well...I just keep going.

She wondered what kind of spider it was. It had a brown furry body and long, thin brown legs. Or were they iridescent? After one of these brown or shimmery rainbow legs had pushed aside the shower curtain she'd had just enough time to register two things: it wasn't a black widow or a brown recluse and at least it was smaller than a pine tree unlike the nightmare she had had when she was four.


Now Marge reflected, if it wasn't one of those two spiders, it probably hadn't been poisonous. So it must have been its size and the corresponding strength of its pincers that killed her. She wondered if she'd been eaten or just pinced.


Then Marge thought about changing her name to Pince Nez.


She was extraordinarily curious about what kind of spider it was but wasn't sure what or who or how to ask. On earth she avoided googling anything about spiders because there were always horrible pictures that made her want to vomit.


No, no. She wouldn't ask. This may be Heaven but so far it didn't seem that safe of a place. Although the baker did give her a loaf of sourdough bread and directed her to the kitchen of a dairy farmer up the street who gave her some fresh churned butter and some milk.


She was wandering around now, looking into shops and offices, asking people about what they did, trying to figure out what she would try to learn how to do next. A man from an insurance office took her out to lunch but she never touched the food because she was concerned about some things.
"If this is Heaven, what do people need insurance for?" Marge asked him.
"In case something happens."
"Like what?"
"In case they get sick and can't work."
"Wait, people get sick here? Every folk song I have ever song has told me that this is the place where there is no sickness. Do people really get sick in heaven?"
"You liked to sing folk songs? Is that what you do?"
"Is there a fire department?"
"Yes."
"Is there a mortician's?"
"Don't be silly."
"Is there a wax museum?"
"I said don't be silly."
"Why can't I be silly? Is that not allowed in Heaven?"
"Well..."
"Is there public broadcasting?"
"Yes."
"Is there junk mail?"
"Yes."
"Are there dinosaurs?"
"Not in these parts. I don't know about anywhere else."
"But there could be?"
"I don't know."
"You have no idea?"
"No."
"I seem to keep finding the worst people to talk to."


silence.


"I'm sorry, that was terrible of me."


silence.


"Well, my master gardener class is about to start...uhh...thanks for lunch...sorry...really..."