A Nibble



It was the summer of 2004.  I flew back to the Midwest to see my family. (Who knows why?  The only member of my family that I like is my oldest brother. He is worth the effort, though.)  It seemed a necessary evil to go spend time with these people.  It was my duty.  I checked into my brother's house upon arrival. (The one I like).  Staying at his house is like staying at the Hyatt.  He always wants to make sure they have your favorite things on hand.  What soda do you want?  Any special snacks you prefer, etc? There are near nightly invitations to take a ride to the Dairy Queen. - Yes, thank you I will go!   I do like good hospitality and thus he wins the Gold Standard award for hosting family members.

It was July.  It was hot.  My oldest niece has been booted out of her room so I could have her bed for my stay.  I think she and my other two nieces like my visit.  They like to do risky things when I am around. (Insert - crack the lock on the bathroom door when I am in the shower and then scream, shove things under the bedroom door to rouse my attention, jump out and scare me as I come around the corner, etc.)

It must have been the second night of my stay when the following occurred.  I awoke in the morning feeling hot.  I wrote this off to the humidity and stomped to the bathroom to get ready.  What to my wondering eyes should appear?  A huge red bump on my bum!  It was the size of a quarter or so and hard like cement.  Where does such a thing come from I wondered.  Two days later it was the size of a baseball, bright red and extremely painful.  If you want to be knocked down a few pegs and humbled, this is what you do: Waltz into the emergency room and tell the agent behind the desk that you have a problem with your bum.  There must be some special training for hospital workers so that they know how to curb their laughter when people like me stumble in with a red bum.  It gets worse...

After swallowing every last shred of dignity and pride that I had by telling the intake desk personnel about my troubles I was then whisked away to a triage area.  I proceeded to tell the nurse assigned to my case the trouble.  She wanted a look.  The next level of humility happens here.  I drop my drawers and show her my bum.  It has a protruding red ball from the right cheek.  Her look of horror told me everything.  She rescinded into the hallway and rounded up a doctor.  Soon the doctor zipped in with a Sharpie in hand.  Mmm Hmmm.... You know where this is going, don't you?  Circles were drawn on my bum by the doctor while the nurse and some other people, who I assumed were emergency room personnel, looked on.  I don't mind helping the world of science and letting people examine my ailments, but there is something about having your ailment be on your bum that makes this cooperative attitude die instantly. He wanted his colleagues to see the fang marks in my bum so as to have confirmation that it was in fact a spider bite.  There was much concurring by the small crew of professionals gathered around and hunkered over my bum.  I was craning my neck as best I could to look back there behind me to see what they were seeing.  Try it. It's hard to lay on your stomach and see your own bum- You'll be surprised.

For the next four days I was to receive IV anti-biotics to fight this infection, which turned out to be a spider bite from a Brown Recluse. - Apparently some hungry Brown  Recluse slid up my boxer shorts and took a nibble of my rear end during my sleep in my niece's bed. - (I had no interest in hopping back in that bed I tell you.) - Each day the doctors and nurses would want to examine the "progress" on my backside.  They always had a Sharpie in hand and drew circles around the area as it grew larger and larger. By day three I had shown nearly every person in the hospital my bum and thought nothing of it when a new nurse or doctor would stop in to have a look.  Why not?  It's only a free show, right?  Finally the infection began to subside.  Visions of a rump-ectomy flashed through my head from time to time during these few days and wondered if such a procedure had been attempted before now.

So, when I told my brother and his wife what had happened we had to make an agreement not to tell my niece or she would never sleep in her room again.  Though we did tell her in time. 

You can imagine the number of "Spider Man" and "Spidey" names I was called for the duration of my stay.

My Mother is Rollin' Into Town

You know that feeling.  It’s a mix of dread with some sort of whimsical anticipation?  Yes, of course you do.  It is when one or both of your parents are rollin’ into town to pay you a visit.  Even though you are an adult who has lived on your own, or made your own family, for years you still find yourself reverting back to that ‘ I hope I don’t get caught” feeling from childhood.  Not that you are hiding anything or that you have done something wrong.  No, not at all.  It is just that as you have matured and experienced much in your adult life there is still an element of your mom or dad being omnipotent. Remember being a kid and getting caught doing who knows what. (Insert stealing a buck from your mom’s purse to load up on some candy at the Quik Trip, or for forging his or her signature on a letter from school that needed to be returned to the school principal, etc.) See…..You feel the memory yet?  Good.

So, my mum is rollin’ into town on Thursday of this week.  All I can think is, “Lord, give us strength.”  The flight of the bumble bee will begin Wednesday evening around 9 pm.  I will reacquaint myself with the vacuum. (God only knows where I last put it) I will do a thorough inventory of the linen closet and kitchen cabinets to be sure that I haven’t left anything in there that might be incriminating.  You know, copies of my work evaluations, letters from a long lost love or anything else that would give her any glimmer of ammunition to launch into a full on ambush of questioning.  Oh, your mum does that too?  Yes, the questions come fast and furious when a parental unit come to town.   I will wash the linens on the guest bed, which is really a futon.  (It is fun to feel like you are still in college.)  I have already bought plenty of caffeinated beverages for her.  We don’t want her any more cantankerous than necessary.  Long bouts of absence from caffeine tend to do this to people.  I will alert the neighbors that my mum is storming the city this weekend and invite them to go into lock down mode. She would surely hold them captive with her line of questioning to try and keep tabs on my “goings on” since the last time she flew across the country to visit.  It feels like only yesterday that she was here, but as I crunch the numbers I am shocked that it has been over two years.  I resign to the fact that I am due for a visit and convince myself that it is easier for her to come here than it is for me to go to the Midwest to see her. Your own turf makes it easier to tolerate your “loved” ones. Further, it is quite satisfying to leave as many lights on in my own home as I want.  This action is satisfying because I am using that tried and true strategy of passive aggressiveness to refute what my mom used to announce when coming home to a house with nearly every light burning.  “We are not supporting IE!” (IE: Iowa Electric Company) – Well, we WILL be supporting Seattle City Light this weekend!

The fury of Internet searches has begun! What can I cook up to do with her to keep the action moving and avoid as much down time as possible?  I congratulate myself that I have cooked up a full 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper (college ruled) with ideas.  I am good.  We will hit the ground running from the airport Thursday afternoon.  The agenda includes a casino stop, lunch in downtown, a concert in a local park and a movie. (Movies are always good because you can’t talk without getting kicked out of the theater.  That coupled with shoveling massive amounts of popcorn in your pie-hole guarantee a conversation-less evening out.) 

As I cleaned off the top of the refrigerator this afternoon to be sure she doesn’t sift through any of the last year’s paperwork up there I was thrilled to find several gift certificates. These are ones students have given me in the last year for the holidays, teacher appreciation and the end of the year gifts.  We will be going out to eat for every meal thanks to the generosity of the students who have been assigned to my tutelage.  I hope mum likes Italian.

So, as I gear up for a weekend of dodging any deep conversation with my mum I can feel my blood pressure rising and the desire to put up the emotional walls so that I can deflect any and all uncomfortable conversations that will inevitably creep in during the tightly planned, action packed weekend………Though I suppose this only reflects my own immaturity.  Wish me luck!