Bringing home Christmas Dinner

A few weeks before Christmas, I was at a turkey shoot and with my trusty bow and arrow I GOT ONE!

Well, I did, but not in the way you think.

My son belongs to the Victoria Bowmen Archery Club (Victoria, BC), which has been around since 1949. In the last four years since joining the club, he has shot hundreds of arrows in practice and in competitions, gaining notoriety and ranking locally and provincially. He even tried out for the Canada Games!

So after a few years of watching him shoot in both the clubs’ indoor and outdoor events, it was finally time for me to shoot my first arrow – and I loved it.

I have joined the club and although I haven’t practiced very often (I’m a busy momma and my son is first and foremost in these sporting aspirations), and my shot is often a tad off the mark (practice makes perfect and all that), I am enjoying learning about the historic sport.

Recently the club hosted their annual ‘Christmas Turkey Shoot’ – a fun shoot for all members/all ages of the club. Archery games, prize draws and a potluck following the shoot make for a festive, fun event for everyone.

And, as the title suggests, some of the prizes are…turkeys! Archers don’t actually SHOOT the turkeys but various archery games have turkeys (purchased from the store), and other Christmas dinner fixings, as prizes.

I had been holding-out buying our own turkey for Christmas, in anticipation of this fun day. Even though I didn’t know what the games would entail, I was hoping our noble and accomplished archer would, as it were, bring home dinner for us with his own trusty bow and arrow.

As my lack of skill was an embarrassment to most, I stayed out of everyone’s way and left the skill-based games to the pros. I stuck to the general practice targets. I fumbled getting the arrow on its rest and my jangled nerves shook my bow – not good for lining up the sight with the yellow center of the target. I need glasses and my lack of experience and knowledge showed in my shot (I DID, however, get one or two ‘10’s,’ or in layman terms, a bullseye – so maybe I wasn’t THAT bad, after all). I am proud to say that at least I HIT the target, although from at half the normal shooting distance. Everyone participated in the games and, if I may be so bold to brag, my son shot right through a moving ping pong ball suspended in mid-air by an upturned leaf-blower – THAT’S how good he is.

The one game I DID participate in, however, was for the turkeys (or in this case, gift cards for turkeys). Various prizes (turkeys, boxes of stuffing, cans of cranberry jelly and so on) were written on post-it notes, the notes then stuck sporadically all over a big piece of paper. That paper was then placed on a target and another piece of paper was placed over the whole thing, hiding the post-it note placement. We each had to shoot one of our arrows randomly at the paper and hope it either hit, or was closest too, a prize. At the end of the day, with the arrows still stuck in the paper, the top paper was carefully peeled off revealing the prizes in relation to the arrows. Closest arrow to that prize/post-it note, won.

So first was the turkey prize. I glanced at my young archer/offspring, and silently sent a prayer to the archery Gods that his skill had served us well. But, you see, this game was not a matter of skill, but of luck. It was a ‘blind’ shoot – you had no idea if your arrow hit a prize, or not, until the covering paper was removed. Well with my husband, son and I each with an arrow in the running, we had a one-in-three chance of winning SOMETHING.

The turkey/arrow was the first prize up for assessment. One of the club members pulled out the arrow closest to the turkey prize, held it up and announced, “Whose arrow is this?”

It was mine! IT WAS MINE!

My son would later tell me I kept shouting, “That’s my arrow! THAT’S MY ARROW!” but all I remember was jumping up and down in disbelief that I – me, Lisa – had won! THAT WAS MY ARROW! CHRISTMAS COULD GO ON!!! WE WOULD FEAST LIKE KINGS!!!!

I can’t continue without mentioning that my husband and son DID win prizes – Christmas to/from gift tags for one and a big box of brownies for the other. Everyone was fortunate to leave with something thanks to the generosity and planning of the organizing committee of the Victoria Bowmen Archery club.

So when I throw the great bird in the oven on Christmas morning, I will pat myself on the back knowing that MY arrow – my ‘skill’ and expertise (or more specifically, LUCK) – was what fed my family that Christmas of 2014.

