The Emoji Mystery

Emojis give me an insight into how it feels to be autistic.

I don’t usually have trouble reading people’s expressions. But confronted with a bank of emojis I can never find one that reflects the way I’m feeling.

In fact, I cannot at all fathom the emotions they are supposed to represent.

I feel like an autistic child asked to identify the expressions of faces in photos.

I’m mystified.

Thinking this disability marked me out as abnormal, I never mentioned it.  I played safe with a colon, dash and bracket   :-  )

Then Ann admitted she didn’t get it either.

Worse – she revealed that emojis have secondary meanings which we poor middle-aged folks will never ever be able to stay abreast of.

When she was at the cinema with her daughter, during an advert, an emoji of an aubergine was shown.  People giggled. Ann’s daughter explained that an aubergine refers to an excited man.

Ann was horrified – she had been using it to signify grocery shopping at Waitrose.

A mutual friend whatsapped a smiley face to her kids.  They mocked her mercilessly.  Apparently she had sent them “the paedophile face”.

I have no idea which one “the paedophile face” is, and am now terrified of using it by accident.

So inevitably it seems that I am doomed forever to hand-craft my smileys from elements of punctuation ; - )

The Very Helpful Spider

The Daddy Long Legs Spider ( Pholcus phalangioides) is a thin, wispy creature, but do not underestimate it: it forms a lasso from its silk and traps large, scary house spiders by the leg. Then it eats them.

It is for this reason that I have been allowing Daddy Long Legs Spiders to remain in our house as non-paying lodgers.

However, recently I have hired some help with the cleaning and my little eight-legged pals have been decimated.

And now it is the autumn and the annual parade of large male house spiders is under way. They are strutting their (very long and hairy) legs in search of females.

This year they are so big I can hear them before I see them, scuttling across the floor. And there are a lot of them.

As I say I like to think there is an increase in numbers because of the diligence of my cleaning lady in killing their predators.

But this is because I don't want to contemplate the alternative - Are the males in fact being drawn to our house for a specific reason. Is there perhaps, under a sofa or behind a wardrobe, an incredibly attractive, very large female spider...Just waiting for the right guy to turn up so she can lay hundreds of eggs, which in turn will become hundreds of house spiders?

Leaving Home

Since our children have left home, there have just been the two of us in the house.  It’s been quiet.  Then we hit on the idea of keeping doves. (See previous posts 1 & 2.)

So that the doves would recognise our dovecote at home, we took them through a process known (appropriately) as “homing”.  We used a net to keep them cooped up for six weeks in the dovecote.

The moment for their freedom had arrived at last. Perran, Carenza and Will joined us for the occasion and our neighbours came across. 

Uncertainly, our six snowy doves teetered on the perches of the dovecote not sure what was expected of them. At last, one or two at a time, they fluttered up to the roof where the golden afternoon light caught them, then on into the wild blue yonder, flapping like learners, unaccustomed to the air.

We knew that they should be “homed” by now and come back to roost at nightfall. But as they departed I found myself wondering “What if they don't?”

I realised that I had recreated for myself a reenactment of the traumatic moment when the children flew the nest.  Old emotions rushed back to the surface.

With the pigeons vanished into the sky, Perran, Carenza and Will left for their homes.

At nightfall I was able to text them “Four have come back.”

We were both relieved that some had come back and disappointed of course that not all had returned . 

The following day, only three returned.

Nigel and I kept going out anxiously, but however many times we counted, it only amounted to three doves in the cote.

Finally, on the third evening, a magnificent total of five arrived home, and it has been five ever since.

Possibly our local sparrowhawk got number six, but I’m not complaining. 

They came back.

Getting off Crutches

The specialist said, “Your foot has fused properly now. You’ll need to use the crutches just for a little bit longer.” 

“How much longer?”

“Days.”

I had my op back in July.  I was prepared for a long haul.  I adapted my house, figured out ways of doing things.

I also learned to take it easy and say Yes to help.

My friends Caroline, Christine and Kathryn supported me by giving me lifts when I started back to work. 

Nigel did the washing and many other household tasks.

Guests brought food when they joined us for a meal.

Strangers opened doors for me and gave up their seats on the tube, shop assistants offered to carry my purchases.

Of course, I missed my independence, but frankly, there was an up-side. Not that I appreciated it properly until now.

The first time I went shopping without crutches, I was irritated when people did not open the door for me, move courteously out of my way and allow me to jump the pay-queue. 

I could scarcely believe my own mind-set – I am going to find it hard to relinquish the privileges of being temporarily disabled.

However, just for the moment, that problem is academic, since I quickly overdid it and am now using the crutches again to allow my painful, puffy foot to recover.