I have questions. Lots of them. Most will never be answered, but I like to ask them anyway.

For instance, why does the spider on my bathroom sink just sit there? Why doesn’t he move away from the faucet. His little web just gets pulled apart each time I wash my hands. He then rebuilds and sits there doing nothing, apparently waiting for me to turn on the faucet so he can rebuild once more.

Yes, I have a spider. I don’t kill spiders. I think they do good work. And I’m fine as long as I know where they are. And as long as they are not actually on me. If they bother me, I simply put them outside. (Glass over spider, cardboard slid under glass, someone to open the door for you. Easy-peasy.)

I remember a particular spider that lived on the windshield of my little red VW. He was a little white spider and had been there for a few weeks, just walking back and forth. I don’t know what he lived on. I didn’t have food in the car. Well, I probably did – old fries or chips, but nothing on the windshield or dashboard.

Anyway, one day my sister got in the car and said, “Oh, a spider!” and smooshed the poor thing.

She no longer kills spiders. Perhaps it was my response when I yelled, “Why the hell did you do that?”, but I think it more likely that she matured in her thinking just as I did learning that spiders are good people, too.

This spider inquiry seems to have nothing to do with writing, except that recently – this entire summer – I feel very much like my little spider. I sit and I wait and something interrupts me and I sit and wait again. Not much is getting done in the way of editing or outlining another book. Not much is getting done at all.

So the question remains, why does the spider on my bathroom sink just sit there? More to the point, of course, is why do I? I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. I’m sure you’ll be waiting with baited breath. Relax, I may be a while.

In the meantime, a question about hummingbirds. I know, you think I’m going to ask why they hum. But I already know that. (For anyone who has managed to live a life without hearing this oldie, but goodie, it’s because they don’t know the words.)

No, no. I have read that they like clean feeders. And I have watched them feast on my little feeder for two days, but the next they just fly by without even a sip. How do they know it’s time for a wash? It’s a mystery.