Bring on the next target!

Warning - No Baking This Year

I'm not being a ‘Scrooge.’ I'm not depressed, bitter, resentful, neglectful or any other label that could be applied to my lack of enthusiasm or 'tradition-keeping' regarding the matter at hand. It's not that I don't care, nor is it that I have lost the joy, spirit or fun of the season.

This year I guess I’m just trying to focus on the NOW. I have a lot on my plate and my family is growing up, out and beyond my little nest. I am trying to stay afloat among the challenges and changes, and with Christmas only once a year - and the traditions from our own Christmas' past changing right along with my family - I want to focus and hold on to the NOW, without it all being one big rushed blur.
Warning - there will be no baking this year.

REPEAT: There will be no baking, as in the verb, this year. But we will have baking, the noun, in the house, but I just won’t have made any of it.

Yup, you heard it here first. I'm not doing any Christmas baking this year, and if my family is reading this (which is doubtful, given their busy lives), this will be the first they will be hearing of it, as well.

I might, if I find the time, cave and do one or two very easy little things but other than that I’m just….not.

I don't have the time, and honestly – let’s be real, here – the stores make better stuff than I do.

In past years I would take a day off work to bake all day and then spend the weekend (with what little time I had, at that) getting goodies in the oven. I love it – I do – and I would plan, shop, concoct, sort, and scheme special recipes and their special ingredients. New recipes would be anticipated and tested, where tried-and-true good ole stand-by’s would be whipped up from memory. Then there would be the hide-and-seek game, a game I prayed every year I would win by the time Christmas arrived. Not only would I have to hide the end-products from the ‘gluttonous ones’ who reside in my house, but I would also have to hide recipe-specific chocolate and candies. If I didn’t, the yummy ingredients would be devoured before I could even get around to using them, and anything I DID manage to get baked and out of the oven to cool would be eaten sooner than I could clean the cookie dough off the spoon (if I didn’t eat it first, of course). Yes, it’s a compliment, but....

I know it all sounds rather stressful, I know. Some might say Why bother if it’s like THAT? My answer: I love doing it – I do. I love the creative side of baking and I love having goodies for my men and any guests who dare visit my crazy house. The cookbooks and specialty magazines that come out once a year send me into a spin – I love them all and can spend countless hours going through them.

But this year I guess I’m taking a break from it all. The cookie sheets, cookie cutters and rolling pins will have to collect dust for another year.

This great epiphany, or change-of-heart, came during the first week of December. I realized I hadn’t even thought of baking yet – I had forgotten about it all, actually – and time was ticking! I had a slight panic attack then a smattering of guilt fluttered through my conscience knowing I SHOULD be whipping up the shortbread, rolling out the sugar cookies, and buttering up the tarts.

But I can’t. Not this year. I have too many other things going on.

And no sooner did the panic and guilt creep in, it left. And it was for the best. All that hand-wringing and sleepless nights of all I HAVE to do wasn’t going to help matters. So I decided not to let the mayhem of the year get to me, and I cancelled baking. There. Done. Fini.

I’ve run out of time and energy to do any of it, but the weirdest thing is I don’t feel bad about it, compared to years past where worry would have my stress-genes on overdrive (if anything, I feel bad that I don’t feel MORE ‘bad’). Maybe I have over-taxed my Christmas baking hormones. Maybe too many years of sweating it out in the kitchen has dried-up my baking-energy reserves – I don’t know. Maybe, this year, it just wasn’t meant to be. I'm not throwing in the towel this year, as it were, I guess I'm just taking a break.

So if you dare come over you’ll find bakery packaging from the store in the garbage and disgruntled men suffering from my lack of baking.

OR you’ll find content men who are getting much better baked goodies from the store, who are also happier because their momma is in a better frame of mind this year.

I think they much prefer an uncranky, unstressed mom, anyways.

