Basal morphing

hen the garage door opened I leapt to my feet and ran to the upstairs office window. Sure enough the Ford truck was parked in the driveway in front of the house. I heard a key being inserted into the lock on the inside door and then all went quiet. It was just before midnight and the house was in complete darkness. Then an attempt at the front door, this time more agitated. Unsuccessful in opening it, a voice called out "El, what's going on?". Frozen in my stance at the top of the stairs and looking down into the foyer, I remained silent, but my heart was pounding so loudly all I could hear was "Thump, thump, thump".

Then a more fervent attempt to force the lock open on inside door and a series of pounds and calls out to me. I dashed into the bathroom to put on a pink silk robe and perched on the top step. Please go away I said silently to myself and began to tremble. Feeling chilled, I was going into the master bedroom to put something more substantial on when I heard a loud bang that sounded as if someone had thrown his full weight at the door. Before I could reach the top of the steps and while grasping at the robe to cover myself, I saw DF climbing the stairs and the inside door lying off its hinges below. The look on his face sent shivers through my body. As he reached the landing he glared at me, but the pounding of my heart drowned out his angered words. He went ballistic. My face immediately flooded with tears, my body was rigid but trembling. I raced to the kitchen to get the phone while calling out, "Please go!". The more I begged the angrier he became. I dashed with phone in hand into the bedroom and, from behind the locked door, begged once again for him to leave or I would have to call the police.

I wasn't shaking from fear, but from a sense of deep sadness to witness his reaction and to know that I had done what I should consider the "unthinkable". While I had been preparing his things earlier that evening, it broke my heart to take such a stance with someone I had married. And it tore me apart to lock someone I loved outside, and then on top of all of that emotion the plan had gone so terribly wrong! He wasn't supposed to break in. No one said he would break in. In fact, I'd pictured him simply returning to KMC's house, where he'd been spending many of his nights in the past month, this time with a ready excuse and not need to conjure one up. So why was he so determined to get in? What was here tonight that he had been so ready to disrespect, jeer at, taunt and walk away from for the last month?

Finding not only the house, but also our bedroom door locked sent him into a rage, and within a matter of minutes my fingers dialed a phone number and a sleepy voice answered. Sobbing, I declared "He's in the house; he's inside!" I'd called my sister, the one who'd told me that removing DF from the house was necessary and had urged me that this had to be done and sooner rather than later. I don't remember what happened next. I just slid down the bedroom door in a crumpled heap until I heard a familiar voice calling from behind it. "El, open up, it's me". It was my sister.

She and her husband, my brother-in-law, had driven over. My brother-in-law was down the hall, attempting to calm down DF. Soon police officers arrived and a series of questions ensued. I explained what was going on and the police officers escorted DF into the library, downstairs, to speak with him. Despite an hour's worth of encouragement and urging from the police for him to leave, and an offer from my brother-in-law to put him up in the most comfortable hotel in town for a few days, DF refused to go with declarations that "It's my house, I'm not leaving". The police were concerned that I might not be safe and asked if my sister would stay with me that night until DF had the opportunity to speak with an attorney, as he threatened he would. Deeply embarrassed over the whole incident and crushed to have witnessed how drawing a boundary like this had caused him such upset, I asked that everyone leave.

"I'll be alright, thank you. I'm so sorry for all of the trouble, officers" I said. After everyone left, I propped the inside door up to the opening into the garage, drew an antique steamer trunk behind it to hold it erect until morning and ascended the stairs heading to the bedroom. Before disappearing into the room, I turned to DF and said "I don't know if you understand just how hard this was for me to do. I tolerated as much as I could before staking this step. Why did you have to make this so heart-breaking for both of us?". DF glared at me and said "How dare you? You'll pay for this!"as he scurried into the next bedroom and locked the door.

Rooms for rent

gony would best describe the following weeks. In one instant a seemingly loving marriage deteriorated into a stretch of long, numbing days; a reluctance to open the mail box for the inevitable folio of divorce papers he'd so kindly informed me would be arriving and even longer nights spent lying awake listening for the hum of a car motor as it turned into our driveway and approached the house.

