Landfall...? Looks like Dock 99 1/2, again.
Today I found a great little classical-styled private school, Pre-K through 12th, initially thinking it would be perfect for my littlest one, but becoming more interested for the older two as we toured the campus. Both the older ones were eager to spend the day there tomorrow on a trial run. Then someone mentioned that Ivan appeared to be heading straight for Boca Grande. What to do? I hate to put them in, get their hopes up and then yank them out. Ivan could turn and miss us altogether, but if it hits here as a Category 5, we're done. We'd have to go back to Hollywood or Fort Lauderdale and start from scratch. (Hey, wasn't I just saying I could easily leave everything behind on the west coast? I should shut up.)
After the school visit we dropped by Target, where I wanted to buy some deep plastic bins to transfer our photo albums into, as the cardboard boxes they've been stored in the past few years are collapsing and filthy. Everyone else had the same idea. I ended up with the last five bins, four mismatched lids, three tape rolls, two bags of kitty litter and one bag of pet bedding. (Kinda like "The Twelve Days of Christmas.")
Last time, as we raced across the state barely ahead of Charley, we expected to return and find two vacant lots. We only had time to grab whatever was in arms' reach as we flew out the door. Out of sight, out of mind. This is harder, having a few days to decide what to take and what to say goodbye to.
Anybody else tired of hearing about hurricanes?
Post Script: The link above shows continually updated info and it now looks like the 5:00 PM, 5-Day Forecast Track has it tracking a little farther north...
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Before I slip back into gloom and doom, my mood today, which, in addition to the matters below, may be exacerbated by my continued reading of Lewis Lapham's Theater of War (finally, someone who can coherently express my thoughts on the subject) and raging hormones, let me ask if you are all aware of your Constitutional right to surf? I can't locate the footage of the guy leaping off the Pompano Beach pier with his board or the follow-up interview, only this brief mention, I think WFOR-TV is trying to show how responsible they are by not linking it on their website, but it was awesome, dude.
The "After, After"
On the homefront: Our phone works again. Let's see how long it lasts this time.
And now back to our regularly scheduled program...
I spent the morning online reading some of the boards and blogs and rather than feeling better about catching up with goings-on, I feel worse. Schoolwork is being done, housework completed, extracurricular activities planned and carried out. Not here.
The girls and I are stuck inside our rental in this landfill of a neighborhood. We are surrounded by the kind of neighbors we affectionately call "Junkmeisters," you know, the ones with at least one car that doesn't run and/or loads of plastic toys permanently decorating their yards. Many of these people are, unfortunately, also the same kind accustomed to handouts, and now, instead of chipping away at the giant piles of rubble around them, they sit and wait for someone else to come and do it. Add large quantities of rain and tidal surges, and it gets uglier. They are victims, but victims with no desire to help themselves. The neighbors willing to clean up and repair their homes are waiting on a short supply of state certified contractors, up to eight weeks for an appraisal, only an appraisal, forget contracting them do the work, they're too busy. Can't play outside, too much debris and too many strangers about. My paranoia gave me a good idea for a horror story though. How about a predator who follows natural disasters and other catastrophic events in search of victims? This, inspired by the pick-up truck full of men who drove down our street after Charley, offering the kids Yoo-hoo (my first instinct was to cuss the pervs out until I realized they were sincerely trying to offer some hurricane relief) and the fact that there were about twenty names read off at our first homeschooling Park Day of people who still haven't been heard from since August 13.
Can't go to the park; our favorite playground may be the only one left standing, but the fence along the seawall blew away and the city will keep it closed until repairs can be made -- whenever that is.
Get the books out, you say? Well, we started this morning. G wanted to do Spelling Power first, which went well, and then her violin lesson, which is when things came to a screeching halt. No violin. Gone. I don't know how or why; it was practically the only thing in her closet, placed way up high on the top shelf in its case for safekeeping. If anyone wanted to steal anything from us I would guess it'd be the few measly pieces of electronics that we own, or maybe our large cache of camping equipment and drinking water stashed conveniently under the house, in plain view. It's got to be here somewhere, but where?
My husband is too busy on the east coast to assemble a crew over here, so he'll continue his disruptive back and forth pattern. I feel more isolated here in Punta Gorda than I ever did on the island. It wouldn't be hard to walk away from everything we have here and head back to Fort Lauderdale.
And then there's Ivan...
I should be happy and grateful. We have a house. We have a house with a complete, leak-free roof over our head. We are alive.
Except this is not living.
The "After, After"
On the homefront: Our phone works again. Let's see how long it lasts this time.
And now back to our regularly scheduled program...
I spent the morning online reading some of the boards and blogs and rather than feeling better about catching up with goings-on, I feel worse. Schoolwork is being done, housework completed, extracurricular activities planned and carried out. Not here.
The girls and I are stuck inside our rental in this landfill of a neighborhood. We are surrounded by the kind of neighbors we affectionately call "Junkmeisters," you know, the ones with at least one car that doesn't run and/or loads of plastic toys permanently decorating their yards. Many of these people are, unfortunately, also the same kind accustomed to handouts, and now, instead of chipping away at the giant piles of rubble around them, they sit and wait for someone else to come and do it. Add large quantities of rain and tidal surges, and it gets uglier. They are victims, but victims with no desire to help themselves. The neighbors willing to clean up and repair their homes are waiting on a short supply of state certified contractors, up to eight weeks for an appraisal, only an appraisal, forget contracting them do the work, they're too busy. Can't play outside, too much debris and too many strangers about. My paranoia gave me a good idea for a horror story though. How about a predator who follows natural disasters and other catastrophic events in search of victims? This, inspired by the pick-up truck full of men who drove down our street after Charley, offering the kids Yoo-hoo (my first instinct was to cuss the pervs out until I realized they were sincerely trying to offer some hurricane relief) and the fact that there were about twenty names read off at our first homeschooling Park Day of people who still haven't been heard from since August 13.
Can't go to the park; our favorite playground may be the only one left standing, but the fence along the seawall blew away and the city will keep it closed until repairs can be made -- whenever that is.
Get the books out, you say? Well, we started this morning. G wanted to do Spelling Power first, which went well, and then her violin lesson, which is when things came to a screeching halt. No violin. Gone. I don't know how or why; it was practically the only thing in her closet, placed way up high on the top shelf in its case for safekeeping. If anyone wanted to steal anything from us I would guess it'd be the few measly pieces of electronics that we own, or maybe our large cache of camping equipment and drinking water stashed conveniently under the house, in plain view. It's got to be here somewhere, but where?
My husband is too busy on the east coast to assemble a crew over here, so he'll continue his disruptive back and forth pattern. I feel more isolated here in Punta Gorda than I ever did on the island. It wouldn't be hard to walk away from everything we have here and head back to Fort Lauderdale.
And then there's Ivan...
I should be happy and grateful. We have a house. We have a house with a complete, leak-free roof over our head. We are alive.
Except this is not living.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Checking in
I'm on the east coast today, (I'm not worried about any of my Punta Gorda neighbors reading this and looting my house, all the phones lines are out again) taking care of the girls' dental appointments. The good news is: No cavities!
Frances hit us hardest in the wee morning hours Monday as we caught the back end of her. With only about 50 mph winds, the house was rocking back and forth, like riding a train. We felt a few larger gusts that were similar to what I imagine an earthquake feels like. It was hard to imagine how much worse it would have been had we stayed in the house through Charley's 145 mph winds. Our neighborhood experienced a small tidal surge from the river and was briefly underwater but other than that, just another close call.
Hope Tammy in WPB and Anne in CS are doing well (email me if you need any help, guys.)
Better blog when I don't have a line of people standing over my shoulder waiting to use the only functioning computer...
Frances hit us hardest in the wee morning hours Monday as we caught the back end of her. With only about 50 mph winds, the house was rocking back and forth, like riding a train. We felt a few larger gusts that were similar to what I imagine an earthquake feels like. It was hard to imagine how much worse it would have been had we stayed in the house through Charley's 145 mph winds. Our neighborhood experienced a small tidal surge from the river and was briefly underwater but other than that, just another close call.
Hope Tammy in WPB and Anne in CS are doing well (email me if you need any help, guys.)
Better blog when I don't have a line of people standing over my shoulder waiting to use the only functioning computer...
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Random hurricane thoughts
Am I going to have to publish an "After, After" damage photo?
Low carb hurricane supplies = Spam and beef jerky
I have probably gained five pounds after abandoning my low carb diet
The roof may blow off, my belongings can fly away, I just don't want to lose the water again
Showers are lovely, but one day soon, I hope to take a very long, very hot soak in an actual bathtub
------
We are enjoying our last night with Carolyn and family, having a mini pre-hurricane party (we're not stupid enough to have a real hurricane party.) I am actually drinking, much to my husband's delight, and he has just arrived from the east coast bearing a delightful surprise: Indian food and a brand new, flat screen TV, so we can watch Frances's cone in color, in a format larger than our trusty old battery operated B&W 5 inch.
Gotta go...
