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Roses are different out here in Arizona. They bloom more frequently and they’re wilder somehow.

Like me, but not exactly.

I aspire to be a desert rose but I don’t know if wildness is one of my attributes. I’d say spunky and steadfast and stubborn are more like it. Not as elegant, but accurate.

Like the time, about a year ago, when I saved us from a snake in our kitchen using nothing but a wooden, slotted spoon. Actually it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but I tend not to evaluate these kinds of things in the adrenaline rush of the moment.

Long story short — we had left the back door open for several hours during the day and sometime towards nightfall we apparently had a visitor. It looked small in the semi-darkness, but when we snapped on the light we were shocked to see that its colors were black and red and yellow. I couldn’t remember if the pattern I was looking at made it a harmless king snake or a poisonous coral one.

All I knew was that my husband had a snake phobia at the time and I was afraid that he’d have a heart attack or something. So I grabbed for the kind of snake-handling stick that I’d seen used on Animal Planet. Unfortunately it turned out to be a short-handled wooden spoon. But I carefully lifted up the snake and carried it the short distance to the door. It fell off once, but I scooped it up and then flicked it outside. It slithered off at an amazing speed as I slammed the door behind it and ran for the computer to identify what kind of snake I had been screwing around with.

I still don’t know because we immediately forgot whether we had seen red bands next to black or red next to yellow. I did promise Roy that I would always contact Animal Control in the future, but secretly I was proud of myself. I had maybe saved our lives. I was a wild woman.

Maybe I will bloom more frequently out here, too. There are lots of opportunities for adventure, although I believe I will leave the snake-handling to others.

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