Adventure on the High Seas – Whales, Fish and Bad Hairdos

Many who use the BC Ferries to travel between Vancouver Island and the mainland of coastal British Columbia hope to see some sort of animal-life common to the waters of the Georgia Strait. Whales are always a big hopeful, and only the lucky get to see them enroute. Seeing a seal is neat and even though some might shrug and say, ‘Ah, it’s just a seal,’ no matter how often I see them, I still get a thrill. An even bigger thrill – one I will talk about for days, telling anyone brave enough to listen to my excited ramblings – is when I’m fortunate to see an Orca whale, or two.

But on a recent journey aboard the BC Ferry vessel ‘Coastal Celebration’ I got my wish – and more.

I was out on the ferry deck taking photos when someone shouted, “Look over there!” The few of us brave enough to be out on the windy, rainy deck followed his pointing finger - 3 humpback whales were passing by without a care.

The captain of the ship announced the pod-sighting over the PA system and I leaned with the then-leaning ship to get a few photos – of course everyone stampedes to the windows to get a peek when there’s something good out there. I couldn’t get my camera ‘on’ and pointed fast enough, but the dot in the accompanying picture IS one of the three whales. It was well-worth risking my hairdo in the inclement weather to get the few photos I did.

All too soon the whales swam on their merry way and I ventured back into the safety and warmth of the ferry. I went in search of a washroom to fix my wind/rain-blown hair, and told everyone who’d listen (hello Facebook, Twitter and recipients of my texts!) about the whale sightings, and then went in search of an outlet to charge my phone (I had more messages to send, you see).

But as I wandered by the Chief Steward’s office, I stopped short. I was still buzzing with the excitement of seeing humpback whales, but there was no missing what was just behind the counter. Something so ironic - so unexpected - yet so fitting for the ‘high seas’ on which we were sailing had me stopping to stare in wonder.

Behind the counter two fish tanks bubbled away, brightly lit and clear, while the ship’s officers sat at their desks doing…ship officer stuff.

Two Siamese fighting fish, oblivious to their sort-of-cousins swimming just outside, swam merrily around, enjoying the warmth, pampering and serenity of their personal tanks.

As the ship officers so proudly told me, one was named Woofie, a rescue/lost-and-found fish named after ‘Woo’ the crew-member who found him (or her), and the other fish was named Appie.

The two officers told me the story of Woofie the lost-and-found fish with such love and admiration, I felt a pang of jealousy.

Woofie was found on the BC Ferry vessel, ‘The Spirit of Vancouver Island,’ in June 2014 (5 months before this writing) by a crewmember named Woo. Yes ‘found’ meaning fish in a container and all. I was assured repeatedly that all protocols had been followed in trying to track down the owner of the lost fish. Numerous announcements were made over their PA system trying to locate the owner, but sadly no one stepped forward and the poor little Betta fish was left alone, unwanted and forgotten.

The crew took the lonely little fish into their care. They fed and bathed him (not really) and got him a nice tank. He became the ship’s mascot and all was well. But since that particular vessel is in refit (for maintenance and such) during slow times, only brought out of refit during busy seasons like summer and Christmas, they couldn’t very well leave the poor little fish on his own on the vacant ship. So when the crew moved to the Coastal Celebration for its regular route between Vancouver and Victoria, the fish came with them. He needed a friend so along came Appie, who resides in her own tank because, for those who don’t know anything about Bettas, they can’t be in the same tank together (they don’t get along very well).

The officers finished their story and gave their water-loving crew members another endearing look. The fish-fostering officers also had the decency to overlook my wind-ruined hair, but bad hairdos were far from my mind then (a look in the mirror, later, had me second-guessing my lack of concern). I realized I was as fortunate to hear the story of the little lost-and-found fish as I was to see humpback whales, and fixing my hair could be done anytime.

From whales outside to fish inside, it was quite an adventure on the high seas that day, one I won’t forget soon.

My Favorite Skirt

Just a few short months ago (three, as of this writing) we were running around in our bikinis – those of who can, that is (not ME!). Summer was in full-swing with everyone in shorts and tank tops, some (like me) were complaining about the heat, and winter coats were collecting dust in our closets.

