Along Came a Spider

If killing bugs comes easily, I suggest steering clear of a Charlotte's Web reread. I found a copy in Italian at the secondhand store and it's done nothing but wreak havoc on my war against daddy long legs. I'm a little worried that when I finish this post I might even have a hard time killing mosquitos. The same people that ask vegans why they don't eat meat yet wear leather belts (I'm one of those people) are going to ask me why I kill mosquitos and not moths. And when I can't respond (just like the vegans I've asked) I'm afraid it might mean a million more mosquito bites.

None of my houses have screens. And my neighbors' houses don't either. You can't lean your head out for a good chiacchierata (chat) if you have screens. I remember the foreign feeling when I first landed. Now, when I have American visitors, the kids fight to shake the tablecloth directly out the open window. I don't get involved. I know the pleasure will be all mine again once they go home.

The island house is so small it only has four windows and two doors. I'm not sure why only one of the windows has a screen, but it came with the house and I find myself foolishly putting it up and down when I open and close the shutters. It offers no protection. Smart bugs just crawl a few feet to come in the next window.

I have one screen in the mountains, too. I installed it on my bedroom window and it has nothing to do with intruding insects. For some reason I've decided it will protect me from snakes and wolves. The rest of the doors and windows are open all day and closed at night. I suppose the smart snakes and wolves could come in during the day and hide under my bed. My one screen only protects me from the dumb ones.  

As you may have guessed, my houses are buggy. The ones that don't walk or fly through the front door make their way in on the firewood or my running shoes. Lucky bugs. Thanks to Carlotta (that's Charlotte in Italian) they either stay inside undetected or are gently escorted back out.

It takes a lot more time to save insects than to kill them. In my houses they're never flushed, squished or burned. It's hard to catch moths without breaking their velvety wings. And getting centipedes to march their hundred legs in the direction you want isn't easy either. I sweep some bugs into the dustpan and swish others out the door. Once I guided a bee to the window where it landed on its back on the windowsill. I watched it spin like an armless breakdancer trying to flip itself over. It pushed and pushed and spun and spun until it reached the edge of the sill and fell. During the plummet, it found its wings and flew. Had I opted for a crushing step, I would have killed the bee and the metaphor.       

If you find cobwebs in my corners it's not (only) that I'm a terrible housekeeper. I'm just giving my 8-legged arachnid amici time to whip up a message of appreciation for letting them live. I may not deserve humble, radiant or terrific like Wilbur, but every time I set them free I envision Carlotta's web with a simple 'grazie'.