It could have been worse, it could have been raining, but it was a springlike day of clear sunshine. Unseasonably mild, it was just the type of day for pottering in the garden. So I didn’t mind too much when I noticed the pond pump had slowed to a trickle and would need cleaning.
I have long since figured out a way to do the job efficiently, with minimal fuss and effort. I haul the thing out of the depths with a sturdy nylon line that I keep attached to the submersible unit and, if I’m lucky, it takes no more than ten minutes with rubber gloves and the garden hose to clean the pump.
If I’m not lucky, there will be worms. Wet worms. Wriggling around inside the housing. Sometimes hundreds of them.
I am wet-wormophobic.
I am not afraid of worms, don’t get me wrong here. I know they cannot hurt me. There are places… like in the earth… where worms are good and I am perfectly at ease with them. But wet worms are a different matter.
It all began one awful morning when I was small. It had rained heavily all night and all the grassy banks that sloped down to the path I had to take to school were completely covered with thousands of wet worms…pallid, drowned and unavoidable. You could not take a single step without wet worms underfoot.
Over half a century later, I still cannot ‘do’ wet worms. Even at a distance. I cringe, I react with panic in spite of my own mind berating me… and I squeal. Which is why I have worked out how to clean the pond pump efficiently and with minimal contact.
The fact that I can do it at all is only down to necessity and it illustrates just how far we can go beyond our own emotions when a real need arises. The sturgeon rely on well filtered, well-oxygenated water. If the pump does not work, they struggle to breathe, flounder on the surface and would soon die without help. So I clean their pump.
The trouble is, that this time, it didn’t work. I switched the pump back on… nothing happened. Not a drop of water flowed.
For the next hour, I checked all the electrics, crawled beneath bushes to test and change every fuse in the garden set-up. Still nothing. The only thing left to check was the filter… a huge great affair that sits in a big box in the corner of the garden. Cleaning that is a big job… and one for which I have, in the past, had to call the cavalry.
The trouble is, the whole thing is a wet worm’s paradise and it is writhing with the things.
I have been called brave a good few times in my life for things other people see as courageous, but which were, on the whole, just the result of having to get from ‘A’ to’B’ by keeping moving forward. Courage, my Granny taught me, is about being scared and doing things anyway. A phobia is an irrational, unreasonable fear that can induce extreme reactions such as panic attacks and acute anxiety. I think my Granny would have been proud of me for even attempting to tackle that damnable filter.
On the first occasion I’d had to do it, my younger son had been the cavalry and concern for my sanity made him banish me to the far end of the garden. No such luck this time. The cavalry being unavailable, Nick and I had to tackle the thing. We’d worked out how it has to be done… I heft the stone slab off the top of the box, dismantle the wooden lid, gingerly and at arm’s length pull all the filter sponges out and hose them from a distance, while Nick props himself against the box and bales the rest of the stinky gunge into a bucket that I then have to empty. All the while desperately pretending that I see no worms…
We managed the job… eventually. Aching everywhere, soaked from the spray and covered in mud, we reassembled the thing. With the utmost relief, I stripped off the rubber gloves and headed inside to the switches to see if we had cured the problem. And at the end of it all, the damned thing still wouldn’t work. The electrician my son called in later says he needs a new pump.
I surveyed the pond as the fountain offered the fish a little relief. Feeling something tickle my face and, being a tad concerned it might be a spider from the bushes… they inspire no fear but I treat them with caution since the whole bite episode… I lifted my hand to brush my cheek. It came away with a tiny wet worm stuck to it.
All decorum to the winds, I squealed and wiped it off as if disposing of the evidence of murder… but as I looked down, I saw my jumper covered in the things… half of them squashed, the rest still wriggling…
I draw a veil over the next few minutes… an interlude that would have been at home in both a Hammer Horror film and a slapstick comedy as I scrubbed, screeched and cringed.. All I wanted to do was strip there and then and get in the shower… but home and clean clothes were a fair drive away. I would have half an hour of hell to get through before my ablutions… or so I thought.
“I could use something to eat now,” said my son, who had already refused the cooked lunch I had proposed. And what did he now want cooking for his lunch? Stir-fry… I ask you, would you fancy cooking a pan full of noodles after that?
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
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Thanks for sharing 😀
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Oh Sue!
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… the noodles were the final straw 😉
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I can only imagine Sue!
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I’d rather not even think about it 😉
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I’m picturing you squirming at the end with the wet worms covering you! Dear God! Poor you!
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We seriously don’t always know how screwed up we are till something reminds us. 🙂
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So true Sue! 🙂
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This is great – I giggled the whole way through
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Believe me, Deb, I didn’t 😉
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Sorry … if it’s any consolation I terrified of mice and had to live through a mouse plague. Open a drawer to get under ware out and there’s your friendly mouse
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The cat used to bring them in… one scared the lfe out of me when it played dead and the boss put it in the bin…only to have it fly out at me next morning!
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That’s classic
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I’ve never forgotten it… nor the half -mouse she brought for me as a gift…while I was in the bath….
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EWWWWWWW!!! … I hope you ordered pizza!