And all too soon, because ‘time flies’ and goes by faster than we can blink, those winter coats were dusted off and yanked out of hibernation. Old tissues found in the pockets from last year were thrown out, and the lucky who found a fiver in amongst all the tissues have already purchased a chill-chasing pumpkin spice latte.

Fall and winter is my thing – hot, sweltering summer months are not. By July I’m sick of all the sweating and I long – LONG – for the cool, crisp winter days when I can bundle up in my coat and scarf in the day, my favorite blanket bundled around me on the couch at night. I go through the same thing every summer – I can’t wait for my cool-weather winter clothes. I look forward to the fall fashion trends – in August I drool over catalogues featuring the latest wool-blend skirts, modern chunky/comfy sweaters, and functional yet fashionable knee-high boots.

But I’m no fashionista – comfort, functionality and affordability are my style. The nature of my day-job has me hopping – when I’m not running from floor-to-floor in an 11-storey building, I’m crawling under desks pretending to be a computer techie and untangling computer wires hoping I don’t unplug the ‘wrong’ one. So year-round ‘relaxed business attire’ works for me – black pants and a comfortable top. I dream of all the fancy fashions I would like to wear – one day – but for now, comfort and functionality are where it’s at. I’m a busy momma.

But this past summer, despite being pro-fall/winter, I decided to cut loose and take my chances with ‘change.’ I wore skirts and dresses almost every day. Time IS ticking by and one day I won’t be able to wear the knee-revealing skirts I can get away with wearing now. I was making a statement – what ‘statement’ I didn’t know – but I was going with the ‘enjoy it now’ attitude. Why save something ‘for that special day’ when that ‘special day’ might not come and I never get to use it/wear it/enjoy it? (footnote – wearing skirts and dresses this past summer proved to be not the wisest choice when I tripped and twisted my ankle right in the middle of downtown Victoria giving everyone a ‘free show’ (if you know what I mean) and scrapping both knees so bad that my panty-hose had be chiselled out of the gashes in my knees. Gross, but true).

So given my job and my busy lifestyle any ‘girly clothes’ I choose to wear have to be comfortable, easy-to-wear, and fidget/fuss/adjustment-free (if you’re a girl, you’ll know what I mean.)

While on my ‘summer-quest for girly-clothes,’ I found the perfect Lisa-friendly skirt – a ‘skort.’ For you non-fashion folks, a ‘skort’ is a skirt with a pair of shorts attached underneath. And you know what that meant for busy, non-fashionista, non-fussing Lisa? (It’s about to get graphic here, folks!) It meant I didn’t have to wear a slip because of the built-in shorts underneath. It was just a pull-on skirt – no buckles or buttons, no tucking or adjusting. It was like wearing shorts every day to work and I didn’t have to worry about flashing anyone while a/falling down in the middle of a downtown Victoria sidewalk, or b/while crawling around under desks.

I loved it – LOVED IT. I loved it so much that I – GASP – sometimes wore it twice a week! I went in search of another four just exactly like it but in different colours/patterns/fabrics. But alas no others were to be found, and I had to settle for waiting all week when I could wear it.

But just when I got used to being really ‘girly’ the weather turned cold, and frost-bite on my legs wasn’t working for me. My long-awaited fall/winter clothes/coats were pulled out of the closet, and my favorite skirt is holding their spot in the closet – until next year. I’m happy it’s cool and brisk these days, but oh how I am missing my favorite skirt. Only seven months, weather-dependent, until I can wear it again.

Unlike those winter coats, my favorite skirt I can only hope and pray still fits next year has no pockets. Sadly, I won’t be finding any fivers.

Thanks for reading!

Lisa

What Happened That Night....

As you can see from my last post titled ‘How to Catch a Spider – Advice from Ros’, my friend Ros obviously has great powers over me. She sends me on these great adventures and I do what I’m told. I must be subconsciously scared of her or something because I always seem to do what she says. Recently she sent me on a wild-goose-find-the-haunted-well-chase, but that’s another story for another time.