DF, apparently, felt that his announcement meant that I now operated a boarding house, and one at no charge to patrons. The home we'd enjoyed was transformed into an over-sized receptacle for his clothes and personal possessions and of course me ~ his trophy. When he did bother to come home after a few days of absence to find the meal I had prepared sitting on the dining room table, he'd disregard it, whistle off into the guest bedroom and promptly close and LOCK the door. From behind the door I'd could hear him speak for hours on a new cell phone (compliments of his mistress) that had become a fixture to his belt or appended to his ear. On the brief occasions at home when our eyes did meet, mine would be misty and strained from holding back a burst of tear drops; his appeared only to reflect coldness and unwelcome. And if a tear should dare to emerge I'd be told in no uncertain terms, "You need to accept this. I'm divorcing you!" How could he not see that the sadness was acceptance of the end, despite my offer to work on the marriage and get beyond the affair?

We worked in the same building each day (different companies, but both operating out of the same terminus). The woman, KMC, that he'd taken to the Alps would come and drape herself over the counter, where he served, for hours at a time. They demonstrated no compunction for open display of their affection, laughter and whispers, evident not only to myself but to all of my employees. The constant flaunting and subsequent taunting of me was unbearable. I awakened the morning of my birthday to find him gone with not so much as an acknowledgment, the company he operated unattended and without coverage. Upon finding the business that way I slapped a sign on the door "Temporarily Closed due to Illness" with apologies for any inconvenience, rearranged my schedule so that I could tend to it and conduct my own work after hours. His return to my home several nights later involved the typical routine ~ ignore the meal prepared, enter the bedroom, lock the door and giggle on the phone for hours.

The strain of dealing with this and maintaining composure both at work and at home had caused me to lose a significant amount of weight. Almost 20 pounds dripped off in less than a month, I was drawn and waif-like. But this was just more fodder for the snickers and comments by DF and KMC as they cavorted in the work environment. My family grew increasingly more concerned at the affect on my health and urged me to do something about the situation. They worried that I could not keep up the pace and bury my emotions working in the public. It was the height of our tourist season and the terminus was buzzing with activity each day. Thousands of guests pass through our doors in the month of October and my position involves a lot of public exposure. In view of my weakened physical health I was forced to decline on-air appearances and had to assign others to handle some of the public promotional duties.

By the third week in October, after four weeks off the new "routine" and no divorce petition in the mail box, it was time to hang the "No vacancy" sign outside my home. And so, the very next time he failed to come home or call to say he wasn't coming home, with an aching heart and tear-stained face, I made the gut-wrenching decision that I would have to sever a limb to release myself from the clutch of the trap.

Pictures of the boys, his parents and siblings, the book he was reading, Swiss chocolate and Emmentaler cheese that we had on a weekly delivery from the local import supplier, some of his clothes and his toiletries ~ all placed carefully in corrugated boxes and taped shut. I drove to the local hardware store to purchase 2 new door sets and a deadbolt. The home has both a front door and an entrance from inside the garage, which we used on a daily basis. I stacked the containers neatly inside the garage in front of the interior door and attached an envelope containing a letter that informed him that we could not go on indefinitely living in this way and it was too much to endure for a month. I shared that I had packed up some of his immediate personal items, and would make sure the rest were delivered to him as soon as he had a new place. I closed the letter with a statement that the door would always be open to him should he wish to work on our marriage, but if not that he should find himself a new place to live and had tucked a check inside the envelope that would amply cover either a hotel room for a couple of weeks or the rental of an apartment for the next six months. I then changed the locks and lay awake listening for the quiet hum of a car motor as it turned into our driveway and approached the house...


"The intense pain inflicted on animals by traps sometimes causes them to chew off their own limbs in an attempt to escape the trap's clutches. If they do manage to free themselves, animals die of blood loss. The less fortunate ones will languish for days or even weeks subjected to thirst, hunger, exposure to extreme temperatures and attacks by predators."

First enshrouded, then devoured

imply put, if the reader follows posts to this blog in sequence from the very first post located in the archives forward to the most recent post, two separate events that would follow the course of methodical capture, lethal injection and then consumption typical of any unwitting creature caught in a tangled web, will be chronicled.

