This has nothing to do with the baby, of course--unless we should find him bound unconscious in his crib one morning--but it's so creepy I couldn't resist. Tolkien describes Shelob as "the last child of Ungolient to trouble the unhappy world." It appears as though one more of her brood has escaped the Third Age of Middle-Earth and spun her foul nets across our driveway. Where's did one leave one's elven blade?
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Alas, Gil-Galad and Elendil were nowhere to be found. Yet we were saved in the end when one of the eagles of Manwe (old Thoronodor himself, maybe) swept down upon the foe from his perch in . . . well . . . our neighbor's pine tree. No spider from Minnesota has attained to such girth. But what do you expect when you settle in Nan-Dungortheb? (Say, for a pacifist you sure have a firm grip on your epic weaponry!)
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