I have a much better haunted story....

As she and I have an ‘appreciation’ for all things eerie, spooky and paranormal, she kindly advised me of a ‘seasonal’ event she saw advertised in the newspaper. As she lives quite a few hours away from me, accompanying me on this ‘investigation’ would be difficult so I was tasked this quest ALONE. The advertisement my friend Ros saw was not for a typical museum ‘tour’ of The Maritime Museum of BC, but for a ‘Haunted Hallways’ tour of the building.

The Maritime Museum of BC has artifacts and info from shipyards to shipwrecks, to discoveries to losses. Now that stuff is all well and good, and as traitorous to my British Columbian patriotism as this might seem, it’s just not my interest. But given the history of the building, well...

The building was first built as the Supreme Court back in around 1889. Back then when laws, thinking, and social graces where different, hangings were commonplace, and many of the convicted who were tried there were sentenced to death. But prior to that building’s existence, in its place was a jailhouse - complete with gallows. Hangings were a family event and bacon sandwiches and beer were served as refreshments. When the convicted was hung and the thrashing body stilled, “Who claims this body!?” was called out to the ‘audience.’ If no family member stepped forward to claim their loved one – which usually never happened for fear of association with such a derelict – the deceased was buried in the grounds of the jailhouse courtyard. When the jail was later torn down to make way for the Supreme Court to be built on top of the jailhouse, construction workers found skeletal remains. Finding buried bodies around Victoria was quite commonplace so the workers simply shrugged and continued building on top of the bodies (I’m no historian - this is just a brief summary- any errors in this recounting is mine). (For more info, visit http://bastionsquare.ca/bastion-square-history/interesting-facts/)

So back to my friend Ros and her special powers....

“You must go!” said Ros about the ‘Haunted Hallways’ tour.

“Should I?” I asked.

Silence on the other end of the phone was telling. The silent ‘duh’ urged me on.

So at 8pm on a Friday night I armed myself with a camera, an umbrella (like that would help – but it WAS raining, you see), my cell phone with 911 on speed dial, as well as packs of gum to gnaw on nervously, then headed to the museum.

Down-to-earth, passionate-about-her-job Christina gave us the grand tour starting with a history of the building. Her storytelling skills, her knowledge and historical facts mixed with local lore, sightings and experiences had everyone captivated. From room to room we ventured. First there was the room aptly called 'The Knot Room', built right on top of where the gallows was from the previous jailhouse. Accompanying stories and experiences left everyone – including me – with the chills. Then there was the holding cell room, where a ‘presence’ is still felt by many staff. A hallway known for an ghost looking for his wife had us furtively glancing around, eager yet apprehensive to catch a glimpse of this lost soul.

From stories of racism – indigenous people and the British didn’t see ‘eye to eye’ back then – of lost loves and betrayals, and downright violent deaths had us all captivated. From room to room we went, Christina's stories of historical fact laced with first-hand experiences with unsettled spirits had us all believing in the ‘what if.’ We had secret ‘behind the scenes’ tours, venturing up hidden staircases and into recently-discovered secret rooms. We ended up in the courtroom where the infamous hanging Judge Matthew Baillie Bebgie sentenced the convicted to hanging. (Note: The Supreme Court as it was then didn't have 'gallows' - the convicted were sent to a jailhouse off site to meet their fate (for the locals, there was jailhouse complete with gallows by Hillside Shopping Centre)

After an hour the tour ended (I, for one, wasn't 'done' and could definitely go back for more), concluding with a brief and spooky ‘lights out’ moment in the courtroom. I sat on one of the jury benches – the same benches where jury would help Judge Begbie lay down the law – and for a moment I felt my bum go cold. Seriously.

But let me get back to the beginning of the night...

Before the tour started, early attendees were allowed to tour the museum. I had a quick peek around the exhibits then found myself in a room sporting a few pictures of ships. What held my interest was what was in the back corner.