Low carb hurricane supplies = Spam and beef jerky
I have probably gained five pounds after abandoning my low carb diet
The roof may blow off, my belongings can fly away, I just don't want to lose the water again
Showers are lovely, but one day soon, I hope to take a very long, very hot soak in an actual bathtub
------
We are enjoying our last night with Carolyn and family, having a mini pre-hurricane party (we're not stupid enough to have a real hurricane party.) I am actually drinking, much to my husband's delight, and he has just arrived from the east coast bearing a delightful surprise: Indian food and a brand new, flat screen TV, so we can watch Frances's cone in color, in a format larger than our trusty old battery operated B&W 5 inch.
Gotta go...
Frances
I am the eye. I am the calm center in a swirling sea of chaos. I am the self-appointed slapper of hysterical persons. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Crazed relatives up in Boston paying outrageous sums of money to fly Carolyn and the kids back one day early to avoid being caught in a hurricane. What about us? Why aren't they flying me and my kids out of harm's way?
I am the houseboy pushed off the helicopter at the fall of Saigon.
Neighbors planning to jump in their RVs and cars and race back to their old hometowns in New York, and Michigan, never to return. This is the Big One. This is the unnamed Labor Day hurricane of 1935 coming back to finish what it didn't destroy the first time. This one will wipe the entire state of Florida off the map.
SLAP!
Fist fights at the gas station. Nervous, half-joking cracks from people already exhibiting Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, about me emptying the gas station's fuel tanks while I top off my Excursion. (Yup, 13.1 gallons per mile isn't the greatest, but I got a 40 gallon tank, plus a little extra reserve after the empty mark, so there.) East coasters speeding over to our wrecked area, in search of hotel rooms that don't exist, when this storm, of uncertain path, is large enough to cover most of the state anyway.
SLAP!
Panicked friends and relatives throwing money at my husband's crew, desperately trying to get their homes and businesses boarded up, not considering that the crew has property of their own they would like to protect. Sorry folks, it's way too late for that, supposing you could even find the plywood and other supplies in the first place.
Sit tight, people.
Crazed relatives up in Boston paying outrageous sums of money to fly Carolyn and the kids back one day early to avoid being caught in a hurricane. What about us? Why aren't they flying me and my kids out of harm's way?
I am the houseboy pushed off the helicopter at the fall of Saigon.
Neighbors planning to jump in their RVs and cars and race back to their old hometowns in New York, and Michigan, never to return. This is the Big One. This is the unnamed Labor Day hurricane of 1935 coming back to finish what it didn't destroy the first time. This one will wipe the entire state of Florida off the map.
SLAP!
Fist fights at the gas station. Nervous, half-joking cracks from people already exhibiting Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, about me emptying the gas station's fuel tanks while I top off my Excursion. (Yup, 13.1 gallons per mile isn't the greatest, but I got a 40 gallon tank, plus a little extra reserve after the empty mark, so there.) East coasters speeding over to our wrecked area, in search of hotel rooms that don't exist, when this storm, of uncertain path, is large enough to cover most of the state anyway.
SLAP!
Panicked friends and relatives throwing money at my husband's crew, desperately trying to get their homes and businesses boarded up, not considering that the crew has property of their own they would like to protect. Sorry folks, it's way too late for that, supposing you could even find the plywood and other supplies in the first place.
Sit tight, people.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
In spite of my love of spontaneity, or maybe to be more accurate I should say my ability to rapidly shrug off responsibility, I crave a schedule.
We were three weeks into my general school plan for the year when the rental became available and the drawn out process of moving began. Then Hurricane Charley and a two week period shuttling back and forth from Punta Gorda to the island. Then a visit from my cousin. Next, a visit to see my brother when he visits my parents this coming weekend, provided Hurricane Frances doesn't wipe out Fort Lauderdale, and a dental check-up for all three girls at our old east coast pediatric dentist on Tuesday, provided Frances doesn't hit Hollywood either.
Oh wait, that's technically a schedule, I guess what I mean is a routine; like the old Math, Spelling, History, Latin, Read-aloud Routine.
Tomorrow we will be attending our Punta Gorda homeschool group's first planned Park Day of the season. Meeting the first Wednesday of each month barely counts as a routine, but it's a start. I'm not currently a paying member, so I don't have access to the group's Yahoo list yet and hope that it is still on and that someone will actually show up. Last time I saw the playground, it looked to be in good shape and all the refrigerator trucks for the temporary morgue had gone.
------
Frances, another freakin' Category 4, has everybody on edge. East coast? West coast?! Wait and see... Looking at the "cone," which is what we're all anxiously and obsessively doing, it could strike anywhere from Cuba to North Carolina, or nowhere at all, just buzzing up the east coast. Could make landfall by Saturday, but they won't have any real accurate track until Friday. Not very reassuring, is it?
Carolyn wanted a taste of Real Florida. Be careful what you wish for.
We were three weeks into my general school plan for the year when the rental became available and the drawn out process of moving began. Then Hurricane Charley and a two week period shuttling back and forth from Punta Gorda to the island. Then a visit from my cousin. Next, a visit to see my brother when he visits my parents this coming weekend, provided Hurricane Frances doesn't wipe out Fort Lauderdale, and a dental check-up for all three girls at our old east coast pediatric dentist on Tuesday, provided Frances doesn't hit Hollywood either.
Oh wait, that's technically a schedule, I guess what I mean is a routine; like the old Math, Spelling, History, Latin, Read-aloud Routine.
Tomorrow we will be attending our Punta Gorda homeschool group's first planned Park Day of the season. Meeting the first Wednesday of each month barely counts as a routine, but it's a start. I'm not currently a paying member, so I don't have access to the group's Yahoo list yet and hope that it is still on and that someone will actually show up. Last time I saw the playground, it looked to be in good shape and all the refrigerator trucks for the temporary morgue had gone.
------
Frances, another freakin' Category 4, has everybody on edge. East coast? West coast?! Wait and see... Looking at the "cone," which is what we're all anxiously and obsessively doing, it could strike anywhere from Cuba to North Carolina, or nowhere at all, just buzzing up the east coast. Could make landfall by Saturday, but they won't have any real accurate track until Friday. Not very reassuring, is it?
Carolyn wanted a taste of Real Florida. Be careful what you wish for.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Island Progress
Love at first sight -- what were we thinking?
Last summer, painted and decks added
This summer with new front door and porch roof
Last summer, painted and decks added
This summer with new front door and porch roof
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Crappy Birthday To You
S wanted to see Princess Diaries II - The Engagement with a few friends for her birthday. With a carload of girls, I set out for the mall in Port Charlotte, site of the only multiplex for miles, and learned, upon arrival at 6:05, that the mall will be closing at 6:00 PM until further notice because of a hurricane induced curfew. Do we head north to Sarasota (45+ minutes) or south to Ft. Myers (45+ minutes)? As I drove north, trying to find the closest movie house by bugging various 411 operators, we realized we would not have sufficient time to see a movie in either location and return to the Punta Gorda house before the 9:00 curfew went into effect.
I thought maybe we'll just get a bite to eat and try the movie earlier the following day. By now it was 7:35 PM. Carrabba's and Outback were still closed from the storm. TGI Friday's, Chili's, Red Lobster, even, I hate to admit it, Hooters, all had their last seating at 7:30 PM to get their employees out and home by curfew. The only other place in town that was still open was Arby's. Fake roastbeef sandwiches for all. Whoopee.
S, ever the good sport, was happy enough to crack open a pack of our hurricane supply Oreos when we got home (at 9:05 PM -- ha!) And we did make the matinee the next day.
-------
Darby passed this fun site on survival knowledge along. My score? I survived, probably maimed though.
Question 11, "You're driving in an isolated area and a tornado is coming straight at you. What would you do?" posed a problem for me in that it did not offer my first choice: Drive through it.
I was on my way over to the west coast, driving up US 27 through sugarcane country when I spotted a pretty big tornado miles away to the west. Another smaller funnel cloud dipped down immediately east of me. It seemed small enough to be considered just a dust devil in comparison to the other more menacing storm to the west. I watched in amazement as the whirlwind spun toward me through the canefield, across a dirt road, and figured it would sputter out when it reached the canal separating me from the fields. My ears popped, my Excursion was picked up, and gently set down in the next lane.
Yep, that was probably a pretty accurate assessment of my survival skills.
I thought maybe we'll just get a bite to eat and try the movie earlier the following day. By now it was 7:35 PM. Carrabba's and Outback were still closed from the storm. TGI Friday's, Chili's, Red Lobster, even, I hate to admit it, Hooters, all had their last seating at 7:30 PM to get their employees out and home by curfew. The only other place in town that was still open was Arby's. Fake roastbeef sandwiches for all. Whoopee.
S, ever the good sport, was happy enough to crack open a pack of our hurricane supply Oreos when we got home (at 9:05 PM -- ha!) And we did make the matinee the next day.
-------
Darby passed this fun site on survival knowledge along. My score? I survived, probably maimed though.