DF would only serve to begin the process. Someone that happened upon the scene later would complete the task. The viscid nature of the silken thread that comprised the shroud wrapped around me prevented my escape. The more fervent my attempts to wriggle free, the more vibrations rippled across the web. A sure-fire signal to any inhabitant that I was ensnared and vulnerable.

"Truths and roses have thorns about them"

A gorgeous blue sky and a crispness in the air was a welcome sign of autumn. A time of the year DF and I both enjoyed immensely. He was gathering leaves in our garden, while I was tending to the laundry ~ a normal late Sunday afternoon routine. When sorting the clothes to place in the washing machine, I came across a receipt in the pocket of a pair of his jeans. The purchase was for 7 roses from a local florist and placed on his Swiss bank MasterCard, the receipt bore the sentiment to be placed on an accompanying card and a woman's name, KMC, and a delivery address in the next town. "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday" it read.

My heart sunk and I reflected on the 7 days he'd gone missing in Europe, the cool reception I'd received at the airport when he returned and remembered the luggage handling tags that I'd removed from the suitcases and placed in a file folder in our home office. This had been a habit since we'd been accustomed to saving records of our trips back and forth over the years for immigration purposes. I dashed upstairs to retrieve the folder, indeed, my suspicions were confirmed. The baggage handling tag was encrypted with the same last name. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest while tears welled up and trickled down my face.

I summoned up all of my calmer emotions before he came back into the house to get ready for dinner. After dinner was over we lit a fire in the library and settled down to watch a movie. Calmly, I removed the crumpled yellow paper from my pocket and passed it to him and simply asked, "What is this?". What ensued was a retort from DF that was quite unexpected. "It's not what you think, but I want a divorce! We need to talk". Still quite numb from the discovery, I said that I wanted to go for a walk, alone, but he stood in front of the door and wouldn't let me leave. I wanted to escape and gather my thoughts. We were, after all, newlywed, having been married for just 25 months. I swallowed hard and managed to utter the words, "That's not necessary. We need to work on this" and darted for the bedroom before my face was drenched by the gush of tears.

Death by injection

iologically speaking, that is. Not lethal injection such as is used to execute criminals. Rather, I'm referring to a spider's dining style.

Spiders bite their prey with falcers or fangs to either inflict mechanical damage or to inject enzymes to begin the digestion process. Many genera inject neurotoxins that interfere with the vital body functions of the victim. Others inject a venom that causes localised tissue damage, and some species even use necrotic toxins that cause the complete degradation of cell membranes.

A spider's digestion process occurs both externally and internally as they consume pre-digested food matter and only in liquid form. After the lethal injection, they suck the partially-digested fluids or liquified matter from the prey. Some spiders store prey temporarily within a shroud of silk, designed to stifle the death cries and limit the struggles of the envenomed prey. The spider will then consume at its leisure.

Unravelling

fternoon departure time permitted DF and I chance to enjoy a latté at our shop before making the short two-mile drive to the airport. As always his suitcases were brimming with new clothing for the boys, and gifts that we'd accumulated for them throughout the year in anticipation of his twice annual visit. The airport was observing high security so we said our farewell before the security check point. After a clutching embrace I watched him disappear behind the checkpoint and whistle off towards the gate. I hadn't paid attention to the fact that something was a little different this time. This was to be a typical three week vacation for him and a hectic time for me with the tourist season in full swing. His call from Europe came in the next day, early in the morning, announcing that he'd arrived safely. We exchanged a few words and he announced that he would reactivate the cell phone he kept in his parents village the next day. That was our usual means of contact while he was away.

I was burning the midnight oil in the office, catching up on reports that had been piling up on my desk the next time we spoke. His voice trembled as he uttered the words, "She won't let me see the kids!". "Why?" I asked. "Money. My ex-wife says we didn't sent the correct amount last month" he replied. Shocked to hear this I opened my banking account information on the computer at my desk and poured through the entries. "How much is the shortfall?" I asked. "Nothing seems amiss to me, but let me check it out with the bank manager and I'll ring you back". He replied that there was a difference of about $400 US. I offered to call the wire transfer office right away and make sure it was dispatched that afternoon, but was met with some resistance by DF. "No, don't do that. This is just a ruse of hers to get more money from us. Don't send anything, I'll take care of it with an attorney first thing in the morning. She's not going to manipulate me like this". It seemed ridiculous to me to be arguing over such a small amount when the boys had been so anxious for his visit, but I was assured that before the end of the 21 day visit, one way or another he'd get to be with the children.