A big black safe, almost as high as your typical door, stood silently in the corner. I approached and took a few photos. My senses were on high alert during my self-guided museum tour, and as I was early, there weren’t many folks around. I snapped a few photos and wanted a close-up of the wording on the outside of the safe.

I barely bent my knees to access a better camera-view of the wording, when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my ankle and then...

My camera seized up. The screen went fuzzy as you can see from the photo, and remained that way for the rest of the tour. I couldn’t turn the camera off or on and no amount of button-pressing could fix it. I resorted to using the camera on my cell phone – a risky move, at that – and my camera didn’t ‘fix itself’ until almost two hours later, right down to the minute from when it first ‘went funny.’ Even when I later got home and plugged it in to charge, it still wouldn’t 'fix' itself. I have never had a problem with the camera before; it was fully charged and was seemingly all right prior to the evening.

I’ll let you ponder that and make up your own mind...

I later told Christina about my camera, sheepishly admitting to the 'coincidence' of it all and brushing it off in a manner of 'I know I am nuts, but....'

She waved off my concern: 'Oh, that happens to people's cameras all the time here' - like this was a normal occurrence.

In the end, it was a MOST fantastic night - one I will never forget. I lived to tell the tale, my camera is fine, and I will continue to do what Ros tells me to do.

Oh - and my ankle is fine.

(Note: The museum is being moved to the basement of the CPR building, where the renowned ‘Wax Museum’ used to be. The museum’s last days residing in the historic building are numbered, so the staff are going all-out, hosting tours and sharing first-hand experience tales of their experiences in the building. Be sure to check them out at http://mmbc.bc.ca/about/contact-us/)

(Me in the court room sitting at The Hanging Judge Begbie's desk)

For more interesting facts about Bastion Square, Victoria, BC, where the building resides, please visit Bastion Square Info.

Thanks for reading!

How to Catch a Spider - Advice from Ros

I have a secret passion for hardware stores. I’m not a carpenter, electrician or plumber (save the ‘crack’ jokes). I don’t know how to change the oil on a car or repair a leaky roof. I can barely figure out the circuit breakers in our house and don’t bother telling me to pass you the ‘Phillips’ screwdriver – just say the screwdriver with the star.

So when I recently wrote about my ‘adventures’ with a spider and my hair dryer (check out ‘Karma, Irony and Guilt – Lessons From a Spider'), my very good friend, romantic suspense writer Rosalind Villers (www.rosalindvillers.com), was quick to give me some valuable advice. I like her, she knows stuff, and she writes a mean bit of prose; of course I was gonna do what she says!

She recommended the Bug Trapper, a nifty gadget perfect for catching all little things creepy- crawly. Although I’m sure it can be found via many other outlets, she was quick to recommend Lee Valley Hardware.

Well, given my penchant for hardware stores my excitement and curiosity mounted. Not only was I going to get the gadget that would ‘change my life’ (her words), but I could also check out this renowned hardware store I had often heard about but had never been lucky enough to go to!

The store was off my regular well-beaten path, but after a few wrong turns I found it. It was during one of my typically busy Saturday afternoons, but I was on a quest – I had to get this gadget! I was determined to find the store, no matter how busy I was. My car was full of frozen food and meat from a whirlwind grocery shopping spree but since I was ‘only going to be a minute’ I figured everything would be fine (which, in the end, everything WAS – no one died of botulism or salmonella or whatever) (not yet, at least).

Now before I go on I must insist that my story here is in NO way criticizing the store or how it does business. In fact, how they do business was quite ingenious. The store was clean, neat, usual-hardware-store-smell-free, and rather…ritzy for a hardware store. The store clerks were beyond knowledgeable and polite and I will, most definitely, go back again.

Moving right along…

Finally finding the store, I pulled-up to the newly built store and….scratched my head. It was too fancy and too small to be a hardware store – at least to be the kind of hardware store I was used to. But seeing as I was on a quest for something that would ‘change my life,’ I had no time to spare. Dawdling and pondering about the appearance of a store was not on my schedule.

