Critters Series, Part One Point One: Non-Mammalian Indoor-Dwellin’ Critters: Arachnids

It all started with the dead cockroach Kristi found when we were cleanin’ up our kitchen for the first time, and we weren’t thinkin’ nothin’ of it.

Incident #1: Bird-sized spider. After a nice, relaxin’ evenin’, Jen was on her way to bed. She encountered the biggest spider she had ever laid eyes upon. This rendered her speechless, but still rather vocal -- Laura immediately heard the screams. After realizin’ what was occurin’ Laura underwent a wrenchingly intense internal struggle (due to her intense dislike/fear/hatred of spiders paired up with her intense love of Jen) whereby she was led at last to peer through the door to come to Jen’s assistance. Sort of. Now first, Laura found it appropriate to advise Jen to get the Raid that had been gifted to the house so generously by our dear Echo friends Joe and Sarah.

The followin’ dialogue has been translated into Texan for your enjoyment and enrichment.

Jen: [unintelligible screams]
Kristi: [rousing from the first blinks of slumber]
Laura, interiorly: What in the blue blazes is goin’ on out there?
exteriorly: Jeeeeeennn? You okay?
Jen: There’s a giiiiiiiiant spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiider!!!!
Laura, expressin’ the profound wisdom that emanates from one tryin’ to avoid contact with said spiiiiider: GET THE RAID!
Jen: I CAIN’T! IT’S FIXIN’ TO EAT ME! (Please note that the spiiiider had located itself between Jen and the kitchen where the Raid dwells.)
Kristi: [chortles]
Jen: LAURA, HEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEE!
Laura, thinking frantically for a minute and relying on her well-developed, tried, and true method for bug-killin’ which involves sprayin’ them to death with available cleanin’ supplies, Here! I have some Windex! I’ll throw it to you.
Jen: YOU CAIN’T THROW IT TO ME! I CAIN’T CATCH!
Laura, hesitatin’, opens the door and takes two steps out of the bathroom. Seein’ the spiiiider, Laura begins to scream and quickly hands Jen the unnozzled Windex bottle. Which still sprayed, just not very effectively.
Jen: KRISTI! COME OUT HERE, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOTHER EFFER! (please note that this has not been censored.)
Kristi, tickled to death and really wantin’ some sleep: I’m in bed already and I don’t have my contacts in any more. I ain’t comin’. (Jen thought this was a lame excuse...)
To herself: Dear diary, today, Jen and Laura tried to kill a bug by themselves.

Spider, drowning in Windex but still kickin’: Et tu, Brute?!

After slowin’ down the spider, Jen sprints and springs into the kitchen to procure the Raid. She unleashes the fury of the history of chemical engineering -- half a bottle’s worth -- into the immediate vicinity of the spiiiiider. Jen, thinkin’ she has defeated the spiiiiider, slows the stream of chemical.

Spider, in a pool of Raid, liftin’ itself higher like a Hun pops out of the snow (think Mulan, friends): NEEEVVVERRRRR! Giddyup!



(Jen and Laura would like our dear viewers to note that this photograph does not convey the size and incarnate horror of that there spider.)

Jen: Is it dead? Is it dead?
Laura, emergin’ fully from the bathroom, camera phone in hand: KEEEEEP SPRAYIN’!! JUST KEEP SPRAYIN’ IT!
Kristi, still observin’ from her bed but givin’ up on sleep for the time bein’. Internally: Just keep swimmin’, just keep swimmin’, what do we do? We swim, swim, swim!

Jen continues to spray as Laura’s quick thinkin’ takes her over to the substantial pile of magazines left behind by the landlord’s granddaughter. Choosin’ the biggest one, which happens to be InStyle, she proceeds to drop it onto the bird-sized spider, which means she drops it into a great lake of Raid. She returns to her room, hopin’ to avoid feelin’ the crunch of the dyin’ spiiiider, and places not two but one tennis shoe upon her foot. She stomps upon the magazine, spiiiider, and Raid lake and she did stay there for a minute or two.

Laura, internally: I want to make sure it’s really dead. If any spider’s gonna come back to life and kill us all, it’s this one.

Jen and Laura are then certain that the spider is dead. Kristi also feels that the spider is dead because she has a sense that much chemical weaponry has been deployed. Jen and Laura rest peacefully that night, letting the magazine, spiiiider corpse ,and Raid lake stew together in a hot mess of death for the rest of the night. A day passes.

Kristi, realizin’ that Joe is comin’ over and there is still a death stew on the floor: Dang-nab it, they killed the spiiiider but they left me a death stew to clean up.
The Spirit of Laura, who is not home: It is only just and necessary that Kristi should clean up the corpse because she did not partake in the death.
The Spirit of Jen: That’s tellin’ her how the cow ate the cabbage! (Translation for all our non-Texan viewers: You go, girl!)

Kristi disposes of the magazine and the spiiiiiider corpse. The Raid lake is much larger than she has anticipated, which necessitates the use of a rag. And then a swiffer. And a change of socks.

Giddyup.

it's huntin' season.*

*In our livin’ room, that is.

