I’m a gardener. It’s so zen. Just watching the grounds keeping crew mow and weed and water melts away my stress. I particularly like to experience my gardening from my deck under the delicate shade of the leaves of my large potted citrus and fig trees, with an americano in one hand and a charcuterie plate next to me.
I am fortunate to maintain some of that zen feeling into winter by moving those wonderful potted plants indoors to my art room/office. The zen though, it doesn’t extend to every part of the indoor gardening experience.
Like the other day I reached over to my mouse pad and touched a spider. He scuttled across the table to safety. Which I suppose is better than me getting spider squish on my palms. It was traumatising.
I joked it off though… posted some very witty comments about whether the arachnid invader now knows all my passwords.
It’s what I do. I try to turn lemons into lemonade, to turn tragedy into life experience.
One time tragedy averted is comedy gold. Two times it is harder to spin it as my life’s comedic relief.
Just now a crane fly darted across my screen, briefly alighting on it then flitting away. Have you ever seen a crane fly? They are freaking terrifying.
I bring nature indoors because it enhances my quality of life. A bug here and there is part of the outdoor-in trade off.
The little white garden spider that came in on the fuschia? He can continue to hang out on the fuschia. He does not, however, get open run of the house, and my mouse pad is definitely off limits.
I draw the line at the crane fly. The crane fly just needs to die. Sorry, I know that seems harsh. But insects that fly around like out of control drunk weird alien life forms bouncing off my computer screen then grazing my hair are my limit.