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He got rice instead 😉
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That’ll learn him!!!
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I hope so… more pond stuff tomorrow 😦
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Ha sorry to laugh but great fun..wriggly wet worms such wonderful alliteration..
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If I couldn’t laugh at myself, I’d be lost 🙂
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My parents say the only time I act like the girl I am is when confronted by spiders, insects, and the like. I can’t help it. I just act… Well, similar to how you did, actually.
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I can cope with almost anything else… but the worms and anything that looks like a wet worm, they win every time…
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I have no idea how you cope, Sue, but after reading your post this morning, I am very glad you do!
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Where wet worms are concerned, I do not cope very well at all, Jaye! 😀
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I’m the same with slugs. Not the English variety, just those huge foreign ones!
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I’ve seen a good few of those here too!
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Too bloody many!
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Reblogged this on Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung – Aus und über Eslarn, sowie die bayerisch-tschechische Region!.
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Thanks, Michael 😀
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I’m so sorrry, Sue, but I laughed out loud while reading this though I’m sure it wasn’t remotely amusing at the time. The only thing which causes a simiarl extreme reaction in me is spiders. I know it is irrational but…
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I give spiders a wide enough berth… though more out of respect than fear these days. The worms, though… yeuch….
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Ha! Funny, well-told story, Sue. In my old house I had a fountain in the backyard with a circulating pump that needed cleaning every few months, so I can relate to your tale. Fortunately, I never encountered any worms. Just crud and leaves that needed to be removed from the pump.
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The pump gets done eery few weeks… not too bad unless there are wet worms… but the big filter is a major undertaking…and the worms are legion 😦
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LOL. Ugh! I’m not too bad with nature’s lesser-than-cute creatures, but that sounds like a nightmare. It makes a great story though!
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It is an unpleasant job, even without the worms…
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I emphasize with you on the worms when I was young I had my own phobias didn’t outgrow them just moved away from them. Good story though,
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This one has been around half a century or so…I can’t see me beating it now 😉
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I understand, I moved so I no longer have to deal with mine it was fortunately confined to one area.
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I keep expecting an ingress of fieldmice with the back door always open on the fields.. but so far, so good 🙂
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Ani got that taken care of no mice in her house.
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Not so far 🙂
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Oh dear, I felt for you as I read this. I have my own phobias and they are not a laughing matter. But it did make a good story.
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Thanks, Darlene… the laughter is only in retrospect 🙂
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OMG! I pity you having to go through that, Sue. I would have screamed bloody murder and probably had a heart attack. I can’t stand crawlies of any kind.
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I didn’t do badly on the decibels front myself 😉
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LOL – I can just imagine your dance, Sue. I’m not too fond of squiggly things myself. It doesn’t matter that they can’t hurt me, I still shriek!
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It’s really strange, isn’t it?
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I could not do it. I’d give the fish away and fill up the pond before I could. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to make myself NOT scream when I bump into things that totally panic me … Unsuccesfully. All the honor to you. But not me, no no no.
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The fish have been with Nick so long now that they are old friends… and the sturgeon from inches to over the feet long… I could no more ignore them than I could Ani. Worms or not.
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You are brave and stalwart!
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Well, as the fish are nearly as big as me now, I’d hate to disappoint them 😉
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I know my limits. But I’m older than you are and aside from the scary stuff, there’s the reality that I actually CAN’T do it. Garry’s turning 76 and I’m turning 71 and our trying to get the outdoor stuff services ourselves is LONG over,
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Laid out on the wet deck today, dangling through the railings over the edge of the pond with a screwdriver, I came to the conclusion that there are things I should no longer be doing either…
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Next step? Figuring out how to stop doing the things you really can’t do before you seriously injure yourself. That’s a very tricky one.
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I’m working on that one… though the part where I convince a son that there is anything I ‘really can’t do’ without risk or injury will be the hard part 😉
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They were brought up to believe we can leap tall building at a single bound. My son can’t seem to see me as old. He literally doesn’t see it. I love him for his blindness, but sooner or later, he will HAVE to see.
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I know… one of mine is the same….
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Even when I was IN the hospital desperately sick, as far as he was concerned, I was fine, or shortly would be. Actually, Garry isn’t all that different. I think once it crossed his mind that he might actually lose me. Clearly, never been a mother.
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I understand that. Never missed a day at work with Nick…even through double pneumonia… I’m not at all sure he believed me… though he did point out that as my employer, I would need his permission in triplicate before taking any permananent time off…
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We need their permission to get buried.
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Apparently…
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Everyone has their personal fears Sue, you’re entitled. My sister is like you when it comes to worms . . . and spiders. I can appreciate the gross out of worms, I don’t care for them myself, but my sister gets hysterical when surrounded. I remember when we were kids walking to school, we had to walk across a park to get to school and when it rained worms were everywhere. She freaked out so bad my brother had to carry her across the field. Now she’s a grown woman who loves all animals large and small, but one spider on the wall she screams at the top of her lungs, lol. 🙂 xx
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I just steer clear of close contact with spiders after the whole bite thing, but I can truly sympathise with your sister on the wet worms… xx
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Lol 🙂 xx
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