Backyard holocaust

I was going to proudly tell you about the impending arrival of Mrs Golden Orb’s babies. She went to the maternity ward last Saturday (the other end of the verandah) and laid an enormous egg sac. Once it was safely anchored with some golden thread, she retreated to her web to recover. Mr Golden Orb has kept a tiny, proud eye on her. (When I say ‘tiny’ I actually mean ‘minuscule’.) Anyway, this morning, while I was still non compos mentis, the Old Boy killed the babies. That’s right; I’m going to call it as it is. I’m not prettying it up. He killed them because he didn’t want them taking up residence around our home. He’s a terrorist of the arachnid world. I was quite happy to wait and watch. I wanted to see the end result. I wanted to see the Golden Orb offspring make their way in the world and thus the cycle be complete. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, they may well have flown away on the gentle Autumn breezes to other gardens, other bushes and other verandahs.  I’ve come to know Mrs Orb quite well since she’s taken up residence outside our back door and I feel we’ve let her down. The Old Boy says she doesn’t feel any attachment to them and she’ll get over it but I say, “How do you know what a spider feels?” I keep thinking, “What would Charlotte say?” I shall recover from this shocking event but it may take a while. “Too sensitive,” you say? Well, forgive me for caring but that’s just the way I roll. The Old Boy and the Wonder Dog couldn’t care...

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A lot of “not much”.

I’m baaa-aaack! Anyone notice I went missing last week? Anyone? Last Saturday the Old Boy and I were invited to a friend’s place for “brunch”. It started at 9am. For my friends, who are very early risers, this was the middle of the morning. For me, a night owl, it was barely breakfast time. The shock to my system lasted most of the day and, somehow, the blog was overlooked. I just hope you all managed to get through the day without me. I’ve been pondering what to write about this morning. At first, as always, my mind goes to the many injustices and cruelties in the world, which we need to take a stand against and to which we need to say, “Not in my name.” However, today I’m a bit overwhelmed by it all and I just don’t want to go there. I considered writing something about the death of Mr Richie Benaud, an icon of Australian Cricket and a lovely gentleman, who lost the battle with skin cancer. But, so much has already been said that my little bit would be lost in the deluge of happy memories. Also, it won’t mean a thing to my readers in non-cricket playing countries. Let’s just remember, in his honour, to use sunscreen and wear a hat when out in the noonday sun. I wondered if it was too late to say something about Easter and decided that it probably was. If you’re a believer you already know why it’s significant and, if you’re not, you might wonder what all the fuss is about. Or, you might just happily consume bucket loads of chocolate eggs and chocolate rabbits and smugly remind yourselves that Easter used to be a pagan festival called Eostre, which you don’t celebrate either. We’re off to a garden wedding this afternoon. Should be a lovely thing. Somehow, seeing two people pledge their love and faithfulness to each other gives me hope for the world. So…all I’m saying today is: be kind to each other. That’ll cover most of the above and more....

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