The Bark Scorpion
The Bark Scorpion
"STOP! Don't TOUCH THAT!"
I halted my perfect forward bend just shy of sinking my palm flat to the floor with my knees absolutely straight. What the heck? After years of disciplined practice, my form was finally flawless. Feeling like I'd landed my thirty-something self into a class for svelte and nubile teenagers, I was defensive. Why was she stopping me now?
"Those things can kill you."
Forward bends? Really? I bit my tongue to stop myself from protesting, "I'm not THAT old."
I straightened and locked my arms across my chest, annoyed. The petite, blonde instructor wearing a lowcut leopard print halter top and leggings (how unyogic was THAT?) abruptly nudged me aside with her hip and pointed to the floor.
The upturned tail of a beige bark scorpion tantalized the air right where my palm would have landed.
"That's the most poisonous scorpion in the world. Their sting causes excruciating pain, convulsions, sometimes even death. You were literally within an inch of it." She regarded me with horror.
"I…um…thank you. I had no idea. My eyes were closed and I was concentrating."
"Great forward bend, by the way. I just don't want my students to be carried out of here on a stretcher. Now, what to do with this guy so no one gets stung?"
A student near me tossed his towel over the scorpion. "They like dark, cool places. REALLY weird he found his way into the university gymnasium. But with all these wrestling mats in here, he probably has been hiding for a while." He pulled out his phone and punched in numbers. "I'm a Teaching Assistant in the Biology Lab. They'll be excited to have him."
A short chat, then he told us, "They're thrilled and will be over in a little while to get him."
The instructor sighed. "Sorry, folks. I think it's safest if we end early today so we don't risk anyone getting stung, and let the Bio folks search the gym for any of this guy's pals."
A collective groan. We all hated to miss our end-of-class "nap."
"I know, I know. Just can't take the chance." She gazed at me, still wide-eyed. "That was WAY too close for comfort." I nodded, pensive. She turned away, then looked back. "You know, not to sound woowoo or anything. But sometimes Nature communicates with us in unexpected ways. Maybe to get our attention. Like perhaps a warning of danger?"
I felt begrudging gratitude for this leopard-clad blonde sprite of a yogini. She clearly saved me from a horrible experience and may have even saved my life. But I didn't feel like opening up a more personal conversation. After all, what could she, an undergraduate college student, possibly understand about my grownup world as a flight attendant traveling the West Coast, Canada and Mexico?
#
I missed the yoga class the following week because my family met at my brother's Lake Tahoe home to celebrate Mom's birthday. Dad, of course, wasn't there. His harpie of a wife could not be trusted to remain cordial for an entire afternoon and none of us wanted to subject Mom to her snarkie comments.
We had a lovely afternoon and evening, playing ping-pong, barbecuing salmon, and watching "Singin' in the Rain," her favorite vintage movie. Mom and my other two brothers returned to their Reno homes.
I was staying the night and flying home the next day. As I undressed and started running a hot bath, I glanced down and froze. On the floor of the bathtub where I was preparing to plant my bare behind was the upturned tail of a beige bark scorpion, waving in the air as if to say, "Go on and sit here. I dare ya'."
At first I couldn't believe it. But it was real enough. The first scorpion was a fluke explained by the creature's search for a cool retreat from the boiling heat of Phoenix. But a second one? Here in my brother's Reno bathtub?
I got dressed and called for my brother, who dispatched the scorpion with a large shoe, tout suite. But I was too shaken to bathe and settled for a quick shower. Before climbing into bed, I carefully searched the sheets, the curtains, and the entire room. I hardly slept, imaging things crawling over my skin every time I started to nod off.
#
I resumed a busy schedule as a Phoenix flight attendant, and soon forgot all about the close calls with the bark scorpions. Life seemed to be flowing along pretty well. I'd met a new guy who worked hard during the day running a moving business, and loved to take me out disco dancing. Phoenix was a hotbed of dazzling night life in those days and he made me feel young and beautiful. Sometimes we entered dance contests spontaneously and won, because he was such a great dancer.
