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I and a couple others who live in this household have grown quite fond of Natasha the garden spider.  Yes we named her.  Being ignorant at first of the spider's gender we first named her Boris after Boris the spider in that song by The Who and/or Boris Badanov from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon show.  I'm sure I'm talking about some stuff that might be way before a lot of you were born but I digress.

Natasha was a really scary looking spider with bright yellow on her back mixed with a shiny black that also colored her long spidery legs.  I should note that while I do not have a serious case of arachnophobia, spiders have always given me the creeps.  Usually I'll stomp on one if I see it anywhere in the general vicinity.  And don't let one get on me....it's all over then.  I'm a 53 year old man but the sound that would come out of my mouth would likely resemble that of a 9 year old girl; and I haven't hit high notes like that since I was a youngster doing my best to belt out Geddy Lee (of Rush fame) vocals with the same feeling and passion as the rocker himself.  Frankly, I doubt this sound would be pretty coming from me.  Anyway....just don't get on me Mr. or Mrs. Spider.

However, Natasha was fascinating to watch.  She had made a very intricate web in the sago palm bush we have in the front yard.  I've supplied a pic of such a bush that's very similar to our's.  Almost daily we would take a walk to the bush and just stare at this creature, watching to see if she did anything.  Usually she would just sit there in her upside down way and wait for prey.  One evening this really large grasshopper landed on one of the palms of the bush while we stood there.  Big mistake.  I got curious and gave that palm branch a light swat which sent the grasshopper into the web near the bottom.  I had to jump back a step because Natasha moved with the speed of light, covering the nearly 15 inches to the grasshopper and with unbelievable speed had that insect wrapped up in  spider silk and positioned for later consumption.  I stood there in awe feeling like executioner and caretaker at the same time.

After about a month, she disappeared.  However, she left behind these two brownish cacoons held in place with silk threads in the sago palm.  We found her in one of our other trees a couple of days later where she had started a new life apparently.  She gave us another couple of weeks of fascination only to disappear again, having left behind yet another of those brownish cacoons.  After a little research, I found that these cacoons apparently contain hundreds of tiny eggs that will hatch come the following spring.  Now this should be interesting.  Will we be inundated with garden spiders or will they scatter and head out into the lawn and find other pastures?  We're looking forward to finding out.  Meanwhile, Natasha is nowhere to be found.  We're hoping she found another bush or tree somewhere to live out her days in peace.  How odd I would feel that way about a spider that in my younger days I would have crushed out of fear and disgust.  I'm glad I've matured a bit.  I imagine Natasha was just as glad.

So has anyone else out there ever grown to enjoy the presence of a particular beast that under normal circumstances would usually give you the heebee geebees or even scare you?  Did you push aside your fears to simply enjoy the fascination or perhaps even study up on this beast or beasts?

I remember it was sometimes tough being a kid. You don't know anything; or so it seems. Things in life just don't appear the same way they do to grown-ups. Why is that? Do we think with different parts of the brain? Is it because of social or life maturity? That must be it. Grown-ups have just experienced more and therefore know more. So they just know better than you. You're just a kid.

Things are so much scarier. There is the ever present monster under the bed or in the closet. Always there no matter what anyone else says. He is there lurking, waiting for dark, waiting for you to be alone so he can toy with your immature mind and leave you shuddering under the covers and praying for sunrise. Come to think of it, I never once actually saw that monster. Heard him a few times. Watched the closet door inch open a little bit now and then but that might have been my imagination getting the better of me. At least that's what mom and dad said. "You and your imagination," they would say. You know, while my imagination acted like my enemy occasionally, it was mostly really good to me. I'm glad it has stayed with me even today.

I remember one wintry night growing up in Kansas City, Missouri. Actually I remember a heck of a lot of wintry nights there but there was this one. My feeble memory doesn't allow me to remember my exact age when some of these things occurred but I have vivid memories from when I was a kid. I guess I was around seven or eight on this night. The weather forecast called for, what else....cold! Apparently my dad had turned the faucets of the bath tub and all the sinks on to a trickle to try and ward off the pipes freezing up. It didn't work; the pipes froze up.