A few steps in I stopped short. Wall-to-wall carpeting, spa-like music in the background along with fancy wooden shelving and display racks made my shopping experience in a ‘hardware store’ a little….confusing. This was not a ‘hardware store’ but a retreat for those needing a getaway from the usual grime and oil-slick of other hardware stores.

Whatever, I shrugged. Ros must only shop at the uber-fancy-hardware stores, I realized. Just when you think you know a person…

But I had no time to spare – food was in the car. I pushed my friend and her champagne-taste in hardware stores out of my head and went in search of the Bug Trapper. But as hard as I tried I couldn’t find it, which was understandable given the fancy store I was clearly unaccustomed to.

The store clerk I asked for assistance was beyond friendly and helpful. She knew exactly what I was looking for and led me to a little wall of gadgets. The first bug catcher she showed me was 4 times what I was willing to pay. No bug is worth more than my hourly wage (well…maybe). The next bug catcher – the exact one Ros showed me – matched the contents of my wallet.

“I’ll take it!” I announced and went to grab the gadget. This was easier than I thought!

“Oh no…” she started, and pointed to a code on the tag. “You’ll need this code.”

She then went on to explain that the store is kind of a like a mail order/warehouse store and then she showed me an order form. At first I didn’t understand. Would I have to ‘order’ the item and wait for it to come in the mail? My excitement deflated – I would have to spend another night in my home vulnerable, unarmed and defenceless.

Seeing my confusion the nice clerk reassured me I WOULD get to go home with my gadget. She explained that I had to first fill out a form then take it to the counter where a staff-person would retrieve the item from the warehouse in ‘the back.’

I looked at my watch. Damn that Ros, I cursed my friend. What had she gotten me into? (No wonder she’s such a good suspense writer – she had sure kept ME in suspense of what I was really getting myself into!)

After ensuring I was okay and understood what to do, the very kind store clerk left me to my own devices and assured me she would be ‘right over there’ (by the scary looking soil and compost thermometers). Using a cute little golf pencil (of which I wish accidentally rolled into my purse) I filled out the form. By then I had my bearings and understood what the store was all about. I wish I had more time to browse but with the threat of the meat frying itself in the warm car, I had to hustle.

Presenting my form at the counter another equally nice clerk went in ‘the back’ to retrieve my Bug Trapper. Before I could truly enjoy the beauty of a copper slug belt (another ingenious gadget) beside me on the counter, she returned with a little box.

“Is that the Bug Trapper?” It seemed too small compared to what the first store clerk had shown me.

“Oh yes, my dear, here…” She opened the box. Oh, my shoulders slumped. I would have to put it together. “It’s from England,” she continued. “It’s quite extraordinary, actually.” Her serious tone had me second-guessing the hilarity of what I was really buying. This Bug Trapper was no laughing matter.

With manners Miss. Manners would envy the clerk processed my order then wished me well in my endeavours. Again I wished I had had the time to look around but I swear I could smell the meat sizzling in my car. Damn that Ros!


I made it home in record time and the food was fine. Despite my lack of hardware/handyman skills, I assembled the Bug Trapper then practiced trapping an imaginary bug/spider/insect/creepy-crawly and relocating it outside. The Bug Trapper sits at the ready and despite me cursing my friend Ros throughout my experience, I am thankful for her advice and introducing me to something new.

But one thing was clear - I obviously need to get out more. First stop - Lee Valley Hardware.

Karma, Irony and Guilt - Lessons from a Spider

I’m usually up super early in the mornings to get in a power-walk and a bit of a writing session before work. Doing both, even if only for a bit and even when I don’t exactly feel like it, are a great start to get me energized and motivated for the day.

But one Monday morning when my alarm went off at its usual 3:30am wake-up call, I ‘gently’ turned off the alarm then rolled over and resumed dreaming about all things writerly. I decided to skip the walk but still get in a bit of writing as I rationalized I had been SUPER busy all weekend running around doing chores. I figured a day of rest wouldn’t hurt and allowed myself a ‘sleep-in’ until 5 am.

