Listen to “Sundays” on Spreaker.

So it seems to have come down to this: pleasant evenings on our patio enjoying music and a glass, while watching two orb weaver spiders ply their evening artistry.

I convinced Carol they help keep mosquitoes under control, though I’m not sure what their diet consists of particularly. It works for Carol, “as long as they weave outdoors.”

“If a rat snake showed up, I’d know it was because we had a rodent problem, and the snake would serve as a better mousetrap. But I wouldn’t sleep nights, thinking every shadow and noise in the bedroom was him slithering about, looking for a place to sleep under my bed.”

They’re fascinating to watch. Their legs seem to work like a loom, or grandma’s fingers, knitting and pearling their gossamer patterns oblivious to their surroundings or that they’re being closely watched by mortal enemies.

But these guys are safe with us. So are the chameleons that dart playfully across the paving stones. I view them as our pest control professionals, too. There are limits. I’m no Steve Irwin. Bats, for instance, probably devour more flying insects than the chameleons and orb weavers combined. But I wouldn’t want to walk out to find a colony of them hanging upside down on our pergola, screeching out their little bat sonar.

If a rat snake showed up, I’d know it was because we had a rodent problem, and the snake would serve as a better mousetrap. But I wouldn’t sleep nights, thinking every shadow and noise in the bedroom was him slithering about, looking for a place to sleep under my bed.

We’ve made peace with the geese that take over our mobile home park during their nesting season. They can honk up quite a racket defending their territory, but my belief is that they were here first, and us seniors are the invading species.

I’m still not sure what to think of all of us – the senior citizens, I mean. They seem to be a pleasant enough group, as long as they stay out of our house, along with the spiders, chameleons, bats, snakes and geese. So far they have. As fauna, they’re not as entertaining as some of the other residents I’ve talked about, though I’m wary of what I might see when political yard signs are allowed sometime next month.

Our idea of this community as a place to rest up, recharge our batteries and do laundry in between galavanting across Europe has come to a grinding halt at present. So we’ve had to adapt and see this place as the home we didn’t plan on having until our traveling days were over. I think that’s how we’re getting through this phase. It’s a window to what our life will be like if we’re lucky enough to live that long. So far so good, though Carol is still getting used to just how long I’m able to just sit on a couch and stare contentedly into space.

As I write this, I’m having coffee with Carol under our pergola on a cool, clear, blue sky southern California Sunday. I never imagined living here, and certainly never imagined it would be with anyone else after Carolyn. Yet, here I am, and here we are. That’s why I’m pretty sure there are still a lot of surprises in store for the two of us, when all this coronavirus has passed. To say nothing of getting to know our grandchildren on a teasing basis again. I miss being Grandpa Annoying.