And considerate. Kind. Thoughtful. I felt like I hit the jackpot when he asked me to marry him. Nothing fancy since we'd both been married before. Just a simple ceremony with family members and an all-faith minister.
The first time he hit me was a balmy Phoenix evening with the laughter of neighborhood children playing, lawnmowers burring and sprinklers ticking away, He was upset because I'd lost a pair of sunglasses. My reaction was sheer and utter shock. Never in all my life had anyone punched me. And never. NEVER! Had I ever been assaulted in my own home.
I looked up from the floor where I'd fallen, rubbing my jaw and too astounded to know what to do next. I needn't have worried. He simply walked out, did not return until the next morning, acting as though nothing had happened. I was something I never expected to be in a relationship: Scared. Too scared to ask him what the Hell was that? Too scared to get angry and attack him in return. Cowed, I'm ashamed to admit it. I was cowed.
Over the course of the next year, his punches became beatings, and eventually turned so lethal that I had to find a way to escape him.
How I managed to find my way out of that marriage and reset my life is another story for another time. My main point for THIS story is that I learned after we married what his astrological sign was. He was a SCORPIO.
Yeah, OK, I know how it sounds. I like astrology, too. I enjoy checking my horoscope and comparing the "compatibility" between signs. But I don't run my life by predictions that are supposed to apply to 1/12th of the world' population. Still, I can't deny what the yoga teacher told me, about Nature sending us warnings in unexpected ways. Looking back, I feel certain that someone did try to warn me. Not once, but twice.
Years later, I sat at a red light drumming the steering wheel while wrestling with the decision to leave the airline and get my Ph.D. in neuropsychology. I watched, fascinated, as a large flying ant landed on the windshield in front of me and one by one, shed its wings, then crawled away. I can't say it was a deciding factor, but it did make me think about those two scorpions. Now, happily retired from a successful two-decades career in neuropsychology, I can't help but smile and reflect…
I’m including this story as a "Monday Morning Mini Miracle," because miracles and messages will not always bang us on the head with a two-by-four. Sometimes they tiptoe in with no fanfare at all. The very least we can do is PAY ATTENTION.
I halted my perfect forward bend just shy of sinking my palm flat to the floor with my knees absolutely straight. What the heck? My form was flawless, the result of years of determined practice. Feeling like I'd landed my thirty-something self in a class for slim and svelte teens, I was defensive. Why was she stopping me now?
"Those things can kill you."
Forward bends? Really? I bit my tongue to stop myself from protesting, "I'm not THAT old."
I straightened and locked my arms across my chest, annoyed. The petite, blonde instructor wearing a lowcut leopard print halter top and leggings (how unyogic was THAT?) abruptly nudged me aside with her hip and pointed to the floor.
The upturned tail of a beige bark scorpion tantalized the air right where my palm would have landed.
"That's the most poisonous scorpion in the world. Their sting causes excruciating pain, convulsions, sometimes even death. You were literally within an inch of it." She regarded me with horror.
"I…um…thank you. I had no idea. My eyes were closed and I was concentrating."
"Great forward bend, by the way. I just don't want my students to be carried out of here on a stretcher. Now, what to do with this guy so no one gets stung?"
A student near me tossed his towel over the scorpion. "They like dark, cool places. REALLY weird he found his way into the university gymnasium. But with all these wrestling mats in here, he probably has been hiding for a while." He pulled out his phone and punched in numbers. "I'm a Teaching Assistant in the Biology Lab. They'll be excited to have him."
A short chat, then he told us, "They're thrilled and will be over in a little while to get him."
The instructor sighed. "Sorry, folks. I think it's safest if we end early today so we don't risk anyone getting stung, and let the Bio folks search the gym for any of this guy's pals."
A collective groan. We all hated to miss our end-of-class "nap."
"I know, I know. Just can't take the chance." She gazed at me, still wide-eyed. "That was WAY too close for comfort." I nodded, pensive. She turned away, then looked back. "You know, not to sound woowoo or anything. But sometimes Nature communicates with us in unexpected ways. Maybe to get our attention. Like perhaps a warning of danger?"
