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The Spider Chronicles

13
May 2010
By

My severe arachnophobia is well-known. I blame the Dr Who Planet of the Spiders episode. My research showed that this first aired in 1974, so assuming it came to Australia not long afterwards, I must have been around 3 or 4 years old when I saw it. Even looking back at the hokey 70s prop spiders gives me the heebeejeebees.

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OK – posting that for you is killing me. [pic of large spider replaced with cute kitty for your reading pleasure!]:

I’m getting a little better. As an adult, I have managed to let go of my daddy-long-legs fears. That’s a good thing, because my house is full of them. But it wasn’t until my late teens that I managed to cope with them.  Growing up with an outside loo was torture. Tarantulas and bird-eating spiders are exotic and not likely to be crawling into my bed at night, so I can cope with their existence as long as I can’t see them. The black housespiders that nest in the eaves are creepy, but keep their distance. Redbacks are nasty, but teeny tiny and easily identified. These days my real anxiety really only shows itself with two kinds of spiders. Unfortunately they are kind of rife around here.

Despite knowing that huntsman spiders are benign and safe, I can’t cope with them being in the house. Fair call too, because they are HUGE. Like the size of my hand. And they sit on the wall and ceiling with their legs all spread out. It’s unnerving. Once when my daughter was a newborn, I noticed one above the doorway to our bedroom. Thank goodness I had moved the bassinet into the sunroom before I saw it, because I honestly cannot say if I would have been able to walk under the spider to go to her. And if I had, I doubt I would have been able to walk back out. I checked on it for hours to make sure it didn’t disappear, because if there is one thing worse than a spider you can see, it’s a spider you can’t see but you know is there.

My arch-nemesis is of course the funnel-web spider. A much more sensible fear, because of the whole Most Fucking Venomous Spider in the World thing. They are in my nightmares. Just thinking about them makes my hands shake. Until three years ago, I had little exposure to them, despite always living in their territory. And then we moved here – to this nice house backing on to a tad of bushland, with a pool. How many “funney buggers” have I seen since? We are in double digits! Never near the house, always in the pool after heavy rain. I understand they can survive underwater for days, and when you pull them out they might look dead, but they can come back to life. Here is one we pulled out back when we first moved in Again replaced by same cute kitty all growed up:

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Now they are so commonplace we don’t bother taking pics. Gah.

But my favourite (and by favourite, I mean most nightmarish) spider story is this:

One day when I was a new young mum, I was doing a load of laundry. I was whistling as I worked, because there is nothing more cheery than washing a pile of wee baby onesies on a sunny Spring day. As I loaded up the washing machine, I noticed a teeny tiny spider just inside the rim. About the size of my little fingernail. A ‘pidey. So I squashed it with my thumb and closed the lid of the machine. Strange. There it was again. A teeny tiny ‘pidey on the lid. So I squashed it again. With my thumb. Not before noticing that it looked like a miniature cute widdle huntsman.

And then I looked up…

The ceiling of the laundry was covered in hundreds of teeny tiny huntsmen. Crawling with them. And one big mothership huntsman in the corner, glowering at me. It was like the end of Charlotte’s Web, when her egg sac hatches and the air is full of tiny spiders. If Charlotte’s Web were written by Stephen King.  I shut the door and walked away. I may have curled up and sobbed for a while, I can’t recall. Then I did what any right-minded, environmentally aware person would do – I had my husband napalm all up in that joint until  the little bastards were dead, dead, dead.

So now you know what’s in my Room101. What’s your worst phobia?

Category: Domestic Thinks  2 Comments  Tags: , ,

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

12
May 2010
By

mercedes_slkSo, I don’t drive.

I can hear you gasping from here. It’s the response I usually get when people discover this fact about me. Followed by “You don’t drive?!” , possibly in case I had said I don’t jive. Which I don’t really either, but you know, not so gasp-worthy.

Since I’ve been not-driving for 38 years, I am used to facing this incredulity, although it has really only hotted up over the last fifteen years or so. People were less concerned when I was in nappies.  I understand that I am a licenseless anomaly in a world of cars, and that to some people this is incomprehensible. When people wonder how I get around, I usually reply honestly about using local facilities and public transport, saving car-necessary travel for weekends and evenings when my husband is home. I occasionally get a little annoyed by obvious scorn, but I’m a fairly affable lass, so I try not to bite back. Sometimes, just for kicks, I channel my inner-Blanche Dubois and breathily coo “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers” and bat my eyelids and try to draw attention to my bosom. This usually ceases the line of questioning, and indeed the conversation altogether most of the time.

Some curious folks want to know my reason for not driving. Truth be told, there isn’t really a reason. Not a single one anyway. The reason for not learning when I was 17 was different to the reason for not learning when I was 23 which is again different to why I still don’t drive now.  It is more complex than just lack of interest, although that has become a major factor, but there is no deep, dark underlying story behind it either. I just don’t.

One thing I have found is that not driving has its benefits. My life is slower than most. My children’s lives by extension are also slower. They have never had to spend afternoons ferrying between activities or appointments, because I try to keep as much as possible in our local area. In doing so, I have felt a real connection with our neighbourhood and our suburb. Our local school, local sports clubs and local small shopping centre have provided us with a community that we really feel a part of.

My children walk more than they would if I drove. They walk to sport and music lessons and school. Sometimes with me, often without. They have been able to learn independence. And road sense. And an awareness of nature. And again, a sense of community.They have never had to miss out on a social opportunity due to my lack of a drivers license. Their friends’ parents are always willing to offer a lift to parties and days out, and I return the favour by being available for last-minute before and after-school care when they need it.

People often dwell on the worst case scenarios of not driving. I have a plan of course. My husband is rarely more than a phone call away. I have good friends and neighbours who would help me out if an occasion should arise.  Taxis are available in emergencies. Ambulances in real emergencies.

I’m not a rabid anti-car warrior. Top Gear is one of my favourite shows. I salivate over the Mercedes SLK in the picture above. I love watching the Grand Prix. I admit that often things would be easier if I had a license. But things aren’t as hard as you might think when you can’t drive.

Why don’t you try it one week? Look at all the things you do in your car, and work out which could still be accomplished without it. Put the kids (even the little ones) on the school bus or make them walk to school. Budget for only one big supermarket trip in a week. Use only one car, if you usually use two. Not everything will be feasible, because obviously not everybody has set their life up the way I have. But we can all slow down a little sometimes, because in the words of the great philosopher Ferris Bueller:  “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Category: Deep Thinks  9 Comments  Tags: ,