Question 11, "You're driving in an isolated area and a tornado is coming straight at you. What would you do?" posed a problem for me in that it did not offer my first choice: Drive through it.
I was on my way over to the west coast, driving up US 27 through sugarcane country when I spotted a pretty big tornado miles away to the west. Another smaller funnel cloud dipped down immediately east of me. It seemed small enough to be considered just a dust devil in comparison to the other more menacing storm to the west. I watched in amazement as the whirlwind spun toward me through the canefield, across a dirt road, and figured it would sputter out when it reached the canal separating me from the fields. My ears popped, my Excursion was picked up, and gently set down in the next lane.
Yep, that was probably a pretty accurate assessment of my survival skills.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Almost back to normal
Ok, so what's normal?
Power is back on at the Punta Gorda house, but phone service has stopped working.
At the island, everything is pretty much back on track; just a little more yard work to do.
I was right, of course. G picked C.
After several days suffering a sluggish system, I've discovered a fast, effective, and oh, so tasty remedy: triple Starbucks doubleshots.
Back to my towering piles of laundry...
Power is back on at the Punta Gorda house, but phone service has stopped working.
At the island, everything is pretty much back on track; just a little more yard work to do.
I was right, of course. G picked C.
After several days suffering a sluggish system, I've discovered a fast, effective, and oh, so tasty remedy: triple Starbucks doubleshots.
Back to my towering piles of laundry...
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
TSLaskar?
If you see this, my emails to you are bouncing back again.
I had trouble replying about the Wheelock group (I'm interested, please send the details), no trouble replying to the next one (about the wet carpet in your place), and again today, another error message (we'll continue to use the island post office box address.)
Darn computers.
I had trouble replying about the Wheelock group (I'm interested, please send the details), no trouble replying to the next one (about the wet carpet in your place), and again today, another error message (we'll continue to use the island post office box address.)
Darn computers.
Flashback 12 years
For days we had been half aware of a tropical wave somewhere off the coast of Florida. No point getting excited yet, these things pop up all the time. It very quickly turned into a hurricane and continued on a due west path, so we paid slightly more attention. Sleepless, on August 23, we waited for the critical update from the National Hurricane Center in Miami that was due at 3:00 AM. Turn. Turn, damn it! No advisory, wait until 5:00 AM they said. Finally, at 6:00 AM, the Hurricane Center made their call. This was a monster Category 5 storm, still moving due west with no probability of changing course. It was the big one, the one you always worry about in the back of your mind, and it was headed straight for us. I was five days overdue with my first child.
We flew out of the house. There were supplies to be bought, buildings to be boarded, bags to be packed. We lived in a mobile home, so there was nothing to do but take a few valuables, leave, and hope for the best. All women in their third trimester were urged to check into a hospital. Everyone was urged to be in their safe place by 7:00 PM that evening.
At 7:30 PM, we were still driving around trying to locate and take down all his mother’s real estate signs. Decapitating someone with a giant metal sign, especially one with your name and phone number on it, can be a liability. When his shiftless brother-in-law called asking if we had any extra plywood, and could we go over and help him board up his house, I lost it. I had a little temper tantrum, slamming and splattering a large iced tea across the dashboard of G's truck, and demanded to be taken to the hospital immediately.
In addition to the bag with all the Lamaze junk and mom and baby’s home-from-the-hospital outfits, we had been advised by the hospital to bring blankets, pillows, flashlights, radio, batteries, and drinking water. We checked in and they directed us to an enormous conference room filled with pregnant women and their families. We promptly left, and found a spot in a hallway, which was no less crowded, but its smaller dimensions seemed less overwhelming. Until the teenaged girl and her boyfriend seated across from us cranked up their boombox.
We escaped to the spacious front lobby of the hospital where I hoped to stake out a bench or chair to call my own. No luck, but there were only a few other people who had discovered this haven. No amount of cajoling by the security guard was going to make me move. G’s sister showed up and delivered hot sausage and pepper subs to us before she was kicked out. We spent another sleepless night, this time on the concrete floor listening to continuous weather reports. The eye of Hurricane Andrew, now Category 4, had shifted direction by just a degree or two toward the south and was passing below us, making its way into Dade County.
I couldn’t bear sitting around anymore, so as soon as the coffee shop opened, I jumped up to find some orange juice and call my mother, to let her know that she had not missed anything and that we would be going home as soon as they’d let us out of here.
Oooh. What was that? Must have been the sausage and peppers. Oooh, there it is again. Ohhhhhhhh...
They made us walk the hallways, apparently half of the 700 or so women there were experiencing some sort of contractions, to be sure this was for real. While I hobbled around from lobby to lobby, we watched live broadcasts of people calling into television stations to say that their roofs had blown off and wondering if they were about to die.
When they determined that I was truly in labor, like I had any doubts, and finally allowed us upstairs, we were surprised to see our good friend, Connie, head of labor and delivery. “What are you doing here?” we wondered, “You're supposed to be sailing around the Bahamas!”
She, just as surprised to see us, replied, “They called me in for emergency duty, what are you doing here?!”
Well, duh, Connie.
As I’m watching the spikes peak on my monitor, everyone else is glued to the television as the first reports of major damage start to come in. Who cares that the bloody planes are flipped over at the airport?! Look at me, I’m having a baby over here!
Thank God for Connie. She realized we had been up for over 36 hours and gave me something to sleep. The next thing I’m aware of, she’s in my face, telling me to wake up, it’s time to push out that baby. Beautiful S was born at 2:56 PM.
The hospital was in crisis mode, officially no visitors, yet my mom still managed to slip past the security guard with an emotional plea about seeing her first grandchild, and my brother and his fiancé entered through the morgue with a flip of his police badge. I was happily hallucinating from the Stadol, opiates are wonderful things, unable to recall much more than that.
We arrived home two days later to find our mobile home miraculously undamaged, we hadn't even lost electricity, even though the park next door to us recorded gusts up to 136 miles per hour before their wind gauge blew away.
S’s first few weeks of life were accompanied by the non-stop sound of CH-46 helicopters flying over our farm, delivering supplies to our desperate neighbors down south.
If you weren’t there, you might not be aware of how close to anarchy things were in southwest Miami. It was a desperate time. Anyone remember Kate Hale? Floridians love guns and own lots of them, so when several panicky days passed before the government got around to taking any decisive action, people were ready to use them.
G waited a few days until all the scammers and unlicensed contractors were finally chased out of town before he went down to begin repairing people’s property. That was the silver lining. Up to that time, we had been struggling with our finances as the construction business dried up in the recession. Business boomed with the flood of insurance money and he has never wanted for work since.
I’ll never forget the conversation I had with a Belizean guy exactly nine months prior to Hurricane Andrew, while we stood atop the vistors’ gallery of Belize's Philip Goldson International Airport, waiting for the plane to arrive that carried my husband, who I had not seen in several weeks, and the local guy's friends. He wanted to know why, after seven years together, my husband and I didn’t have any babies yet.
“We can’t afford to.”
He laughed, “Jah provide.”
We flew out of the house. There were supplies to be bought, buildings to be boarded, bags to be packed. We lived in a mobile home, so there was nothing to do but take a few valuables, leave, and hope for the best. All women in their third trimester were urged to check into a hospital. Everyone was urged to be in their safe place by 7:00 PM that evening.
At 7:30 PM, we were still driving around trying to locate and take down all his mother’s real estate signs. Decapitating someone with a giant metal sign, especially one with your name and phone number on it, can be a liability. When his shiftless brother-in-law called asking if we had any extra plywood, and could we go over and help him board up his house, I lost it. I had a little temper tantrum, slamming and splattering a large iced tea across the dashboard of G's truck, and demanded to be taken to the hospital immediately.
In addition to the bag with all the Lamaze junk and mom and baby’s home-from-the-hospital outfits, we had been advised by the hospital to bring blankets, pillows, flashlights, radio, batteries, and drinking water. We checked in and they directed us to an enormous conference room filled with pregnant women and their families. We promptly left, and found a spot in a hallway, which was no less crowded, but its smaller dimensions seemed less overwhelming. Until the teenaged girl and her boyfriend seated across from us cranked up their boombox.
We escaped to the spacious front lobby of the hospital where I hoped to stake out a bench or chair to call my own. No luck, but there were only a few other people who had discovered this haven. No amount of cajoling by the security guard was going to make me move. G’s sister showed up and delivered hot sausage and pepper subs to us before she was kicked out. We spent another sleepless night, this time on the concrete floor listening to continuous weather reports. The eye of Hurricane Andrew, now Category 4, had shifted direction by just a degree or two toward the south and was passing below us, making its way into Dade County.
I couldn’t bear sitting around anymore, so as soon as the coffee shop opened, I jumped up to find some orange juice and call my mother, to let her know that she had not missed anything and that we would be going home as soon as they’d let us out of here.
Oooh. What was that? Must have been the sausage and peppers. Oooh, there it is again. Ohhhhhhhh...
