peevish mama

Today I got to work on my window boxes, something I love, love, love to do.  I have a moderately green thumb, but I have pretty much kept myself satisfied with indoor plants, window boxes and a few big pots of flowers and herbs.  I love to imagine myself shuffling along rows of carefully tended perennials and annuals, cooing the latin names of my babies, moving things around, thinning, deadheading, pruning, etc. -  whatever it is “gardeners” do.  Of course, I would look very garden chic in a wide brimmed sun hat, a light weight cotton blouson in white, khaki clamdiggers and clogs . . . the wooden kind . . . from Holland.  But as of yet, I have no such garden, no such skills and no such wardrobe.  I have, however, figured out a pretty good combo for my shady window boxes – lots of coleus and trailing sweet potato vines . . . dark purples, blood reds and bitchin’ chartreuse greens . . . I likeeee very much.

It was a perfect day for planting – overcast and sprinkling.  I doused myself in bug dope and enjoyed the rain on my back as I crouched in the grass with my new posse of flora, figuring out who should sit next to whom.

But as luck would have it, I ended up tangling with one  formidable mama, giving me great pause during my summertime idyll.  In the window box to the left of our door lives a big spider.  Gigantic.  As my mother would say, “tiene cara de mala!” Translation: she has a mean face.  Which is to say, she is no blondie daddy long leg – which is to say if she looks mean, she probably is mean.  She’s big, she’s thick, she’s dark and nasty looking and she spins some unearthly webs – webs so dense and luxurious they could be used for hammocks for a harem.  I have watched her scuttle behind my primroses.  I have watched her watch me.  I have even watched her jump.  This crazy bitch JUMPS!!!  But for some reason, I haven’t felt compelled to smoosh my resident Arachne.  I just give the lady wide berth, hoping she’ll feast on some of the mosquitos that plague me and Supergirl.  Today, after casting a wary glance around the window box, I removed the plastic liner to find a big spider papoose – a white woven bassinet full of her spawn.  What to do . . . what to do . . . well what I did was grab a stick and rub that thing right into the garbage.  I could almost feel her watching me from her darkened crevice with her eight sparkling eyes.  

I’m so very sorry Ms. Spider, but I’m sure you understand.  It was your babies or mine.  I just can’t have hundreds of little cara de mala spiders running around on my front porch.  Best of luck and enjoy the coleus . . . and please, don’t jump on me.