Towards the end of the second week, still no success even with his attorney's intervention, or so I was told. DF, with a trembling voice, announced that if nothing improved in order to deal with the disappointment he was thinking of going hiking in the Alps for the last 7 days of his stay. Providing little more information than that he needed to dispense with the stress by some physical exercise he promised that he'd call before getting on his return flight. I heard nothing more from him and when on the morning of his return no call had arrived I began to worry. He was one to do things to excess, always pushing the bar and testing the limits.

On a visit to the Alps together three years earlier in 1999, he'd insisted on walking to the edge of a precipice like a sure-footed mountain goat, and my heart had been in my mouth until he made it back to the look-out pavilion, where I had remained.

Later that afternoon, after not being successful in reaching DF on the cell phone, I called the airport in Switzerland to enquire if any flights had been delayed, but all had departed on time. By nightfall I was pacing the living room wondering what to do. It was not like him to not call for 8 days. Thinking that "no news is usually good news" I tried to relax, but by 9:00pm that day it was getting progressively more difficult. What could have gone wrong?

Within less than half an hour the phone rang and upon hearing his voice I let out a sigh of relief and shared that I was so glad to hear from him and that he was alright. He became a little irritated, short, and instructed me to meet him at the local airport in one hour and promptly ended the call. I think the relief that rolled over me like a warm blanket caused me to dismiss his curt exchange on the phone and I prepared something for him to eat and headed off the meet him. The last arrival at the local airport was a 50-minute flight connecting from the nearest International airport and landed at 10:15pm. I negotiated the airport ring road, pulling in front of the arrivals door in order to look for a parking place nearby. To my shock at 10:00pm a good 15 minutes before ETA he was already stepping off the curb with two suitcases in tow. I quickly stopped the car, flung the door open and dashed towards him with arms open, but as I went to kiss him he turned and dropped his head, broke free from my embrace and began to load the luggage into the back of the car. Grrr. Jet lag! After a good night's sleep, he'll be more rested. There's always tomorrow when we'll have a chance to catch up on all the affection.

Bliss or watchful waiting?

nce the wedding was over, DF and I settled into comfortable, blissful married life with all the trappings. DF moved into the spacious home I had purchased a year or so before we married and was eager to recommend that we undertake renovations beyond those I had done, single-handedly, while he still lived overseas.

He would not be able to work until employment authorisation was approved, and therefore spent a lot of time putting around town while I worked, or frequenting the gym to work out. In anticipation of the receipt of USCIS' endorsement to work, I set out to open another small business that he would later operate, while at the same time attending to my own career and all of its day-to-day demands. Although I had two businesses that needed a lot of TLC, a garden in a constant state of evolution and the day-to-day requirements of keeping a home, I managed to juggle the schedule and still spend quality and demonstrably affectionate times with my new husband. It was during this period that discussions of having a child took quite a different tack.

Prior to marrying, we had always planned on having a child; had spoken of it often and would have begun a family a few years earlier had it not been for the delay in becoming naturalised. Now that we were settled into a comfortable life together, DF became resolute that there would be no additions to the family. After all, he had two boys of his own and did not wish to encumber our lives with an infant. I was disappointed that the matter was not for open discussion, and when he remarked that we had his two boys, who would be joining us to live in the US in a matter of a couple of years when they were a little older, I accepted the situation and agreed that indeed we could and would focus on providing a loving family for them and I contently placed my disappointment aside.

When DF's Employment Authorisation Document arrived in April 2001, he began to operate the small business I'd opened and developed and after successfully passing the Adjustment of Status stage in the immigration process and gaining travelling permission, he began a schedule of visits to Europe in late summer and at the end of the year at Christmastime when my company schedule could not permit me extended absences from the area. With two business under my helm, it was near impossible for both of us to leave for any substantial period of time. Nonetheless, he'd travel out for a month and I'd hop over to join him for ten days, whenever possible, and return to oversee his position until he returned. I offered, gladly, to do this since I felt it important that he have ample time to spend with his children. I embraced the opportunity to prepare for a comfortable life for us in the USA and the visits to his home country were blissful times.