They made us walk the hallways, apparently half of the 700 or so women there were experiencing some sort of contractions, to be sure this was for real. While I hobbled around from lobby to lobby, we watched live broadcasts of people calling into television stations to say that their roofs had blown off and wondering if they were about to die.
When they determined that I was truly in labor, like I had any doubts, and finally allowed us upstairs, we were surprised to see our good friend, Connie, head of labor and delivery. “What are you doing here?” we wondered, “You're supposed to be sailing around the Bahamas!”
She, just as surprised to see us, replied, “They called me in for emergency duty, what are you doing here?!”
Well, duh, Connie.
As I’m watching the spikes peak on my monitor, everyone else is glued to the television as the first reports of major damage start to come in. Who cares that the bloody planes are flipped over at the airport?! Look at me, I’m having a baby over here!
Thank God for Connie. She realized we had been up for over 36 hours and gave me something to sleep. The next thing I’m aware of, she’s in my face, telling me to wake up, it’s time to push out that baby. Beautiful S was born at 2:56 PM.
The hospital was in crisis mode, officially no visitors, yet my mom still managed to slip past the security guard with an emotional plea about seeing her first grandchild, and my brother and his fiancé entered through the morgue with a flip of his police badge. I was happily hallucinating from the Stadol, opiates are wonderful things, unable to recall much more than that.
We arrived home two days later to find our mobile home miraculously undamaged, we hadn't even lost electricity, even though the park next door to us recorded gusts up to 136 miles per hour before their wind gauge blew away.
S’s first few weeks of life were accompanied by the non-stop sound of CH-46 helicopters flying over our farm, delivering supplies to our desperate neighbors down south.
If you weren’t there, you might not be aware of how close to anarchy things were in southwest Miami. It was a desperate time. Anyone remember Kate Hale? Floridians love guns and own lots of them, so when several panicky days passed before the government got around to taking any decisive action, people were ready to use them.
G waited a few days until all the scammers and unlicensed contractors were finally chased out of town before he went down to begin repairing people’s property. That was the silver lining. Up to that time, we had been struggling with our finances as the construction business dried up in the recession. Business boomed with the flood of insurance money and he has never wanted for work since.
I’ll never forget the conversation I had with a Belizean guy exactly nine months prior to Hurricane Andrew, while we stood atop the vistors’ gallery of Belize's Philip Goldson International Airport, waiting for the plane to arrive that carried my husband, who I had not seen in several weeks, and the local guy's friends. He wanted to know why, after seven years together, my husband and I didn’t have any babies yet.
“We can’t afford to.”
He laughed, “Jah provide.”
Monday, August 23, 2004
Pick C
Tomorrow we find out if G:
A) takes the big, east coast Port Everglades contract
B) decides to move his crew westward and focus on Hurricane Charley repairs
C) spreads himself too thin, trying to please all of the people all of the time, or, in other words, all of the above
A) takes the big, east coast Port Everglades contract
B) decides to move his crew westward and focus on Hurricane Charley repairs
C) spreads himself too thin, trying to please all of the people all of the time, or, in other words, all of the above
Sunday, August 22, 2004
That's Entertainment
G went out Friday night for a bite to eat. He stopped at a little Mexican joint on the east coast where he and his architect often enjoy lunch. G was horrified to discover that Friday evenings are karaoke night. Double Shot Karaoke Night. He was so horrified in fact, he ended up sitting through several sets after he finished his dinner. I got a phone call from him a little later, absolutely raving, not about the excellence of the performers, for they certainly were far from excellent, or even mediocre, but about the pathetic state of our society in general. Poor guy, he's usually pretty cutting edge, but somehow, he missed out on the whole karaoke thing when it appeared years ago. It was a severe shock to his system.
Last night we watched The Shining with the kids. Hard to believe it's nearly 25 years old. It's still scary. Nicholson is a master; how could he not have been at least nominated for that performance?
We've been introducing the girls to our favorite movies. We finally found A Fish Called Wanda, which was a tad risque due to the language, and The Jerk, which everybody loved, with the little bit of innuendo sailing right over their heads. In connection with our literature and history reading, we've recently viewed Great Expectations and Mutiny on the Bounty. I could only find the 1935 version of Mutiny on the Bounty. Charles Laughton is my ideal Captain Bligh, but Clark Gable is nowhere near brooding enough to be Fletcher Christian. I am still on the lookout for Marlon Brando's 1962 version.
Anyway, back to The Shining -- they were properly terrified. Afterward we watched Making The Shining, a bonus feature on the DVD, filmed by Kubrick's daughter, Vivian, and that took the edge off, some.
Next, we want to show them The Time Machine and The Birds. My cousin B watched The Birds with her children, then took them to the drive-thru at McDonald's, parked, and when no one was looking, threw a handful of French fries up on the roof of the car.
Dad brought over a new video camera for the girls when he returned last night. Their other camera, a decommissioned spy camera from their uncle, finally quit working. Their body of work to date includes: A Christmas Carol, Little Red Riding Hood, and Hamlet. S and G now want to take fencing lessons, and S would like to take a boat building class, so that they can make their own swashbuckling tale.
Do I see a future at NYU?
Last night we watched The Shining with the kids. Hard to believe it's nearly 25 years old. It's still scary. Nicholson is a master; how could he not have been at least nominated for that performance?
We've been introducing the girls to our favorite movies. We finally found A Fish Called Wanda, which was a tad risque due to the language, and The Jerk, which everybody loved, with the little bit of innuendo sailing right over their heads. In connection with our literature and history reading, we've recently viewed Great Expectations and Mutiny on the Bounty. I could only find the 1935 version of Mutiny on the Bounty. Charles Laughton is my ideal Captain Bligh, but Clark Gable is nowhere near brooding enough to be Fletcher Christian. I am still on the lookout for Marlon Brando's 1962 version.
Anyway, back to The Shining -- they were properly terrified. Afterward we watched Making The Shining, a bonus feature on the DVD, filmed by Kubrick's daughter, Vivian, and that took the edge off, some.
Next, we want to show them The Time Machine and The Birds. My cousin B watched The Birds with her children, then took them to the drive-thru at McDonald's, parked, and when no one was looking, threw a handful of French fries up on the roof of the car.
Dad brought over a new video camera for the girls when he returned last night. Their other camera, a decommissioned spy camera from their uncle, finally quit working. Their body of work to date includes: A Christmas Carol, Little Red Riding Hood, and Hamlet. S and G now want to take fencing lessons, and S would like to take a boat building class, so that they can make their own swashbuckling tale.
Do I see a future at NYU?
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Blogs
I realize half the fun of blogging is reading other people's. So when I'm not being completely narcissistic and self-aggrandizing, I'm having fun digging around various links. Besides the usual crew via The Well Trained Mind Blogs, specifically:
Alexander's Maitresse
Classic Adventures
Coram Deo
Homeschool & Other Education Stuff
The Looney Bin
Me and the Boys
Mental Multivitamin
One Sixteenth
Oro et Laboro
Poppins Classical Academy
Quiet Life
Thought of the Day
Yet Another Homeschool Blog
I also enjoy checking in with:
plain living and high thinking
and these recommendations from favorite blogs:
11D
finslippy
mimi smartypants
Here are a couple I've stumbled across, too:
Doing Time
Tequila Mockingbird
Alexander's Maitresse
Classic Adventures
Coram Deo
Homeschool & Other Education Stuff
The Looney Bin
Me and the Boys
Mental Multivitamin
One Sixteenth
Oro et Laboro
Poppins Classical Academy
Quiet Life
Thought of the Day
Yet Another Homeschool Blog
I also enjoy checking in with:
plain living and high thinking
and these recommendations from favorite blogs:
11D
finslippy
mimi smartypants
Here are a couple I've stumbled across, too:
Doing Time
Tequila Mockingbird
What kind of psycho goes on vacation, with two children, one of whom is an infant, in an official disaster area? That would be my cousin.
She had planned a trip down from Boston, before her daughter begins school again after Labor Day, several weeks ago and won't let a little thing like a hurricane stop her. She wants to experience the real Florida. She thinks it might be a good lesson for her daughter to see the power of Mother Nature and participate in some community service. That would make this the ideal time to come. They arrive one week from today.
Since we now have electric, water, and phone service restored to the island, it won't be unbearable. The Punta Gorda house, where we will spend their first and last night in town, for its proximity to the highway, is another story. Water and phone are in service there, but no electric. I'm a firm believer that you can easily get by without electricity, but being trapped inside a stiflingly hot, ill-designed box, because the mosquitoes will eat you alive if you dare step outside or open a window, is torture. I'm glad she's coming and happy to inject a bit of reality into her vacation.
She had planned a trip down from Boston, before her daughter begins school again after Labor Day, several weeks ago and won't let a little thing like a hurricane stop her. She wants to experience the real Florida. She thinks it might be a good lesson for her daughter to see the power of Mother Nature and participate in some community service. That would make this the ideal time to come. They arrive one week from today.
