I am woman hear me ROAR

At the risk of sounding like I am blowing my own trumpet, I consider myself a strong woman.  My mother was a strong woman and she raised her daughters to be the same and now I am passing the Mantle of Strength to my daughters too.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not the ice maiden or anything, I feel emotions strongly (just ask my husband about my temper), I can be in the depths of despair but have found I am able to pick myself up, dust myself off and just “get on with things” – having lots of things to do helps.  So in a moment of crisis you will often find me doing things, making “busy work”, it’s my therapy.

If something needs doing, I do it.  I can change a tyre,  install a new toilet, replace a tap, cut down trees, fix a broken DVD player, paint the house, lay floor and wall tiles, build furniture (I do however curse Ikea and their stinking allen keys)

But put me in the same room as a spider that makes a noise when it walks because of it’s sheer size and degree of hairiess and I instantly turn in to a character from a turn of the century mini-series.  I actually swoon.  Gentlemen in top hats and mourning coats need to come running with a bottle of smelling salts and ladies in long dresses that seem to really accentuate their bust lines must stand around fanning me. (Lets all pause for a moment and imagine Mr Darcy.....OK moving right along).

Now here is my dilemma, I love living on the urban fringe.  I love that I can stand on my back deck and look at a mountain with little, fluffy trees dotted all over it.  I love the continuous green canopy that drapes down the side of that mountain and all the way to where my house is.  Unfortunately so do the spiders.

I have some sort of built-in radar when it comes to all things arachnid (spi-dar? *groan*).  I know they’re there even in the dark.  My long suffering husband (who wields a mean thong) says my spider senses tingle. Does that make me spider woman? Disappointingly I seemed to have missed out on the ability to make webs shoot from my wrists. I don’t know about you but that would be  really handy to catch the kids when they decide to be naughty and bolt off  knowing full well that Mum and her dodgy knee will not stand a chance of catching them.  (They do forget that I was a wicket keeper and still have a really good arm and do not ”chuck like a Sheila”).  Lets not even go there about just how I’d look in one of those super hero, skin-tight costumes. 

You went there didn’t you?  Sorry...mop and bucket to aisle 4. I did tell you not to. 

It’s been a while since a spider has been stupid enough to venture inside our home. It has also been a long time since one has been brave enough to pounce at me.  It is the last thing that today’s visitor will ever do. 

We all know about the dangers of drop-bears, well now I need to be vigilant for drop spiders as well.  Little (large) bastard thought he could lurk high up in the beams of the laundry ceiling, you know just above the door so you couldn’t see him and wait for some poor, unsuspecting sucker (me) to walk in, completely oblivious at which point he would launch himself from his hidey-hole up high.

It was at that moment that my spi-dar kicked in, I don’t know if it was the down draft he was creating as he plummeted downwards that made me look up to see where the breeze was coming from or whether, much like Houghton who could hear the Who’s my super keen hearing could just make out the little voice screaming out banzaiiiiiiiiiiiii as he jumped.  Either way I sensed impending doom.

Time slowed down, I think I may have been shooting a scene for the next Matrix movie.  I dived to one side, he glanced off my shoulder and bounced on the floor. At which point I smacked him with the iron.  Well it has to be used for something right?

In the beginning....

Let me tell you about why this blog has come to be. 

Now I don’t want to put a downer on things from the outset, that is not my intention, but the story needs to be told.

I prefer to look at it as some small positive to come out of a tragedy.

On Monday 17^th January 2011 I lost a dear friend. Her name was Kylie and there was nobody quite like her.  She formed part of a circle of friends which came together at first online and then over 10 years most of us met in person until we formed the most amazing bond.  Our circle.

Kylie was only 34 years old and taken from a family who adored her without any warning, she had 4 children, the youngest being only aged one. Her passing left us devastated, saddened beyond belief, numb.  She was so young, she had just started her own business making the most amazing cakes,  in fact I was messaging to and fro with her about one for my daughter’s 10^th birthday just an hour or so before she was taken from us.

I have decided that I need to start this blog, I have always wanted to write but have never laboured under the illusion that anything I may pen would be worth actually publishing.  I love the written word, I love creating an image in people’s minds with nothing more than words.  I have thought about this for years but never seemed to get around to doing anything about it.  That changed on 18^th January when I realised that tomorrow is promised to nobody.  If you want to do something you have to do it now. Today.  Seize the moment!

I cannot promise that what I write will be worth reading , but I do feel it is worth writing.  In a way it is just for me, something perhaps my family can look at once I have shuffled off this mortal coil. (I often wished my mum had written things down about her life, her feelings, herself. It would have been something for me to treasure).

So Kylie, you have inspired me to just do it. I hold you responsible.  If it sucks blame her.

Honestly she would laugh at that...and then call me a skank.