This photo was taken in September 2007 at the Martin Nature Center in north OKC. However, with the heat settling into our days (welcome to the 90s), spiders are trying to nab a free corner in our house to escape from the warmth - so, it seems appropriate to share the photo now. This one had prime real estate right along the path, and was quite amazing to observe. (Though, I'm glad I didn't accidentally run into his web. As much as I like spiders, I would have probably been Pathetically Squealish.)
In the realm of Native American totems, the spider represents, in part, the weaving of our life story. This brings up a situation from yesterday. I posted the longer version of it in my other blog, but here's part of the post:
So, this guy remembered me, 13 years later, after spending a few Saturdays sort-of-together [at a journalism class]. Did he just recognize my face and have a good ability to place it? Or, did he have an actual memory of me? Did he really remember me?
I always find it fascinating, this thought that a stranger may know something about me, something that hasn't been retained in my conscious memory, and so in a way, this person who hasn't interacted with me in years may know a part of me or my history better than I know it myself. How many specific imprints of ourselves do we retain? How many memories exist where we can truly isolate it all and say, "This is who I was in that space of days"? Growth and time have such a flow; the past just sheds itself, and the lessons weave into the current being in such a way that it's hard for me to remember exactly who I was at 15.