All seemed to be quite normal on the surface, except for his occasional display of frustration that the immigration process was lengthy and that he missed his children. I could empathise how difficult it could be to have moved so far away, and so I encouraged him to arrange for the boys to come over and spend the next summer with us here in the USA.

Now let's fast-foward to the following summer and the week of our second wedding anniversary.

Along came a spider...

Now the framework is in place, it's time to flesh this out with all of the facts.

"Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey,
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away"

Well, yes, in the nursery rhyme that's true, but not in these two, yes that's correct, two incidents.

Let's start from the beginning and rewind the tape a bit. Certainly a number of years, anyway. (I'll make this an abbreviated version ~ after all, the past 3 years are when all the crucial events took place). As a little background, a number of years ago, having been involved in the professional sports industry, I was taking a couple of weeks vacation when a colleague shared with me that he had a rather sizable recall upcoming in the American subsidiary of a large and well known Swiss company. This project involved a quick turn-around and he was calling all available hands to the deck. Having a little free time on mine, I volunteered to help out. A contingent of specialists from Die Schweiz (Switzerland) arrived to orchestrate and direct the project.

Enter Arachnid #1 ~ I'll call him DF.
Having a keen interest in languages (I majored in East Asian languages at University) the lunchtime banter between these Swiss nationals was intriguing for me. I spoke no German, but quickly secured a Wörterbuch to practise some phrases so that I could participate. The first phase of the project took the better part of a month, and DF and I struck up quite a friendship, spending non-working hours touring the sights and getting to know each other. Vacation over, I returned to my sports marketing projects as usual, DF boarded a plane to Europe with a hope to be asked to return later that year for phase two of the project. Letters were exchanged over the ensuing months. Later on that year, as hoped, DF learned that he would indeed be selected to return to the USA in order to provide training expertise for the next roll out. A plan to spend a significant amount of time together was spelled out in our letters and when he returned we did just that. A relationship blossomed.

All good things come to an end. A project completed and successful, yes, but that signalled his need to return to his home in Europe, and to his two children. Communications continued regularly and options for the future were discussed. Having become somewhat proficient in German I offered to move to Europe, but he preferred that we begin our life together in the USA. Having lived in the USA for a number of decades, as a legal permanent resident, I was already eligible to apply for naturalisation, and once a US citizen I would have the privilege to petition the USCIS for a fiancé visa for him.


Fast forward two years. Yes that's right, our love affair would be conducted with a 4,600 mile separation for a period of almost 24 months. Since I had relocated to another state to accept a position running a company in an entirely different industry that placed another 3 month delay on my application for naturalisation. Add to that a backlog at USCIS in processing applications that forestalled its approval until early 2000. During this time, DF was becoming increasingly more anxious and expressed his distress over the protracted petitioning process. A few jaunts by each of us back and forth over the Atlantic kept the relationship on track and before we knew it the homestretch loomed before us. The fiancé visa was finally approved in May 2000 and regulations required a marriage to take place within 90 days of DF's arrival.

A typical British Garden Party wedding was planned. A total of 100 guests from two continents invited, it was to be a lovely affair in the beautifully cultivated gardens of my parents home.


A day before the wedding, the skies emptied what amounted to 4 inches of rain on the region and preparations were hastened to get all in order. The day of our wedding it was still terribly overcast until an hour before the ceremony was to begin. Then, the sun broke through the grey skies just long enough for all of the festivities to get underway.



Escorted by my father we made our way to the area reserved for the ceremony where DF was waiting. "Salva me" by Libera was playing when we exchanged our vows in both English and German (in retrospect, I wonder for what purpose, as only 3 guests attended out of the 40 that were invited from Switzerland) under the arches of the laburnum arbor, when the heavens began, once again, to rumble and roar drowning out the music selection and serving as a most threatening background noise for the celebrations. Not a moment after the ceremony was completed and a couple of photographs taken the heavens let loose a deluge that would send everyone scrambling and scarpering for cover under the marquee.


