I have a déjà vue with this prompt somehow.
People are afraid of all kinds of things: spiders, the dark, or being enclosed in small spaces. Tell us about your greatest fear — rational or irrational.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us COURAGE.
The spider posed for the photo about two months ago. She was quite proud having given birth to her spider sack. She waved and said what about a photo, so I obliged. In the meanwhile mummy spider has gone to the happy spider hunting grounds and left me with her developing brood. Mr. Swiss has been given orders not to brush the sack away. It is poised near the crack between the wall and ceiling above the garden cupboard. It seems that one day I will be confronted with over one hundred motherless spiders and I will have to take the responsibility of guiding them into their brave new world. Luckily the new world is a vast expanse of landscape, so they will spread, go forth and probably again multiply. Perhaps some might make a new home in the cupboard below, but I do not mind. They will most likely eat the smaller livestock that might be creeping and crawling in the darkness of the garden cupboard: everything has a purpose.
I am not the gladiator in this world, ignoring all dangers and risking my life every day to overcome my phobias. Do I have phobias? I do not think I have time for phobias. I just let everyone else suffer, whilst I disregard any dangers and predators that may want to eat me, poison me or make my life unhappy.
Mr. Swiss takes a breath of relief every time I return from a shopping trip or excursion on my own. He is sure I will fall somewhere and break a bone or dislocate an important limb. This has all been there before. I do not really think of these things and carry on regardless, otherwise I would never go anywhere on my own again. I let him do the worrying. I am so convinced that I will return safe and unharmed.
I do not worry about being attacked or even being kidnapped. That only seems to happen to those that are wealthy, young and blessed with good looks. I am not wealthy, am not young and good looks – I leave that for the others to judge, although my younger son once saidI am now at an interesting age. I camouflage myself with grey hair and glasses when I am let out, but to be quite honest I do not have a choice. At least I am a natural type.
I suppose my greatest fear is for my father. He is 98 years old, lives on his own and can no longer walk so well. He just manages a trip to the kitchen to thaw his lunch in the oven. His house has two floors and he can only climb the stairs to his bedroom and toilet with difficulty. I dread that one day he will fall down the stairs and it will not be noticed. At the moment he is waiting for news that there will be a special apartment ready for him with extra care. This will now probably at the beginning of next year, so if I suddenly disappear for a week or so I will be in England helping him to move. This is a Damocles sword hanging over my head at the moment, as I will have to fly over to London and organise things and do not have a clue how. Luckily I have some family members that will be helping and supporting me.
I am a realist. Things that go bump in the night, hide under beds or make funny noises are more to be explored to get to the root of the trouble and not to shiver and shake under the sheets. Being afraid of the dark does not come into the question. Sometime in the early morning hours I have to make a trip for human relief. The apartment is dark, no lights, and I have to manage it all on my own, being careful not to fall over a possible sleeping cat on the way. No problem, I just feel my way. I do not even bother to open my eyes, not much point when everything is dark. I must admit I have made a wrong turn now and again and found myself on the opposite side of the bedroom, but now always have my faithful and trusty iPhone next to my bed. A quick push on the right button and the electric clock illuminates the bedroom. Oh, the wonders of modern science and a big thank you to Apple.
There is something I hate, find revolting and just yuck. That is maggots. How can an animal be mother to such disgusting, squirming wriggling ugly children. “Hello mummy” said the maggot to the fly. “Oh what a beautiful child” answers mummy fly and they fly away together. Not quite, mummy fly leaves her offspring to deal with it all on their own, and I would too if I had babies looking like that.
In the meanwhile the egg sack is still hanging outside in the crack between the wall and ceiling. I hope to be present when the hatching sessions takes place with my special close up DSLR camera. Watch this space for the blog “The birth” probably in early Spring.
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