Today, for the second time, my work table performed the miracle of resurrection. B brought me a giant wasp nest from a work site, (a special thing to incorporate into projects). I asked him if he was sure nothing lived within.
Yep. he said. So we went to sleep. Woke up. Went downstairs to make pancakes.
A while later, I came back upstairs to get a thing and noticed that, ‘How strange! There is a wasp on the door. I haven’t seen a wasp in weeks.’
In the next instant, my brain made the connection: wasp = wasp nest.
I looked toward my table. The nest was crawling with wasps.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek! I ran downstairs.
Downstairs, I encountered an expert wasp-bagger. The self-same man who delivered them, in fact. He said to me: ‘Impossible. They are all dead.’
Do the dead sting? I wondered.
These should-not-be-alive wasps did not sting. Us. But this was surely because there was an expert wasp-bagger/smasher on hand, (buddha forgive). ‘They are supposed to be dead.’ he said with the exquisite reason of a wasp-bagger.
‘I wonder what they think about supposed-to-be-dead.’ I thought as the nest flew out of the bag, off my third-floor porch and into the November morning.
More on the first resurrection later…