Since we now have electric, water, and phone service restored to the island, it won't be unbearable. The Punta Gorda house, where we will spend their first and last night in town, for its proximity to the highway, is another story. Water and phone are in service there, but no electric. I'm a firm believer that you can easily get by without electricity, but being trapped inside a stiflingly hot, ill-designed box, because the mosquitoes will eat you alive if you dare step outside or open a window, is torture. I'm glad she's coming and happy to inject a bit of reality into her vacation.
Friday, August 20, 2004
Locals Only
One of my favorite bits of graffiti: the words “JAX FAGS,” enclosed in a red circle, with a red diagonal line crossing through it, spray painted on a seawall at St. Augustine Beach. Short, direct, with a touch of assonance, it’s not a message intending to scare away homosexuals from Jacksonville, but a simple warning to out-of-town surfers that this beach is for the local lads.
Let's forget the notion of thinking globally, and instead, think a little closer to home; particularly in matters of house construction. Nothing demonstrates poor house design so well as being trapped in an airless box with no cross ventilation and indoor temperatures soaring to 91 degrees. Last night was very unpleasant in a sleepless, steamy kind of way, even when the temperature in the Punta Gorda house finally dipped to a low of 87 around 4:00 AM. Cracker architecture is custom made for our hot, humid climate, being adapted over time from southern regional and Caribbean styles.
Why don’t local architects and building officials pay more attention to the tried and true? Rooms should be one, at the most, two deep, and the house should be surrounded by porches to improve air circulation. Ceilings should be high and end gables vented, or hip roofs dormered, to allow the heat to rise and escape. Having a cistern on hand to collect rainwater is always a good idea. Outdoor kitchens? Cool. Wonder why mold has become such a problem recently? Because building airtight houses with vapor barriers is a bad idea in Florida. The old wood frame places were built to breathe.
Climate Responsive Design: A Study of Buildings in Moderate and Hot Humid Climates
Classic Cracker: Florida's Wood-Frame Vernacular Architecture
The Houses of Key West
Caribbean Style
Here are more tips for living like a local:
Let's forget the notion of thinking globally, and instead, think a little closer to home; particularly in matters of house construction. Nothing demonstrates poor house design so well as being trapped in an airless box with no cross ventilation and indoor temperatures soaring to 91 degrees. Last night was very unpleasant in a sleepless, steamy kind of way, even when the temperature in the Punta Gorda house finally dipped to a low of 87 around 4:00 AM. Cracker architecture is custom made for our hot, humid climate, being adapted over time from southern regional and Caribbean styles.
Why don’t local architects and building officials pay more attention to the tried and true? Rooms should be one, at the most, two deep, and the house should be surrounded by porches to improve air circulation. Ceilings should be high and end gables vented, or hip roofs dormered, to allow the heat to rise and escape. Having a cistern on hand to collect rainwater is always a good idea. Outdoor kitchens? Cool. Wonder why mold has become such a problem recently? Because building airtight houses with vapor barriers is a bad idea in Florida. The old wood frame places were built to breathe.
Climate Responsive Design: A Study of Buildings in Moderate and Hot Humid Climates
Classic Cracker: Florida's Wood-Frame Vernacular Architecture
The Houses of Key West
Caribbean Style
Here are more tips for living like a local:
- Avoid houses described as “California-style” or offering a “lanai.” We are not in California or Hawaii. Likewise, a ranch, Cape, or mobile home is not a design for the subtropics.
- It’s pronounced, “konk.”
- Ask your servers, when they recite the menu and mention Mahi Mahi, if it is freshly caught. If it is, it should be called dolphin. Mahi Mahi is what they call dolphin in Hawaii; therefore, it couldn’t possibly be fresh. Educate your server on the subtle difference at your own risk. Also, eating dolphin does not mean eating Flipper. Dolphin is a fish; Flipper is a mammal. I suspect he might taste more like a big, juicy steak. Miami Dolphins are a National Football League franchise. Dolfans are a pathetic lot, doomed to cheer their team on to a season that can only match, and never beat, Shula’s 1972 Perfect Season.
- Key Lime Pie should never be green.
- Mold and mildew are part of the price you pay to live here. Before you try to sue your contractor for creating a mold hazard inside your home or business, check the outdoor air’s mold count. It’s higher.
- There are no real surfers south of Hobe Sound. I don’t care how many Ron Jon stickers are on your car.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Helicopters, generators, and sirens, oh, my!
Those are the sounds that lull us to sleep and the sounds that wake us.
Instead of finding official volunteer positions, forget trying to get any helpful information from the Red Cross or FEMA, the girls and I drove up Highway 17 towards Arcadia yesterday with a truckload of supplies. We figured the agricultural areas would be a mess. We were right. Both cities of Punta Gorda and Arcadia are fairly organized as far as assistance goes, but the little rural spots in between have been nearly forgotten.
The people in town who have lost their homes are in for a tough time but have plenty of help available. The people who have lost their beach houses don’t garner a whole lot of sympathy. The migrants out in the little farm towns are pitiful. There are no supplies and no shelters. We arrived in the tiny town of Nocatee to check on neighbors from the island, who have their family farmhouse and orange groves there. Their house was about the only one standing. They found a generator and were planning to sit tight because looting has begun to be a problem. We dropped off some of our stash with them and then decided to leave the rest at a small gas station in town that had become a makeshift donation center.
Key Largo Fire Department and people from all over the state had stumbled onto this little spot in the road. Several people from our area were like us, knowing that the residents of this area had most likely been overlooked. A church group had taken the responsibility of guarding the goods from thieves looking to steal and resell supplies. When I mentioned seeing a National Guard truck driving through a nearby trailer park, the man we were speaking to said the Guardsmen had come by the gas station looking for food and water for themselves, they had no supplies of their own. After we dropped a pallet of drinking water and several cases of tuna fish and Vienna sausages, we continued on to the Arcadia Wal-Mart which was operational. We picked up some insect repellent, sunscreen, propane, and boxes of applesauce and pear puree in snack-sized containers. Also Oreos, that’s what I’d want someone to bring me, and half a carton of cigarettes (the other half was a surprise for a neighbor.) The girls wanted to buy everything in sight. What they really need now is bedding and tarps or tents for shelter because they are living in the collapsed houses, so I’m going to collect whatever odds and ends we have lying around here and make another trip over.
The groves and fields are ruined, so besides losing their homes and belongings, they have also lost their source of employment. Sad, sad, sad.
-----
Our water came back on today, although I’m sure we’re not supposed to be drinking it. It was nice to rinse off the dirty dishes that have been sitting in the sink since the 13th. Power is back on at the island and since we have a well, we have water out there too. This evening we’ll head back to Fort Lauderdale, pick up our youngest from my parents', and gather some more supplies. Tomorrow we will return to the island, using that as our base until the power comes back on at the Punta Gorda house.
Instead of finding official volunteer positions, forget trying to get any helpful information from the Red Cross or FEMA, the girls and I drove up Highway 17 towards Arcadia yesterday with a truckload of supplies. We figured the agricultural areas would be a mess. We were right. Both cities of Punta Gorda and Arcadia are fairly organized as far as assistance goes, but the little rural spots in between have been nearly forgotten.
The people in town who have lost their homes are in for a tough time but have plenty of help available. The people who have lost their beach houses don’t garner a whole lot of sympathy. The migrants out in the little farm towns are pitiful. There are no supplies and no shelters. We arrived in the tiny town of Nocatee to check on neighbors from the island, who have their family farmhouse and orange groves there. Their house was about the only one standing. They found a generator and were planning to sit tight because looting has begun to be a problem. We dropped off some of our stash with them and then decided to leave the rest at a small gas station in town that had become a makeshift donation center.
Key Largo Fire Department and people from all over the state had stumbled onto this little spot in the road. Several people from our area were like us, knowing that the residents of this area had most likely been overlooked. A church group had taken the responsibility of guarding the goods from thieves looking to steal and resell supplies. When I mentioned seeing a National Guard truck driving through a nearby trailer park, the man we were speaking to said the Guardsmen had come by the gas station looking for food and water for themselves, they had no supplies of their own. After we dropped a pallet of drinking water and several cases of tuna fish and Vienna sausages, we continued on to the Arcadia Wal-Mart which was operational. We picked up some insect repellent, sunscreen, propane, and boxes of applesauce and pear puree in snack-sized containers. Also Oreos, that’s what I’d want someone to bring me, and half a carton of cigarettes (the other half was a surprise for a neighbor.) The girls wanted to buy everything in sight. What they really need now is bedding and tarps or tents for shelter because they are living in the collapsed houses, so I’m going to collect whatever odds and ends we have lying around here and make another trip over.
The groves and fields are ruined, so besides losing their homes and belongings, they have also lost their source of employment. Sad, sad, sad.