I woke to darkness. Wouldn't you know it, I had to go to the bathroom; naturally. Looking around my bedroom for some semblance of sight until my eyes finally adjusted. Throwing back the covers, I slowly inched out from the top bunk. I was the oldest, I get the top bunk, it's the law. Made sure I didn't slam my head into the ceiling as I made my way over the foot railing and down the ladder.

Before I go further, I need to describe the layout of the house for you. Walk through the front door into the large living room. The house seemed huge to me when I was a kid but really it was a tiny thing. Turning left out of the living room and you're in the hallway toward the bathroom and bedrooms. Walk maybe three steps and there's a short hallway to the right that led to the bathroom. Further ahead and there is a small bedroom to the left, mom and dad's bedroom straight ahead at the end and the master bedroom to the right which is where me and my brothers slept, played or whatever else we could come up with in there. One bunk bed set and a twin bed. It seemed large as a child but it wasn't, however it certainly was enough room.

Creeping out of my bedroom in the darkness, turning left to go up the hall toward the living room. The bathroom could wait until I got my drink of water. I passed the little hall that led to the bathroom and managed to get halfway through the living room when I was beseiged by this incredibly loud sound that my young mind simply could not make out.  I suddenly jolted to a halt, stiff as a board, with eyes that must have been the size of saucers yet saw nothing. I swear my hair actually stood on end. Apparently dad had turned the faucet for the bath tub on full blast and the ice finally gave.

Okay now imagine the creepy quiet of night in the house. Everyone is sleeping. Total silence, I could almost hear my own breathing. Then the incredibly loud sound of gushing water resembling the decibles of perhaps Niagara Falls!  I turned and sprinted, not ran, sprinted toward the hall. I must have veered slightly to the right because I didn't make it very far before I slammed face first into the wall of the bathroom hallway and bounced backward landing on my butt. Talk about a world of blackness then! And I was closer to that awful noise, whatever it was. I still had no idea yet. I sprang to my feet and continued sprinting as I finally found my voice and screamed for mom and dad. I blasted through their closed door and took flight with all the style and grace of Michael Jordan. I knew where the bed was and I flew through the air in a glorious swan dive breaking into a one and a half twist and quite possibly a full gainer landing perfectly between mom and dad. I buried my face into the covers mumbling and babbling absolute gibberish while dad hollered, "What what what!!"

It took a little while but they finally managed to calm me down. Dad turned off the water and if memory serves, he came back laughing at the absurdity of it all. And I have to admit, I find it hilarious now but it sure wasn't back then. My heart still races a little bit when I think about that night.

Then there was another night I woke up and needed that 2 a.m. drink of water. What is that anyway? I hardly ever do that now but when I was a kid, it had to have happened nearly every night. Water and bathroom, water and bathroom...sheesh. It was treacherous having to negotiate the house in the middle of the night with no lights on. So as I slipped down from the top bunk and turned to go up the hall, I stopped dead in my tracks. One end of the couch in the living room faced the hall and I stood there staring at what appeared to be some derelict in shabby clothes slouched on the couch. My mind reeled. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was pumping blood from my ears. Who was this person? How did he get in the house? WHY did he pick our couch to die on. He looked dead; had to be dead because he wasn't moving. Asleep? No he was dead because he didn't make a single little move even when this girlish little gasping cry managed to escape my throat. I stood there staring, watching, straining my eyes to make sure it was a dead guy. Yes, it had to be. I needed water bad but I had to walk past the dead guy to get to the kitchen. No way was that happening. With my heart in my throat, I slowly crept back to my room and climbed back into my bed. I lay under the covers out of my mind with fear until I finally fell back to sleep. How I slept is beyond me.

I woke the next morning and peeked out the door in the daylight of morning. There on the end of the couch was a big pile of laundry that mom hadn't folded yet. Some of it had fallen to the floor too. That was the dead body my childhood mind managed to conjure up.

So yeah...it`s sometimes tough being a kid.  Try to remember that when your own child catches a case of the frights.