Mike was on the fence about getting back into beekeeping this spring. I was hoping we would, but after last year, I didn’t want to press it. Bees are fun to watch and to talk about and I love it when he picks up hobbies where I reap rewards and am required to do almost no work. But after the Great Bee Debacle of 2021 I was leaving the decision up to him.
For those who don’t want to go back and read through part one of this bee story, here’s a recap: Inspired by Colin’s foray into beekeeping the year before, Mike built a backyard bee Taj Mahal and brought home a package of bees for it. Our queen decided the digs weren’t for her and took off, flying in big, lazy spirals into the clear, spring sky while we watched her go.
Thank you so much, Mr. Albertson’s Checker, for your thoughtfulness this evening. After taking time to inquire about my day and whether I’d found everything I needed, you complimented my clever cell phone cover/credit card holder combo case as I swiped my card.
… And followed that up with just a smidge of concern for my well-being.
“You ever think about disconnecting from the grid?”
Don’t worry, Mr. Checker. Your comment didn’t come across as pompous at all. I could feel the concern coming off you in waves, from your knitted brow to your bushy-bearded half smirk.
I was at a friend’s party some time ago when someone noticed a rather meaty-looking cobweb hanging from a light fixture, and said something about not wanting to run into the spider that had spun it.
“It’s just a cobweb,” I said, authoritatively, “they’re made from dust, not spiders.”
I don’t remember if I punctuated that statement with a highly creative and mature-sounding duuuh, but I probably did.
I do remember conversation coming to a standstill and everyone looking at me like I was drunk.
Most likely, my misconception about cobwebs and their connection to actual arachnids was not my fault. It probably came from a day when someone wanted me to practice piano like I was supposed to, and not whine about how scary and cobwebby our unfinished family room-slash-piano-storage-space was.
The most likely origin of this weird belief is the person in my life whose factoids usually went without question. My Dad.