It’s mid-August but I am becoming more and more convinced that Autumn is setting in early. Berries and other fruits seem to be ripening around here much earlier than I remember from other years. Of course, it just might be that my memory is playing tricks on me. But then, last night as I was about to go to bed I spotted a huge spider on the bedroom wall, one of those large-bodied, thick-legged spiders! They usually start to come indoors in the autumn in my experience.
Now, I am quite an expert at catching spiders - pop a glass over the spider, slide a card under the glass, up-end it and then throw the spider outside as afar from the house as possible so that he/she doesn’t come straight back in. But first I needed to find a glass of suitable size and then I needed help as he/she was just a little too high up the wall for me to comfortably execute the capture. I didn’t want the creature escaping. I’m not afraid of spiders but there was still something slightly unnerving about the prospect of one that size roaming around the bedroom while we slept. So Phil and I did a bit of teamwork and deposited the monster in the garden.
As I said, I am not afraid of spiders. I have worked hard at not passing on to my children my formerly quite abject terror at things that flap - moths, birds, bats, less so butterflies whose wing-flapping is somehow less flappy. I still avoid butterfly houses and bat houses when we go to the zoo though. I seem to have been quite successful at not inculcating that fear into my offspring but something has gone wrong with the spider stuff.
My daughter and her three daughters seem to be scared stiff of them, my daughter less so over the years. Somehow having a fit of the screaming habdabs at the sight of a spider when you are in your forties is a little undignified. I can understand the six year old having a bit of a panic, although less than she does at the mere possibility of a wasp coming near her, perhaps exacerbated by her father recently shutting in the car with one, accidentally I hasten to add. Granddaughter Number One, however, is now 26 and should have got over the worst of her fear but still relies on her housemate to not only remove but exterminate any arachnids in their house. She just exits the room once she spots a spider and won’t return until assured it has been dealt with.
In this article, columnist Zoe Williams writes about passing on her fear of rodents to her offspring. Having long ago lived in a mouse-infested flat in Leeds as a student I can understand a dislike for rodents. Nasty, dirty creatures in my opinion! In my student flat I had to keep all food in mouse-proof containers but I moved out when I woke one morning to find one sitting on my pillow!! There are limits, after all! Now, Zoe Williams ends her article with this statement: “The problem with rats is that you can only smell them once they’re dead. It would be much more useful, from an avoidance perspective, to be able to smell them when they’re alive.”
I tend to disagree. Granddaughter Number One has pet rats. (Yes, the young woman reduced to a shivering jelly by a small spider thinks her rats are delightful and happily lets them crawl up her arm.) i can vouch for the fact that the rats do smell!
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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