Mother Nature's violent reaction to this union would prove to be an eery foretelling of the future, as I would come to learn in short order.

Bridgeline spin out ~ Weaving in 3D!

irst, the integral element of the web, the bridge line, is cast ~ the foundation for the entire lace patterned snare. Bear in mind that this filament must be well reinforced so that it can support the intricate and entwined yarn that will become the spider’s capture tool.

The marked feature of the bridge line and the rest of the entire web is its 3D construction. Yes, 3 D. The first "D" being, no, not divorce, but “duplicity”.

By definition,
Duplicity du·plic·i·ty (dū-plĭs'ĭ-tē, dyū-)n., pl. -ties.
1. Deliberate deceptiveness in behavior or speech.
2. The quality or state of being twofold or double.
3. Acting in bad faith; deception by pretending to entertain one set of intentions while acting under the influence of another


The state of being duplicitous, certainly in a close relationship, such as a marriage, or with a friendship involves the second “D” -
Deceit de·ceit (dĭ-sēt')n.
1. The act or practice of deceiving; deception.
2. A stratagem, ruse, or trick.
3. A misrepresentation made with the express intention of defrauding someone, which subsequently causes injury to that person. In order for a statement to be deceit, it must be untrue, made with knowledge of its falsity, or made in reckless disregard of the truth. The misrepresentation must be such that it causes harm to another individual.


None of the above can be achieved without the third element of this 3D construction.
Deliberation de·lib·er·a·tion (dĭ-lĭb'e-rā'shen)n.
1. A careful considering of a matter
2. The act or planning something carefully and intentionally
3. Careful, often cunning estimation and planning of likely outcomes, especially to advance one's own interests.

Deliberation, yes. The prime function of the web is to capture prey while conserving the predator’s energies. Much deliberation must go into web placement, design and effectiveness. Viscous filaments that have been extruded drift in the breeze and attach to a twig or branch a little distance away. Is anything in web positioning and fabrication left to chance? Not likely. In the event that natural drafts don’t carry the silk to the spider’s target, some will climb from the preferred vantage point unravelling the line making sure it does not snag on anything, then climb up another suitable structure to anchor the bridge line at a suitable spot.

I know you're irritated...

...and wondering what my story has to do with biology, webs, spiders, and even Sir Walter Scott! A spider’s web is its diabolical trap and it is constructed one thread at a time, and so will this story.

Spider webs can take a variety of forms, but the most common type is the orb web. An orb web has a series of spokes that lead outward from a common hub. These spokes are then inter-connected by spirals of tacky silk filament that are more flexible than and with an equivalent tensile strength of steel. In point of fact, the properties of spider silk are often compared to those of Kevlar.

Back to the design. The complex structure of orb webs varies from one species to another and biologists have even theorised that the specific pattern woven is designed in relationship to the prey the spider intends to capture. The construction follows a genetically predisposed and fixed routine utilising instincts that could be 180 million years old, and adjusting the blueprint to ground reality. The first line to be cast is the keystone ~ the upper bridge line from which the whole web will be suspended. The spider crawls up to a suitable position and unravels a thread of silk that drifts with the breeze and once adhered to a twig or branch the "bridge line" is formed. This line is then reinforced to give it sufficient strength to support the construction phase. From the bridge line, the spider then spins loop lines that are later dangled and anchored. Tightening the anchored thread completes the basic Y shaped frame that comprises the primary radii of the web.

Amazingly, the process of building an entire web takes less than an hour for an agile spider, but since I’m not a spider, it might take me some time to construct. Bear with me. Each strand must be cast carefully and methodically to support the entire design.

So where are we?

Well, we’re about to cast the bridge line.....

The thread

“But I wish to be purple. That small part which is bright, and makes all the rest appear graceful and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make myself like the many? And if I do, then how shall I still be purple?” ~ Epictetus c.55 - c.135

The spin

"Oh what a tangled we we weave, when first we practise to deceive" is from Sir Walter Scott's epic poem, Marmion and being one of Europe's most famous literary figures, Scott was an integral part of my early schooling in Great Britain. Apropos is that Scott published anonymously and even after widespread success, he enjoyed prolonging the mystery and quickly acquired the nicknames "The Great Unknown" and "The Wizard Of The North".