Howdy, y’all! We’re here in Pearland in our livin’ room spendin’ some time in our community. We have been meanin’ to tell y’all about one of the first items upon which we laid our virgin eyes upon enterin’ our residence. These things of which we speak are giant shotguns.



Now, this was shockin’ to our virgin eyes because the three of us are workin’ for the Church in a real peaceful fashion, tryin’ to make change through nonviolent activities and lovin’ relationships. No need to shoot anything. We even count among our ranks one woman who studied peace for four years in her undergraduate education.

We have come to realize only this very evenin’ that there are not seven, not eight, but nine guns in the gun case. We mistakenly believed at first that there were a mere seven huntin’ rifles, none less than four feet in length. This very night, we have discovered that there dwells an additional revolver in the bottom of the gun case. Furthermore, along the eastern wall of the gun case dwells yet another huntin’ rifle.

Ladies and gentlemen, the fun stops not there. The gun case is home to other glorious
Texan items includin’ but not limited to, from right to left, a Texas-sized bourbon flask with a decorative paintin’ of ducks; a reel for a fishin’ rod; a baseball autographed by the one and only Nolan Ryan; some ammunition; and a turkey caller.**

Please consider yourself privy to all the known items that dwell in the gun case that dwells in our livin’ room that dwells right next to the country in a little town called Pearland, Texas. This gun case is no more than five feet from the longhorn, mind you. It contributes abundantly to the Texanicity of our house. And don’t let your heart be troubled. The gun case is all locked up. Giddyup.

**To the men of D-House: Heed our warnin’. We are fixin’ to find, hunt, keel, and eat a Texan sized turkey usin’ our authentic turkey caller. It even features separate sounds for male and female turkeys. Giddyup. Our Thanksgivin’ turkey is gonna make yours look like a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest.

UPDATE:

There has been a series of new discoveries in the cabinets just below the gun case. The less interestin’ discoveries include an empty ammunition case, many full ammunition cases, some sand dollars, some dumbbells, and a machete. The more interestin’ discoveries include a small framed photograph of two young boys, one of whom is grinnin’ from ear to ear and holdin’ a harmonica while wearin’ overalls, in front of not seven, not eight, but nine dead rabbits. Hangin’ upside-down on a string in the foreground.

Furthermore, there is a very large photograph of four men holdin’ the very same rifles that dwell in our livin’ room. Behind them are eight bucks. Not dollars, but male deer. They are hangin’ right side up. Men: 8. Deer: 0. Giddyup.

Accents...

Dearest bearers of God’s infinite life,

Driving around Pearland, Texas, provides much material for a blog such as this one. We are working fervently on a list of things that actually are bigger in Texas. Keep your eye out for that dandy blog post somewhere in the future.

Incident #1. Location: Big Lots. Mission: Find various forms of carpet, dish towels, a lamp, and potting soil. Context: ECHO 7 Houston has decided to practice our “Texan.” Accents, that is.

Jen has been dropping things all day (coins all over the Goodwill checkout, candles all over the floor at Hobby Lobby, a ceramic mixing bowl - now in pieces - in our kitchen, the dish drying rack from our cart, this, that, and other things). Better yet, she is the best Texan speaker by a long shot among ECHO students in the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston.

Using our Texan, we were admiring some bronze star decor in Big Lots. Most of the decor was made in China, but the spirit of this particular bronze star was certainly made in Texas. A nice Texan lady approached us and asked Jen, in perfect Texan, wheyre she maht fahnd the tin suhnflayowerrs.

Jen, missing nary a beat, responded in nearly perfect Texan, that she wuhsn’t quaht shure wheyre the tin suhnflayowerrs were, but that perhaps they were overr heeere near suhme of the bronze deckerations. She and the nice Texan lady proceeded to seek the tin suhnflayowerrs in a nearby aisle, to no avail but to the immense pleasure of Laura and Kristi, who were at this point hidin’ themselves and their laughter behahnd the nearby shelvin’ unit.

Incident #2. Location: Big Lots. Mission: Decorate the Papa’s Angels house in a fashion appropriate to the Texan surroundings. Context: admiration of the tradition previously thought to be Midwestern of decorating one’s house with large, three-dimensional metal stars. Said stars are often sold in specialty shops that sell stars and other yard decorations including but not limited to a three-or-four-headed giraffe topiary.

It did not take much for us to realize that bronze stars, even if they were not originally from Texas, have moved here and gotten their residency. A veritable bronze-star mycelium lurks here, making them liable to pop up anywhere given the proper conditions, like the air of locally owned restaurants and gas stations, undecorated siding, or proximity to human beings whose ancestors immigrated here a long time ago.

The star on the Texas flag (the only state flag, by the way, which may legally be flown at the same height as the flag of the United States) is like the platonic ideal whence the rest of the stars draw their form. It’s like the flag star was promised that it would have descendants as countless as the stars....

Having gained familiarity with these deep truths of the place where we have been sent, we could not help but seek the enduring presence of a bronze star of our very own. The opportunity presented itself while we were at Big Lots. So now we hayve one on ouwer livin’ room wahl!