IT'S BAAAAAACK!!!

We went out tonight to look at a car we are interested in purchasing for me...a cute Peugeot convertible. After seeing it up close, we decided it was just too small for our needs and we headed home. By the time we returned, it was dark outside so I immediately went about the house closing the blinds.

I headed to the sliding glass doors first of all, and then quickly moved to the kitchen blinds, reached out and.... "Aaaaaaaaahh!!!" as an unexpected high-pitch rang out of me.

Haystack Rock, Cannon Beach, Oregon

I haven't heard myself squeal like that since I was 10-years-old! I was in the meat department of my dad's grocery store in Cannon Beach, Oregon, (on the west coast of the States.) I was holding a razor clam freshly dug from the sand that morning, terrified of what it might do. My dad had just given me instructions on the "fine art" of cleaning clams; something I was more than happy to never learn. (You have to understand...I was a girly-girl and did not like things that were slimy, dirty or just plain gross!) As he described in great detail how to clean the clams, I grew more and more tense...fearing the point where he would hand the mountain of clams, as high as Mt. Everest, over to me. (Now I know that the pile of clams wasn't that high, but to my 10-year-old eyes, it might as well have been!)

a slimy razor clam...YUCK!

Well, now it was my turn...I reached out with great intrepidation for the first slimy razor clam, assuming it was dead. As I held it in my small hand, I slowly grabbed on to the scissors and cautiously placed it on the clam for my first incision. As I gently squeezed the scissors, the clam...obviously still alive...tensed up and moved! Jumping backward, I squealed out in that high-pitched little-girl scream like you would typically hear emanate from playgrounds and threw the clam, along with the scissors, across the room like Orel Hershiser (one of the most famous pitchers of Major League Baseball) on the mound! My dad asked me what was wrong. Tears streaming down my face, I cried, "It moved!" That was the last time my father ever asked me to clean razor clams.

But I digress...

Well, tonight there were no tears, but definitely the squeal of a 10-year-old little girl as I ran out of the kitchen as fast as my feet would fly. I couldn't believe it! My deepest, darkest fear just came true...the spider had returned! Please don't tell me he thinks my kitchen window is his new home. Or, as my sister put it, he is scoping the place out planning his next heist of valuables!

Since my post a couple of days ago about this furry intruder, I have learned that it's a Brown Huntsman Spider.

brown huntsman spider

No, that's not me holding my new...um..."friend"; I wouldn't be crazy enough to do that! I got this picture off the internet because I didn't have the clarity of thought to take a picture in my terror. But now you can clearly see why I have been quite bothered by him. You will also see that my descriptions of "hairy", "gargantuan" and "tarantula" were not overly exaggerated! I'm telling you...he's big enough to eat the Empire State Building in New York City! (Okay...maybe that was a bit exaggerated!)

Australians at least have a sense of humor about their 8-legged monsters...

To tell you the truth, I had wondered if he would return. Every time I enter my kitchen I carefully peer into the window, making sure I am not being stared down by my hairy peeping-tom. Once I see that the coast is clear, I proceed about my business, throwing an occasional glance at the window...just to be sure he's still not there.  I guess he interpreted my "squeals of fear" as "squeals of delight" and thinks he's welcome!
...Time to get out the vacuum cleaner!