Sunday, July 08, 2007


Well, the last part of June was exhausting both emotionally and physically. Three lovely women I was connected to in some way, all passed away. One was a friend, an actress from the late fifties and sixties, a talented lady who continued to teach acting classes into her late seventies. We only saw each other at Thanksgiving or a holiday party in the last few years but I always admired her. Another was an artist, the mother of a friend and a woman I knew well, she was also very talented and continued to show her amazing art creations right up until the end. I saw her last at Christmas. The third lady was the aunt of a writer friend, the woman who raised her like a mother, and influenced her giving support and encouragement for her creative abilities. I didn't know her personally only through my friend. All of these women died quite suddenly and were active, vibrant participants in life, right up until those last few weeks or days.

I thought about all of this as I remembered each woman's life and what they had contributed. I realized that is what I truly want. To depart this world still active and doing something I feel very passionate about, giving something back, contributing even if in some small way. It gives life purpose. It gives you energy and it keeps you young. Anything you learn, anything you create, requires energy of thought and action.

Then I was bitten by a black widow spider. Yikes! I was surrounded by death. And yes, she met with a swift passing, in case you were wondering. It stung like crazy, and I wanted to tear at my leg. It was night and there was no way I was going to drive myself to the emergency room and be billed $500 for first aid I could do myself. I visited the internet and read up on everything I should do and found that for most old people like me the venom isn't deadly. Whew! Guess there is so much poison in me it doesn't matter. Heh.

So I played doctor. I washed it off and applied Neosporin and ice packs. Then I took some Benadryl. Anyway, the leg swelled, and something like cellulitis extravasated into the surrounding tissues making me look like I had a two inch reddish-purple butterfly tattoo. Sexy! I went to bed and wondered if I'd wake up the next day. Anyway, I did, so I called the doctor the next morning and he asked if I felt dizzy, did I have any shortness of breath, was I sweating excessively. I laughed, it was 112 degrees Fahrenheit that day. I think he was a bit annoyed that I laughed, but it was funny. A week later it's almost gone. It has been two weeks and there is still a hard lump beneath the skin, but no more tattoo. I kind of miss it.

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