I felt begruding gratitude for this leopard-clad blonde sprite of a yogini. She clearly saved me from a horrible experience and may have even saved my life. But I didn't feel like opening up a more personal conversation. After all, what could she, an undergraduate college student, possibly understand about my grownup world as a flight attendant traveling the West Coast, Canada and Mexico?
#
I missed the yoga class the following week because my family met at my brother's Lake Tahoe home to celebrate Mom's birthday. Dad, of course, wasn't there. His harpie of a wife could not be trusted to remain cordial for an entire afternoon and none of us wanted to subject Mom to her snarkie comments.
We had a lovely afternoon and evening, playing ping-pong, barbecuing salmon, and watching "Singin' in the Rain," her favorite vintage movie. Mom and my other two brothers returned to their Reno homes.
I was staying the night and flying home the next day. As I undressed and started running a hot bath, I glanced down and froze. On the floor of the bathtub where I was preparing to plant my bare behind was the upturned tail of a beige bark scorpion, waving in the air as if to say, "Go on and sit here. I dare ya'."
At first I couldn't believe it. But it was real enough. The first scorpion was a fluke explained by the creature's search for a cool retreat from the boiling heat of Phoenix. But a second one? Here in my brother's Reno bathtub?
I got dressed and called for my brother, who dispatched the scorpion with a large shoe, tout suite. But I was too shaken to bathe and settled for a quick shower. Before climbing into bed, I carefully searched the sheets, the curtains, and the entire room. I hardly slept, imagining things crawling over my skin every time I started to nod off.
#
I resumed a busy schedule as a Phoenix flight attendant, and soon forgot all about the close calls with the bark scorpions. Life seemed to be flowing along pretty well. I'd met a new guy who worked hard during the day running a moving business, and loved to take me out disco dancing. Phoenix was a hotbed of dazzling night life in those days and he made me feel young and beautiful. Sometimes we entered dance contests spontaneously and won, because he was such a great dancer.
And considerate. Kind. Thoughtful. I felt like I hit the jackpot when he asked me to marry him. Nothing fancy since we'd both been married before. Just a simple ceremony with family members and an all-faith minister.
The first time he hit me was a balmy Phoenix evening with the laughter of neighborhood children playing, lawnmowers burring and sprinklers ticking away, He was upset because I'd lost a pair of sunglasses. My reaction was sheer and utter shock. Never in all my life had anyone punched me. And never. NEVER! Had I ever been assaulted in my own home.
I looked up from the floor where I'd fallen, rubbing my jaw and too astounded to know what to do next. I needn't have worried. He simply walked out, did not return until the next morning, acting as though nothing had happened. I was something I never expected to be in a relationship: Scared. Too scared to ask him what the Hell was that? Too scared to get angry and attack him in return. Cowed, I'm ashamed to admit it. I was cowed.
Over the course of the next year, his punches became beatings, and eventually turned so lethal that I had to find a way to escape him. Not an easy thing back then, as there were no domestic violence shelters. I didn't want to endanger friends by staying with them.
How I managed to find my way out of that marriage and reset my life is another story for another time. My main point for THIS story is that I learned after we married what his astrological sign was. He was a SCORPIO.
I know how it sounds. I like astrology, too. I enjoy checking my horoscope and comparing the "compatibility" between signs. But I don't run my life by predictions that are supposed to apply to 1/12th of the world' population. Still, I can't deny what the yoga teacher told me, about Nature sending us warnings in unexpected ways. Looking back, I feel certain that someone did try to warn me. Not once, but twice.
Much later, I was wrestling with the decision to leave the airline and go back to school for my Ph.D. in neuropsychology. Waiting at a stoplight, I watched, fascinated, as a flying ant landed on the windshield in front of me and one by one shed its wings, then crawled away. I can't say it was a deciding factor, but it did make me think about those two scorpions. Now, retired from a successful two-decades career in neuropsychology, I can't help but smile and reflect…
I’m including this story as a "Monday Morning Mini Miracle," because miracles and messages will not always bang us on the head with a two-by-four. Sometimes they tiptoe in and wait for us to do our part: PAY ATTENTION.