A little while later with my ‘sleep-in’ over and me sort of awake and dressed, I dragged my sorry self upstairs to my bathroom. Squinting against the bright bathroom light, I threw a facecloth in the sink and just as I was about to turn on the tap……

THERE IT WAS.

The biggest most horrendous house spider I have EVER seen in my life.

At first I thought it was one of my sons’ tarantulas. I’m not scared of his ‘pets’ but I was more concerned that the typically caged creatures had the potential of escape, never to be found again. He would be devastated if it ever happened – perfectly understandable. Closer inspection, however, revealed it was NOT one of his beloved darlings.

But then it moved and THAT, my dear readers, meant WAR.

Now before I continue with what happened next you should know that I truly DO love all creatures great and small. I truly didn’t wish to harm him/her. I just wanted him/her GONE.

So I whipped out my hair dryer and readied for battle.

Why a hair dryer you say? Well, because I had to blow that guy back down the drain from where he came, of course!

It would occur to me later that, in theory and technically speaking, it IS impossible for spiders to come up through a drain.

Right?

But I didn’t have time to worry about technicalities right then because when he took a few steps, I sprung in to action. My sole goal was to blow him down the drain, but I didn’t anticipate what blowing air does in a round, smooth sink. It spins things around like in a tornado, taking everything with it. So, of course, around and around went the spider. When I stopped for a split second to reassess my plan of attack he started running. Can you blame him? I would too!
I panicked some more then redirected my hair dryer to blow the air in a different angle – a better approach sure to direct him down the drain. Around and around the sink we chased each other and then….

…one wrong tilt of the hairdryer had the tornado blowing the poor defenseless spider up and out of the sink, through the air, and right at ME!

I screamed, yelled, squealed and all but begged for mercy from him, from God, from the Universe and from every deity possible. I twisted my already compromised ankle and pulled my already compromised back in my desperate attempt to get out of his way. He was after ME!

Luckily for both of us he landed on the bathmat. While he sat catching his breath on the mat, I kept my hair dryer trained on him like a Glock and stayed out of full range from his potential attack. Before I could whip out my bazooka, footsteps bounded and echoed up the stairs.

My dearest husband was roused from his slumber by my…antics…and had come to the rescue. He knew right away, before even getting near, what it was.

“Is it a spider?” He calmly – CALMLY – asked before he even rounded the corner. (I still don’t get how ANYONE could be CALM at a time like that!)

“IS IT A SPIDER?” I dared not take my eyes off the poor innocent offending creature as I challenged my husband’s silly question. “THIS is NOT a spider!” I spat. “This is….THIS IS….” I couldn’t continue.

And so he picked it up by his hands – by his BARE HANDS, I tell you – and carried the poor offending creature outside. I kept my Glock, I mean my hairdryer, trained on both of them, just in case. What if the spider bit my dear question-asking husband turning him all zombie-like? (This is the imagination of a writer, no matter what time of day).

And that was the end of that. My husband went back to bed without a second glance and I was left wishing I had a personal defibrillation unit.

As I finished getting ready for work (I had a bad hair day after that, and rightly so) I felt dumb. And guilty. And dumb. And guilty. Not only because of the way I OVERreacted about a defenseless creature that was a gazillion times smaller than me but also because, um, there are three tarantulas and two scorpions in residence one floor below my office/bathroom. Talk about irony.

I wondered if the spider showing up in my sink was Karma’s way of getting back at me for not getting up and out for my daily routine. But Karma had much more in stock for me. The guilt weighing me down for days after for taking a hairdryer to a poor defenseless creature was worse. Whether that’s considered Karma or not, I had that guilt comin’ to me. It was only fair – and truly deserved.

So at 5 o’clock on a Monday morning I had had lessons in Karma, irony and guilt, all rolled up into one tornado-like mess. All thanks to an eight-legged creature no bigger than the circumference of the end of my hairdryer.

And I as I write this, I realize now that the real irony was how I felt more guilty about the spider than for my husband having to bolt out of bed at that early hour.

(PS. I never wrote a single word that morning)

Thanks for reading!

Lisa