Pardon My Pen
By George M. Campbell
Spider battles
Recently, my oldest granddaughter, who lives in Nanaimo and is busy raising a two-year-old dynamo named Gwendolyn, sent the members of her family an email about a spider. My granddaughter has an inordinate fear of spiders, and she discovered one in the bathroom when her husband, whose job it is to dispose of such creatures, was away out of town on business.
The email went on to describe how she struggled to battle her unreasonable phobia to the point where she was able to bring herself to go into the bathroom, face her formidable foe, and beat him to death with her husband's shoe. She was, of course, extremely proud of herself for this heroic feat and just had to share it with the rest of the world. Thus the email to her family. I sent her the following email in reply:
Dear Laura, you come by your remarkable fear of spiders quite naturally. It came down to you through the genes of your grandma, Rena Campbell.
Back in 1953, when your grandma and I had been married about three years and your daddy was two years old, I was working as a salesman for an insurance company. I had been away for a couple of days at an out-of-town sales seminar and returned home late one night to find my pretty little wife in bed fast asleep, my son in his crib likewise, all the lights out but the vacuum cleaner roaring away somewhere in the night-time silence of the house. I traced the vacuum cleaner cord from where it was plugged in, to where it disappeared under the closed door to the hall closet. A towel had been shoved into the crack beside the cord going under the door.
I woke up my wife and got the following wide-eyed explanation: She had seen a spider on the wall in the hallway and had gone immediately into panic mode. She was afraid to approach close enough to the spider to kill it, so she got out the vacuum cleaner, attached the hose and wand extensions, then holding these extensions out in front of her as far as she could, she managed to suck up the spider. Ah-h-h, but now she was faced with another dilemma. If she turned off the vacuum cleaner the spider might get out. So, she left the vacuum running and put it into the hall closet, closing and then stuffing a towel under the door, just in case. She explained further that the spider had been in this predicament for the past eight hours.
Now Laura, this is a true story, and it goes a long way toward explaining why you are so frightened of spiders. But--please take note, because this is the scariest part of the story--after I'd stopped laughing long enough to get some control of myself, I pulled out the towel, opened the closet door, turned off the vacuum, and then emptied the contents of the cleaner's bag onto a sheet of newspaper. I looked at the little pile of dust and then, all of a sudden there was a movement within it and out staggered Mr Spider, still alive and kicking after all he'd been through!
So, granddaughter Laura, next time you kill a spider be sure to check his corpse for signs of life. They are tough little suckers, and hey, who wants a wounded spider rampaging around the house looking for revenge?
Love, Grandpa C
There was one final email from my granddaughter on the subject:
Dear Grandpa, You know, I had heard bits of that story before--but I had not heard the epilogue of the spider still being alive after all its trials! I can't believe it! Thanks for sharing that story with me. Grandma Rena was clearly very sensible and resourceful in this circumstance, demonstrating flawless logic in her plans to thwart the spider. I can be proud to be descended from such hearty stock!
Love, Laura.
