are cutting me off, you are cutting off anozer driverr coming in zee ozer way--- what eez zeess? License, registration, eeeensurance, pleease."

Ooops.

He was gorgeous. Tall, well-built, lots of cop-guy-things hanging off his belt, salt-and-pepper hair and moustache--- I could overlook the B-movie French accent because he looked as if his cheekbones and jaw had been put in with a chisel and mallet. Now, of course, I have to explain why I have a New York State driver's license, and cannot find the current insurance card for the car, and I have to ask him which of the fistful of papers I am holding is the registration.

"Ooo's car eess theess, exactly?!" he queried, one eyebrow having soared up beneath his thick, gleaming hair. The sheen of sweat on my cheeks is entirely natural, as is the tremble in my voice. I explain that I have recently been married, and that my new husband is a professor at the university there, just up the street, and that I was headed there, to meet him, and the car is his. I claim not to have had any idea (and I hadn't) that I ought to have exchanged my US license for a Nova Scotia one within a month of my arrival. I didn't tell him I'd been here for a year and a half.

"Eeeensurance?! I searched frantically through the plastic envelope that had been crammed full of stuff and shoved into the glove compartment.

"Eeet's a peeenk card," he offered helpfully. There were about a dozen peeenk cards. I handed him one after another.

"Zees eees years and years old!" Another one.

"Zees eees even older!" Another one. Finally I dug my cell phone out of my purse and offered to call Himself and find out where the current card was.

"Nevair mind!" he said in frustration.

He started to go back to his van with my papers, and I clunked my head on the steering wheel trying to imagine how I would tell Himself--- currently bleeding and starving barely a block away--- that I had been cited for speeding, running a stop sign, driving without a provincial license, and reckless endangerment. Halfway back to his van, he stopped. And turned around. And came back to my window.

"Look. I'll bet you didn't drive like zeess in New York State, eh? You have to undeerstand zat here, in Nova Scotia, we are much sloooower. Zee? Sloooower. You zee the sign, and you stop. Zen you go slowly, eh? All right?!"

"Yes, I... yes! I'm sorry! Thank you!" He handed the papers back to me, and stalked off, shaking his magnificent head. I crawled the rest of the way down Henry Street, found a parking space, and went up to Himself's office where he sat, magnificent in his suffering and forbearance. I explained that I would have been there sooner, but that I'd had to listen to a long lecture about the driving habits of Nova Scotians from a Quebecker cop.

"Ohmigod. What did you DO?!" he moaned.

"Not to worry--- my karma is unsullied," I said, handing him the ham and cheese wrap. Only then did it occur to me that I hadn't even thought about my long-cherished stopped-by-a-handsome-cop fantasy. Darn!

Well--- I still have to drive back to the university in about an hour to pick Himself up after his last class...

I wonder when that guy's shift is over?