-----
Our water came back on today, although I’m sure we’re not supposed to be drinking it. It was nice to rinse off the dirty dishes that have been sitting in the sink since the 13th. Power is back on at the island and since we have a well, we have water out there too. This evening we’ll head back to Fort Lauderdale, pick up our youngest from my parents', and gather some more supplies. Tomorrow we will return to the island, using that as our base until the power comes back on at the Punta Gorda house.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
It's been nice hearing from so many of our friends scattered all over the globe, wondering how we are. Even Netflix emailed me to say, sorry for your loss and we can't send you anymore movies until the Postal Service gets things straightened out. So aside from not being to watch movies on our non-battery powered DVD, we're still good, thanks, hot, sweaty, smelly, but good. Plenty of food and water.
If anyone is making any donations to the various relief agencies, non-perishable food is always appreciated, but don't forget about baby formula, diapers, feminine hygiene products, bug repellent, sunscreen, and especially, personal hygiene: toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant. Baby wipes work very well for that not-so-fresh-feeling.
We dropped off groceries to a homeschool friend on our way to our house yesterday. While we were there, a woman pulled up to her gate and yelled out asking if this was J. Y.'s house. The woman had driven up from Naples, Florida, at least an hour away, at the request of a woman in Dallas, Texas, another member of a different homeschool board, who is a good friend of J's, and was worried about her. She brought ice, drinks, and a cell phone for J to call her friend in Texas. She had been instructed to take a picture of their family in front of the house, which she did, and then off she went.
I knew my husband couldn't stand by without helping. He has his crew coming over today with building materials to help our neighbors. He's already dried in three roofs and is expecting to do many more. Several neighbors have hired him to do the repair work when the insurance money starts rolling in. One has even offered to sell his house for less than one tenth of its pre-storm value, once he collects his check on a house that will be written off as a total loss. G despises the idea of being a carpetbagger, but recognizes an opportunity when he sees one.
Today the girls and I, and J and her two daughters are heading into town to find volunteer positions.
If anyone is making any donations to the various relief agencies, non-perishable food is always appreciated, but don't forget about baby formula, diapers, feminine hygiene products, bug repellent, sunscreen, and especially, personal hygiene: toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant. Baby wipes work very well for that not-so-fresh-feeling.
We dropped off groceries to a homeschool friend on our way to our house yesterday. While we were there, a woman pulled up to her gate and yelled out asking if this was J. Y.'s house. The woman had driven up from Naples, Florida, at least an hour away, at the request of a woman in Dallas, Texas, another member of a different homeschool board, who is a good friend of J's, and was worried about her. She brought ice, drinks, and a cell phone for J to call her friend in Texas. She had been instructed to take a picture of their family in front of the house, which she did, and then off she went.
I knew my husband couldn't stand by without helping. He has his crew coming over today with building materials to help our neighbors. He's already dried in three roofs and is expecting to do many more. Several neighbors have hired him to do the repair work when the insurance money starts rolling in. One has even offered to sell his house for less than one tenth of its pre-storm value, once he collects his check on a house that will be written off as a total loss. G despises the idea of being a carpetbagger, but recognizes an opportunity when he sees one.
Today the girls and I, and J and her two daughters are heading into town to find volunteer positions.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
Thank you all...
...for your concern, thoughts, and prayers.
G and I came back to Fort Lauderdale last night to see the kids. Tomorrow morning G, the two older girls, and I are going back to Punta Gorda to help out.
Strange to think that we rented the house to let L attend preschool and the older two to participate in golf, tennis, sailing or swimming lessons, and now there are no facilities for such things. Our first homeschool Park Day was set for Wednesday, September 1. We will still head over to the playground that day and hope someone, anyone, shows up.
G is frustrated. He would prefer to remain over in Punta Gorda, helping our neighbors rebuild, but he has several big contracts on the east coast that he must fulfill, so he'll continue to commute, doing what he can. We got our start on the tail of Hurricane Andrew back in '92. Prior to that storm we were living below the poverty level, in a trailer, expecting our first baby, during a recession. That disaster turned the economy around for us and much of South Florida. It's a good time to repay our good fortune.
G and I came back to Fort Lauderdale last night to see the kids. Tomorrow morning G, the two older girls, and I are going back to Punta Gorda to help out.
Strange to think that we rented the house to let L attend preschool and the older two to participate in golf, tennis, sailing or swimming lessons, and now there are no facilities for such things. Our first homeschool Park Day was set for Wednesday, September 1. We will still head over to the playground that day and hope someone, anyone, shows up.
G is frustrated. He would prefer to remain over in Punta Gorda, helping our neighbors rebuild, but he has several big contracts on the east coast that he must fulfill, so he'll continue to commute, doing what he can. We got our start on the tail of Hurricane Andrew back in '92. Prior to that storm we were living below the poverty level, in a trailer, expecting our first baby, during a recession. That disaster turned the economy around for us and much of South Florida. It's a good time to repay our good fortune.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
We're OK
Somehow, I don't know how or why, and boy, do I feel terribly guilty when I look around, we made it through with hardly a scratch.
Yesterday at 1:00 PM (was it only yesterday?) I ran to the store for some extra snacks and beer -- hurricane supplies! -- before everything closed up. I was keeping an ear on the weather reports: Category 2, we'll ride it out. By the time I had driven one mile and arrived at the store, the storm had been upped to a Category 3, and by the time I had driven back to our rental house, it was Category 4.
Andrew was a 5. While doing repairs in South Dade, every single person Jorge met who rode that storm out thought they were going to die. Time to think about evacuating then! Little did we know after arriving home late the evening before from a quick east coast visit to see my brother's brand new baby, that our riverfront neighborhood had already long been evacuated.
After everything was secured at the house as best we could, we decided to run out to the marina one more time and put some extra lines on the boat. It was breezy, balmy, and overcast, then, like someone flipping a switch, windy, lightning, and pelting rain. We figured even though our stilt house is steel frame construction, it's only plywood sheeting and vinyl siding between us and Charley, so on the way back from the marina to the house, to the sounds of terrified children's begging, we made our decision to run. I grabbed some t-shirts for the kids to use as pajamas and we headed east at 3:30 PM, just as Charley made landfall at Captiva Island.
Elle just happened to be wearing her favorite outfit of all time, her Dorothy Gale Halloween costume. We left so quickly though, she didn't have shoes, ruby or otherwise.
The drive was dangerous with gusts threatening to push us off the road and the fear of a tornado or two making an appearance. This was the first and only time I've actually ever heard the Emergency Broadcast System. Its alarm went off and advised us that Hurricane Charley was scheduled to make landfall in the next several hours between Naples and Tampa. At that point it was coming down our street. Then we lost the station (later to find out the building broadcasting had blown away.) We made it safely to Hollywood, dropped the girls with family, grabbed some water and chainsaws, and came straight back.
The drive was even more treacherous on the return trip with snapped trees and power lines blocking roadways in the pitch black. (But boy, did the air smell fresh and piney!) We arrived at the house around 11:00 PM. Some missing siding, some leaves blown inside from where the sliding glass door had blown open about four inches. The other houses in the neighborhood seemed to have come through okay; certainly not underwater as we expected. Jorge and I continued on to the marina. The boat was still there and the weather had settled down so we headed out to check on the island. Perfect. Just as we left it. One tree down across the boardwalk to the beach. That was it.
After hearing about conditions in formerly charming downtown Punta Gorda, we took that route home. We could not see very well in the complete darkness but you could feel how horrible it was. The entire historic waterfront district smashed. Roads were impassable. Eerie silence. Death. You could sense it.
When the sun came up this morning, it was much worse than we initially thought. Our neighborhood is far from all right. Nearly every house has lost its roof. A trailer park next door has been flattened. These people have nothing. Everyone standing around just frozen with disbelief and shock. Where do you even begin?
We went back into town today after checking on friends, who, being surrounded by unbelievable destruction, also fortunately came out unscathed. Our homeschool group's waterfront meeting place, Gilchrist Park, is now being used as a command post and makeshift morgue. Door to door searches are underway for storm victims. Houses and businesses are being spraypainted with fluorescent orange codes for the numbers of alive or dead inhabitants and a boxes with Xs for whether or not the building is habitable. The destruction is so complete photographing it felt obscene, like adding insult to injury.
We are in the center of some of the worst the storm had. When we evacuated, there was no doubt in either Jorge's or my mind that when we returned we would be homeless. Two times over. But we're fine on both counts.
Power will be out for who knows how long. Cell service is unavailable. I'm surprised our still unburied, but repaired, phone line is working.
These poor people don't know it yet, but this is only going to get much worse.
Yesterday at 1:00 PM (was it only yesterday?) I ran to the store for some extra snacks and beer -- hurricane supplies! -- before everything closed up. I was keeping an ear on the weather reports: Category 2, we'll ride it out. By the time I had driven one mile and arrived at the store, the storm had been upped to a Category 3, and by the time I had driven back to our rental house, it was Category 4.
Andrew was a 5. While doing repairs in South Dade, every single person Jorge met who rode that storm out thought they were going to die. Time to think about evacuating then! Little did we know after arriving home late the evening before from a quick east coast visit to see my brother's brand new baby, that our riverfront neighborhood had already long been evacuated.
