Bee Stings

Yesterday morning I was watering my garden when I noticed a group of bees or wasps circling around the zinnias. The larger bumble bees have been congenial all summer long so I spoke a few gentle words to these insects and paid them no mind. As I was expecting a call, I had my cell phone in my pocket and when it rang, I forgot about the bees and the direction of my watering. As the call ended I discovered a nipping at the bottom of my neck and a small disturbance inside my hair. I flicked my hair with one hand and that's when the trouble started. This darn wasp was lost in the jungle and in his or her effort to find a way out, she went under my shirt. Now I started panicking, lifting my shirt, flipping my head down, listening to the dreaded buzzing. I felt the sting on my back and another sting at the base of my neck and then with a final show of “take that,” I felt a sting on my upper lip.

I stopped watering, went inside and applied ice, took a homeopathic remedy and felt silly about how aggravated I'd gotten. I found myself shaking as I sat down in the arms of my comforting leather chair, with a cup of tea. Try as I might to lessen the swelling, for the rest of the day I watched as my upper lip slowly became an elongated balloon. Slowly, though, I began seeing the bee stings and my reaction to them as one of those metaphoric lessons of life. I realized that whenever I have a disagreeable phone conversation, direct interaction or unpleasant experience, it's how I react that is more important than the event itself. Receiving three bee stings in my garden, I could easily see how these corresponded to my most recent life stings.

My sister called a few days ago after a silence of several months. This is typical of us, so I shouldn't make out that it is unusual. She lives in another state and in the past few years I have flown there several times. For several summers now, my sister tells me she's coming to my neck of the woods for a visit, and then cancels at the last minute due to insufficient funds. I won't go into her upper class life style, but the sting for me is she appears to honor money more than family. But my sister is who she is, and instead of getting upset every time I have a conversation with her, why not simply apply a cold pack and relax! Our mother died recently, and our being with our mother through this passage and our taking care of lose ends after she died brought us closer. I want to feel gratitude for these moments of bonding, and I want to become more accepting of what I perceive as my sister's need for a less intimate (than I would prefer) relationship. I want to share what I can about who I am, and listen when my sister tells me her story.

What I have always known is that a family will sting us many times with their judgments, self-interests or simple unconsciousness comments. I too have given my fair share of stings, so my reaction can only be to try to become the better person I know I can be.

Most of my stings come from irritating miscommunications with friends and acquaintances. Humans will say one thing and mean another and assume their personal intent is understood. I got frazzled this week by such a friend who sent an e-mail about getting together the upcoming week. I responded to a day she suggested and somehow...don't tell me how...she interpreted my response as meaning the day I chose on the week after the one she wrote about. I was sincerely baffled when she called to clarify her misunderstanding (because I had said see you tomorrow in my responding e-mail). But did I need to go ballistic after the phone call?

I suppose the most common stings come between mothers and daughters. I have deeply felt the hollowness of the empty nest phase, and am slowly getting back to my non-mothering self. What I find, though, is that I say the dumbest things when my daughter is around. I am in a sense stinging myself. I long to impress my daughter with the worthiness of her mother, and this usually backfires. I'll say what I really don't mean and know I am saying what I don't mean and watch anxiously as my daughter interprets my words, verbatim. The salve for this sting is humor, especially the ability to laugh at my awkward self. Plus, sharing my empty nest nervousness would allow her to see why her mother is such a communication weirdo.

I sit here with my upper lip looking like I had too much Botox. Damned wasps, for my daughter tells me they must be wasps because wasps are meaner. For every action in life does there have to be a reaction? Why not instead of ranting, sing? Instead of raving, laugh? Instead of irritability, dance? Stings are maddening, and the swelling lingers for far too long. Can I ignore the swelling after taking out the stinger and caring for the itch? I'll continue to try.

© 2011