Dolores the Doorbell Spider

While I wasn't sufficiently gracious and inviting toward abundance and prosperity, my unconscious has been welcoming spiders into my life. My status proves the premise of all those self-help books. You give your attention to X, and you attract X into your life. You visualize spiders. You get spiders. You visualize lizards. You get lizards. You offer unconditional acceptance to cobwebs, and they take over your condo.

First I considered naming the tiny spider guarding my doorbell "Miss Haversham". After a few days of nodding at each other whenever I unlocked or locked my door, I realized the spider was more of a "Dolores". My fifth grade teacher at Eastridge Elementary was named Dolores. She was steady, calm, creative, artistic, and unassuming. I always think of Mrs. Broz as brown in a leaf compost, enveloping, nurturing, competent, molasses ginger cookie anchoring way.

Dolores would be astounded if a human actually rang my doorbell. She has a quiet location for catching small insects
like an arachnid Maytag repairman.

Dolores might be related to the small spiders making their very disorganized webs all over the holly bushes along the walk to my front door. I don't recall ever having webs in these bushes in ten years of residence.

The little spiders are brown. Each messy web holds a tiny former student who flunked out of architecture college, but did fine in the real world. They opened successful franchises, and are unaware of the true exterior web designer on the other side of the walk .

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

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