After everything was secured at the house as best we could, we decided to run out to the marina one more time and put some extra lines on the boat. It was breezy, balmy, and overcast, then, like someone flipping a switch, windy, lightning, and pelting rain. We figured even though our stilt house is steel frame construction, it's only plywood sheeting and vinyl siding between us and Charley, so on the way back from the marina to the house, to the sounds of terrified children's begging, we made our decision to run. I grabbed some t-shirts for the kids to use as pajamas and we headed east at 3:30 PM, just as Charley made landfall at Captiva Island.
Elle just happened to be wearing her favorite outfit of all time, her Dorothy Gale Halloween costume. We left so quickly though, she didn't have shoes, ruby or otherwise.
The drive was dangerous with gusts threatening to push us off the road and the fear of a tornado or two making an appearance. This was the first and only time I've actually ever heard the Emergency Broadcast System. Its alarm went off and advised us that Hurricane Charley was scheduled to make landfall in the next several hours between Naples and Tampa. At that point it was coming down our street. Then we lost the station (later to find out the building broadcasting had blown away.) We made it safely to Hollywood, dropped the girls with family, grabbed some water and chainsaws, and came straight back.
The drive was even more treacherous on the return trip with snapped trees and power lines blocking roadways in the pitch black. (But boy, did the air smell fresh and piney!) We arrived at the house around 11:00 PM. Some missing siding, some leaves blown inside from where the sliding glass door had blown open about four inches. The other houses in the neighborhood seemed to have come through okay; certainly not underwater as we expected. Jorge and I continued on to the marina. The boat was still there and the weather had settled down so we headed out to check on the island. Perfect. Just as we left it. One tree down across the boardwalk to the beach. That was it.
After hearing about conditions in formerly charming downtown Punta Gorda, we took that route home. We could not see very well in the complete darkness but you could feel how horrible it was. The entire historic waterfront district smashed. Roads were impassable. Eerie silence. Death. You could sense it.
When the sun came up this morning, it was much worse than we initially thought. Our neighborhood is far from all right. Nearly every house has lost its roof. A trailer park next door has been flattened. These people have nothing. Everyone standing around just frozen with disbelief and shock. Where do you even begin?
We went back into town today after checking on friends, who, being surrounded by unbelievable destruction, also fortunately came out unscathed. Our homeschool group's waterfront meeting place, Gilchrist Park, is now being used as a command post and makeshift morgue. Door to door searches are underway for storm victims. Houses and businesses are being spraypainted with fluorescent orange codes for the numbers of alive or dead inhabitants and a boxes with Xs for whether or not the building is habitable. The destruction is so complete photographing it felt obscene, like adding insult to injury.
We are in the center of some of the worst the storm had. When we evacuated, there was no doubt in either Jorge's or my mind that when we returned we would be homeless. Two times over. But we're fine on both counts.
Power will be out for who knows how long. Cell service is unavailable. I'm surprised our still unburied, but repaired, phone line is working.
These poor people don't know it yet, but this is only going to get much worse.
Friday, August 13, 2004
2:22 (AM) and all's well
Took all day, but we traveled back to the west coast, boarded up the island house and are sitting here in Punta Gorda, twenty-one feet in the air (we're renting a stilt house) waiting to see how bad it gets.
G wanted to work all night, stay over on the island and leave first thing in the morning. The kids were terrified and I was annoyed. He loves to do the nothing-to-worry-about thing. Generally he is far from macho, but for some reason, he insists on downplaying every seriously threatening storm. When our neighbors, who unintentionally rode out the last storm when the hurricane arrived thirteen hours earlier than forecasters predicted, packed up and left this evening, I decided we were going too. Their house is way up the air, 20+ feet above sea level. We are at a whopping seven. We are looking at a possible ten foot storm surge. I did the math.
The ride back across the bay was eerily still. No boats, no traffic on the bridges, no lights from any of the houses, no wind, nothing. Just a dead, flat calm.
Our lessons for the day:
The girls walked around with a yardstick, and anything of any value below the 36 inch mark was stacked on a shelf or tossed on the top bunk.
Large sand piles were built up into higher ground as escape routes for rabbits, gopher tortoises, and other unfortunate low-lying wildlife. Yeah, I know. I just humor them sometimes.
We plotted storm coordinates on our charts, except for L, who randomly selected a spot on her map as our location and then drew a big squiggly scribble nearby. That was the "tor-cain-o."
Discovered the reality behind the cliche, "the calm before the storm."
--------
Rebel, I try not to, but I often think and speak in non-sequiturs. I probably never explained it carefully:
WHY AND WHERE WE MOVED
My husband came up with the idea that we should rent a house in town to enable L to go to preschool, which she so desperately wants to do, and allow the older two to participate in some extracurricular activities which are logistically difficult from the island. So here we are, six miles inland and one long flight of stairs above ground.
We also have a four acre piece about two miles further east of here that we figured to build on, out of sheer desperation of ever finding that perfect place, but came up with an alternative, of course, to proceed with the addition on the island. With us off the island and renting for a year minimum, the problems of living through a renovation and housing his employees during the renovation are solved.
But, after carting all our stuff up and thinking about that awful day when we will eventually have to haul it back down the stairs to its, hopefully, final resting place, we've considered asking the landlord if he might consider selling this place to us instead.
------
The first bands of the storm are sweeping in. Our steel frame stilt house is swaying. Thank God we're not still on the island.
G wanted to work all night, stay over on the island and leave first thing in the morning. The kids were terrified and I was annoyed. He loves to do the nothing-to-worry-about thing. Generally he is far from macho, but for some reason, he insists on downplaying every seriously threatening storm. When our neighbors, who unintentionally rode out the last storm when the hurricane arrived thirteen hours earlier than forecasters predicted, packed up and left this evening, I decided we were going too. Their house is way up the air, 20+ feet above sea level. We are at a whopping seven. We are looking at a possible ten foot storm surge. I did the math.
The ride back across the bay was eerily still. No boats, no traffic on the bridges, no lights from any of the houses, no wind, nothing. Just a dead, flat calm.
Our lessons for the day:
The girls walked around with a yardstick, and anything of any value below the 36 inch mark was stacked on a shelf or tossed on the top bunk.
Large sand piles were built up into higher ground as escape routes for rabbits, gopher tortoises, and other unfortunate low-lying wildlife. Yeah, I know. I just humor them sometimes.
We plotted storm coordinates on our charts, except for L, who randomly selected a spot on her map as our location and then drew a big squiggly scribble nearby. That was the "tor-cain-o."
Discovered the reality behind the cliche, "the calm before the storm."
--------
Rebel, I try not to, but I often think and speak in non-sequiturs. I probably never explained it carefully:
WHY AND WHERE WE MOVED
My husband came up with the idea that we should rent a house in town to enable L to go to preschool, which she so desperately wants to do, and allow the older two to participate in some extracurricular activities which are logistically difficult from the island. So here we are, six miles inland and one long flight of stairs above ground.
We also have a four acre piece about two miles further east of here that we figured to build on, out of sheer desperation of ever finding that perfect place, but came up with an alternative, of course, to proceed with the addition on the island. With us off the island and renting for a year minimum, the problems of living through a renovation and housing his employees during the renovation are solved.
But, after carting all our stuff up and thinking about that awful day when we will eventually have to haul it back down the stairs to its, hopefully, final resting place, we've considered asking the landlord if he might consider selling this place to us instead.
------
The first bands of the storm are sweeping in. Our steel frame stilt house is swaying. Thank God we're not still on the island.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Technical difficulties
The lawn man cut our brand new phone line yesterday as it sat on top of the grass waiting to be buried by the pros at Sprint. Then my brother called on my cell phone to say that his wife was going in for an emergency c-section, right then, two weeks earlier than anticipated. We drove over to Coral Springs, on the east coast, first thing this morning to see Lucky Seven, the first male child born in our family in twelve years. Mama, baby and family are all doing fine.
In the morning we will rush back to the island to batten down the hatches in preparation for Hurricane Charley, which appears to be making a beeline for Dock 99 1/2.
Between the damaged phone line and the hurricane, it may be a few days before you hear from me again.
In the morning we will rush back to the island to batten down the hatches in preparation for Hurricane Charley, which appears to be making a beeline for Dock 99 1/2.
Between the damaged phone line and the hurricane, it may be a few days before you hear from me again.
Monday, August 09, 2004
Unpacking
Well, two out of three ain't bad.
The china survived a gut-wrenching, potentially devastating fall from inside the top of the U-Haul, when the truck was repositioned to prevent water from an unrelenting downpour from flooding its interior.* All the heavy furniture, which had kept the boxes packed in tight, had been removed, leaving the remainder of the load to shift spectacularly. I heard the crash from inside the house, through the pouring rain. Miraculous, or just really good packing? You decide.
* That was the situation I didn't want to discuss, Carolyn
I finally found the doll, she really should have a name by now, poor thing, after a panicky attempt to remember what box I'd hidden her in. She was fine.