Marmion tells of the designs of Lord Marmion to lure and woo a wealthy heiress, Clara de Clare, who was betrothed to Sir Ralph De Wilton. The scheme involved an attempt to discredit De Wilton and was orchestrated by Marmion and a nun, Constance, who secretly had designs that her assistance would win back Lord Marmion's affections as well. The whole scheme goes horribly awry. Constance's hopes of reconciliation are dashed; she is sent to the convent of St. Hilda at Lindisfarne for breaking her vows and takes her revenge by proving De Wilton's innocence. In the end, Lord Marmion is killed at the battle of Flodden Field; De Wilton fights with distinction, regains his honour and ends up marrying Clara.
An intriguing story line, but not the reason for the selection. No, I was thinking along a more biological plane for this journal.

The proteinaceous, silky filament that forms an intricate and tacky structure upon which a spider's prey becomes entangled is both an effective method of hunting and a marvel in design. The "silk filament" is secreted from glands on the spider's abdomen called spinnerets. Various glands produce filament with slightly different properties. Although many filaments that comprise the web are highly sticky, the spider designs the structure alternating glands to provide occasional lines leading into and around the hub that are not sticky.

The spider lays in wait while the tacky filament, sparing the spider much energy to hunt it down, ensnares prey. What' success!

But if the web is so highly effective, why doesn't the spider, himself, become ensnared? Familiar with the design of carefully placed signal lines and sufficiently agile, the spider simply waits for the prey to alight. Once ensnared, the prey struggles to get free sending vibrations across the structure which signals the spider to navigate its way across the web along the signal lines to champion in the hunt.

Presto! Careful design, planning, and watchful waiting on the part of the spider prove not only to be a superbly efficient means to hunt, but also an untimely demise for unwitting prey.
This is a story of such a web, those that preyed there, and me...............

Be gentle

e gentle with each other; reach out in kindness; cherish friendship and offer genuine compassion to those you encounter, for without that the path ahead can be near impossible to navigate, alone.

This journal is principally for my family. In an effort to be gentle with them and spare them any more pain witnessing my despair, I didn't report details of recent events that changed my life. They deserve to know, at some time, how along with any hope for the future, the essence of "El" was lost .

Prey tell!

hile my ex-husband had helped himself to all he needed and left me with little to show for decades of work, but I emerged from my divorce with something worth far more than goods and chattels - I had “hope”. Hope that I would find happiness in the future. Hope that my trust, compassion, sincerity and friendship would be returned. And finally, hope that I could believe sentiments, words, promises and gestures offered to me, once more. Unfortunately, I learned, in later months, that such “hope” was elusive and tragically short lived for me.

Is this the price one pays for daring to be vulnerable or is it that I am of an endangered delicate species, living in too harsh a world? These questions have plagued me for the last several years. A person with a gentle, trusting nature should not need to wear armour to feel safe. Should a dove be required to don a turtle shell, in order to survive? How could it take flight with such an encumbrance? How could anyone witness the pure beauty of its delicate frame, if it were to be masked by such a shield? Is not “twice burned, forever shy” the same as a bird grounded by armor? What is the consequence?

Once a woman, whose entrance to a room would inexplicably command the attention of all who were present, today one who retreats from public arenas and keeps entirely to herself. A woman, whose eyes used to sparkle with fiery energy and a zest for life, today reflect a deep reserve. Once with so much to contribute, now one whose words are shared with none. Once passionately engaging, today, detached stillness.

I've seen many examples of insensitivity in the past year. Such behaviour has a profound impact - even on people who are intelligent, assured and capable. Courageous and strong-willed, I wore a brave face. But behind that is a most generous and sensitive core. Some might consider this a weakness, a shortcoming, or even worse. I prefer to consider it my "gift". Perhaps such a gift renders me more vulnerable than most and some might declare, “Of what importance is one person lost in a world of billions?”. So true indeed. I am but one inconsequential person.

This story is offered to remind you to exercise due care with each other, in order to prevent another casualty, like me.

