April 17, 2020
Note: Saturday is my recharge day, so there will be no post tomorrow. Back on Sunday.
Those of you who’ve been following along here may remember that the middle kid has turned my home office into his music studio. It’s basically a portion of the detached garage that we converted to a room. These days, the sound of jazz trombone wafts from there at all hours. He throws back La Croix drinks and stacks the empty cans until they reach the ceiling. And he keeps the place like a sauna, turning up the space heater to 79 degrees, never mind our balmy So Cal weather.
Turns out he’s not the only one who craves hot, enclosed spaces.
This morning, he came in to find his trombone stand covered in tiny baby spiders. “Hundreds of them!” he reported. Horrified, he tossed the stand in the driveway (I’m assuming he washed it down, but perhaps he left the little things to wander about our backyard, finding new homes. Better not to know.)
Then, because he had a Zoom class, he sat down at the desk and flipped open his laptop.
About an hour later, he started to search for his visitors. Nothing on the windowsill (where they usually make their home in this room). Nothing in the corners, nor on the walls. He was about to declare defeat when he happened to look up. The ceiling was covered in spider webs.
Or so I’m told. I declined to go outside and see for myself. “This must be why I’ve had all those bites!” he said. Of course, there could also be creatures hiding amid the piles of dirty laundry in his bedroom, but let’s hope he’s found the culprits.
An hour later, he’d swept and vacuumed and when I went in, there wasn’t a trace of web or black creepy crawly to be found. The only thing really left to do is for his mother to clean up her clutter — which I promised I would do tomorrow morning.
I should’ve done my part weeks ago. But when I’m finished, and all my stuff is stowed or thrown away, the space will be really, truly his.