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On my daily wanderings in Arizona I would often meet big hairy spiders, sometimes wolf spiders, often tarantulas. We nicknamed our backyard tarantula “Minky” for its lovely brown and black fur. The Texas spiders are a bit tougher. I ran into a hairless variety under Todd’s desk.  Writing about it is evidence of my yearly dusting venture. The spider I came upon was a desperado living under my sweet shitzu’s fuzzy dog bed. No hair just large mean looking and reddish black. I was aghast at what I was going to overtake with Todd away.

Sometimes big hairless spiders step into our minds and we cannot reach a friend or sister fast enough to help take them out.  Downloading the issue to a concerned friend or sister or aunt is instant relief.

Or is it.

I wondered why. The years have flown. Unto my hand

Cling weaker, sadder ones who walk  alone –  I understand.        Unknown

The last couple months grief has been the hairless spider.  I’ve not posted, but written on yellow pads.  Marilyn, Todd’s Mom died and the most interesting relationship has developed.  My ninety year old Aunt Virginia calls me on my cell about once a week and just asks me how I’m doing and we both know what she means.  We visit and she does not tell me to move on or get over it she just stays with me

and the raw edge of grief is still present, and so is she.

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