Les oiseaux d'une meme couleur

I landed here to seek refuge.
A delicate bird, stunned and injured
from so much deception in its past.
The family nest had been abandoned.
I found myself vulnerable and alone.

A friend perched on the nest beside me
and pledged never to leave.
Hope was renewed.
Though I knew there was a chance
I might never soar again,
I found comfort in gaining a good friend,

in spite of all that had been lost.

Knowing words shared with me in the past
had turned out to be empty and untrue,
it took a giant leap of faith
to place my safety in another’s hands
But as my friend so oft assured…
“Spread your wings and take flight,
I’ll always be here to catch you, lest you fall.”

So, trust I did, as I sprung from the nest,
But my wings were crushed by the ground below
Alas, my friend had taken flight.

Oh, my trusted friend,
I need to know that you really did care,
and this was just a tragic accident.
For without, I fear I shall never take wing again.

Les oiseaux d'une même couleur?

Birds of a feather?

Isolating Incidents

lacing the memories in the past, where they belong, makes room for new and happier ones, or so it is hoped. Perhaps the ILW site was not the appropriate place to seek comfort from my dilemma, but I wanted to meet new people and gain some support at a very bleak time in my life. No doubt those I did encounter have left an indelible imprint on my heart. You will remain very important to me in the future and I hope, as I move forward, you will choose to join me.

Betrayal is nothing new in this world. Unfortunately, it happens all too often and to too many. In an effort to make certain that I could emerge from this situation as vital and unscarred, absent of malice or any other negative emotions, I chose to consider the events surrounding my short marriage as just one isolated incident ~ with a future of better and happier incidents ahead. I also hoped to embrace the future with continued trust and believe in people going forward, as I had always done so in the past. I worked fastidiously on that, making certain that this bitter experience not spill over onto anyone I encounter. This approach would later prove to seal my fate.

Ending a marriage is difficult; annulment, given my spouse had a hidden agenda can bring rather unpleasant circumstances. Probably the most difficult step in the process was to accept the reality that, despite his words and actions to the contrary, I was considered simply a “tool” by my ex-husband.

Ahead lies a journey of self re-discovery and the shedding of the label “inanimate” assigned to me by someone I had trusted and married. A am the victim; the prey. But I wish to be remembered as a deeply passionate, vivacious, caring and forgiving person.

Behind the avatar

dear friend once told me that it is sometimes easy to forget there is “a person behind the "avatar”. When flippant and carefree remarks are made, we might be unaware of how they might impact the reader. How true that is. Though the figurative wall might be either a mask or a shield for some, in my case it was neither. Hopefully, this gesture of openness will prove that I am sincere and may motivate others to believe and have faith that there is goodness in all of us.

When I joined an immigration message board in July 2003, some of the questions I asked caused others to wonder why I was there, whether I was the aggrieved USC spouse of an alien immigrant, or the immigrant, masquerading as the USC wife. Efforts to assure others of my sincerity were to no avail, and so, I promised that when the time came to leave the board, I would tell my whole story and thereby show those who doubted me from the start, that I am, who I claim; my beliefs pure and my story accurate and real.

At the time I joined ILW I had a critical concern and was not at liberty to share every detail, as specifics were confidential, in light of imminent legal process. I found myself completely alone with no one and nowhere to turn for advice. I thought that place could be an outlet for me to find, not only important immigration related information, but solace and perhaps friendship. Whether it is just the nature of the forum, or indeed general mistrust, while there I witnessed outrageous criticism from some members ~ much targeted at me. These comments ran the gamut from accusations of being a spiteful, vindictive spouse, to being psychologically impaired, incapable of moderation and the cause of the breakdown of my marriage. Despite attempts to defend such aggressive and unjust postures, the criticisms continued.

Let it be known that, having been a victim of nearly a decade of deceit from my ex-husband, and all of the pain I have endured as a result, I could not be dishonest or deceitful with anyone.

It's no coincidence that I should choose to begin this blog on February 12th. A date that bears particular significance to me and the date that one of the individuals that I'd encounter along my journey would choose to send a very pointed message to me, two years ago, that would be pivotal in a change in my outlook towards people. But all of this will become more clear as we move through the various episodes, chronologically.