The mattress was a different story. It hadn't been stored properly and the top layer of memory foam forgot where it was supposed to be. The whole section slid into a gigantic, hundred-pound puddle at the bottom of the vertically stored bedding. G and I did some major surgery on it, and managed to get it back into a close approximation of its original state. It still feels great, but I'm pretty sure we voided the twenty year warranty.
I've spent the last three? four? days washing every blanket, sheet, pillow, comforter, dish, pot, glass and piece of furniture that we own, to get rid of the storage grime. I have used an obscene amount of water, but what a treat to do your own laundry! Never thought I'd say that, but it's true. No more cotton-candy scented detergent from the fluff-and-fold at the laundromat; give me Tide Original Scent, please. No more clothes and towels folded the wrong way. No more freaky people, even though that was always half the fun. No more bad easy-listening that you invariably catch yourself singing along to. Every last stick of furniture has been bathed in Murphy's Oil Soap and generously slathered with Old English lemon oil and most of it doesn't look too shabby anymore. Still need to send the rugs out to be done and have the upholstery cleaned and then we're all set.
We've always rolled our eyes at the idea of plant ledges in new homes: What a silly waste of space, we thought. Just the place to load up with fake greenery, colorful jars of pasta and flavored oils that no one will ever eat, cutesy teapots or cookie jars. Dust. Why not build some usable storage into that otherwise wasted space? Oh, how I was mistaken. They are great places for books. This house has ledges in every room, some rooms even have two, and they are now mostly filled with reading material.
Because I'm used to packing ourselves into a really tight space, I don't need all the cabinets this house provides. A capacious kitchen island has become our new school storage. All the girls' books and art supplies fit very nicely and they can work right at the counter once I find some bar stools.
S now has her own room. I think she is experiencing a little remorse at her wish for solitude. She prefers the decor of her old room and laments the fact that her room is not all "pink and cute" like her sisters'. Their room is neither pink, nor cute, just bright and simple. Her room is actually pretty cool. She thinks it's too college-dorm-room-y. She's still got one foot firmly planted in childhood. She'll get over it. Today they all spent most of the day playing with the dollhouse in her room, so she's not lacking company.
Speaking of company, I was hoping to hear from my cousin today, to see if she finalized her plans for a week long visit, next week. I just stayed with her up in Boston a few months back, but she hasn't been down here in about ten years.
And, finally, after signing a one-year lease, G is freaking out about the quality of the neighbors, a largely uneducated, ignorant lot. He's already thinking of where we can move next.
The china survived a gut-wrenching, potentially devastating fall from inside the top of the U-Haul, when the truck was repositioned to prevent water from an unrelenting downpour from flooding its interior.* All the heavy furniture, which had kept the boxes packed in tight, had been removed, leaving the remainder of the load to shift spectacularly. I heard the crash from inside the house, through the pouring rain. Miraculous, or just really good packing? You decide.
* That was the situation I didn't want to discuss, Carolyn
I finally found the doll, she really should have a name by now, poor thing, after a panicky attempt to remember what box I'd hidden her in. She was fine.
The mattress was a different story. It hadn't been stored properly and the top layer of memory foam forgot where it was supposed to be. The whole section slid into a gigantic, hundred-pound puddle at the bottom of the vertically stored bedding. G and I did some major surgery on it, and managed to get it back into a close approximation of its original state. It still feels great, but I'm pretty sure we voided the twenty year warranty.
I've spent the last three? four? days washing every blanket, sheet, pillow, comforter, dish, pot, glass and piece of furniture that we own, to get rid of the storage grime. I have used an obscene amount of water, but what a treat to do your own laundry! Never thought I'd say that, but it's true. No more cotton-candy scented detergent from the fluff-and-fold at the laundromat; give me Tide Original Scent, please. No more clothes and towels folded the wrong way. No more freaky people, even though that was always half the fun. No more bad easy-listening that you invariably catch yourself singing along to. Every last stick of furniture has been bathed in Murphy's Oil Soap and generously slathered with Old English lemon oil and most of it doesn't look too shabby anymore. Still need to send the rugs out to be done and have the upholstery cleaned and then we're all set.
We've always rolled our eyes at the idea of plant ledges in new homes: What a silly waste of space, we thought. Just the place to load up with fake greenery, colorful jars of pasta and flavored oils that no one will ever eat, cutesy teapots or cookie jars. Dust. Why not build some usable storage into that otherwise wasted space? Oh, how I was mistaken. They are great places for books. This house has ledges in every room, some rooms even have two, and they are now mostly filled with reading material.
Because I'm used to packing ourselves into a really tight space, I don't need all the cabinets this house provides. A capacious kitchen island has become our new school storage. All the girls' books and art supplies fit very nicely and they can work right at the counter once I find some bar stools.
S now has her own room. I think she is experiencing a little remorse at her wish for solitude. She prefers the decor of her old room and laments the fact that her room is not all "pink and cute" like her sisters'. Their room is neither pink, nor cute, just bright and simple. Her room is actually pretty cool. She thinks it's too college-dorm-room-y. She's still got one foot firmly planted in childhood. She'll get over it. Today they all spent most of the day playing with the dollhouse in her room, so she's not lacking company.
Speaking of company, I was hoping to hear from my cousin today, to see if she finalized her plans for a week long visit, next week. I just stayed with her up in Boston a few months back, but she hasn't been down here in about ten years.
And, finally, after signing a one-year lease, G is freaking out about the quality of the neighbors, a largely uneducated, ignorant lot. He's already thinking of where we can move next.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
G found out the U-Haul truck had a large chunk of the top missing after he drove across the state in an hours-long thunderstorm. Then he lost a day and a half arguing with U-Haul's customer service. There's an oxymoron. We are anticipating his arrival maybe later this afternoon.
After shuffling our stuff around the last three years or so, he was disheartened to see the condition it's in. Dismal, disappointing, discouraging, and we still have to haul it up a huge flight of stairs at the rental, and eventually, down again, into a permanent place.
After shuffling our stuff around the last three years or so, he was disheartened to see the condition it's in. Dismal, disappointing, discouraging, and we still have to haul it up a huge flight of stairs at the rental, and eventually, down again, into a permanent place.
My grandfather told me, "Three moves equals one fire."
Three priceless possessions I will be most relieved to have out of storage, assuming the rats, moths, and bumbling movers haven't destroyed them:
-- My great-grandmother's custom handpainted Bavarian china
-- a very old handmade flip doll (white girl/black girl), the beloved toy of an old spinster friend of my mother's, given to me when I was a child. I'm ready to donate her to a museum for my own peace of mind.
-- Our king-sized Tempurpedic bed
The rest of it can probably go in a dumpster. Well, maybe not the kids' toys. And the dive gear. And...
Three priceless possessions I will be most relieved to have out of storage, assuming the rats, moths, and bumbling movers haven't destroyed them:
-- My great-grandmother's custom handpainted Bavarian china
-- a very old handmade flip doll (white girl/black girl), the beloved toy of an old spinster friend of my mother's, given to me when I was a child. I'm ready to donate her to a museum for my own peace of mind.
-- Our king-sized Tempurpedic bed
The rest of it can probably go in a dumpster. Well, maybe not the kids' toys. And the dive gear. And...
Well I'm gonna to go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this
stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this
[picks up an
ashtray]
and that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't
need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the
paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the
paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches.
The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And
this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and
that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not
one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and
the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote
control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.
-- Navin R. Johnson
We're awaiting the first set of classic Netflix movies from our free trial membership: Mutiny on the Bounty, Great Expectations, and The Jerk.
Monday, August 02, 2004
Moving Right Along
I dropped G off this morning to pick up the 24' U-Haul. He drove back east and will return later this week with a truckload of our belongings for our new rental house. Hard to believe he's actually going through with it; we've changed our plans so many times. I'm still a little skeptical and won't call the phone or water company to start our accounts up until I see the house furnished.
L went with him, so the two older girls and I were able to focus on their studies uninterrupted. It really didn't make that much of a difference. For some reason, at 7:15 PM this evening, S has just finished Logic, the last of her assignments for the day.
We need to get the girls' Nextel service online again. I had a panic when I realized, on the mainland, that S and G, who are old enough and responsible enough to be home by themselves for a short period of time, were home by themselves incommunicado. Their cell phone, strictly for emergencies, replaced mine after I waded into the water in an attempt to see if the baby seaturtle I'd rescued would swim, forgetting that my phone was in my pocket, and our phone line is a huge jumble of wires connected to my laptop and the fax, but not our telephone. I grabbed my phone as I went out the door this morning because the weather was horrendous, a small craft warning at least, and I had visions of capsizing on the way back out to the island, all by myself. Fortunately, the girls came up with a contingency plan. They were going to give me until a certain time to return, after which they would both walk over to the neighbors to use their phone. If those neighbors weren't available, they were going to use the spare keys to our nextdoor neighbor's house, who is out of town for several months, and use her phone.
I made it home long before their deadline and everyone was fine, but one of these days you might just see me on the news...
L went with him, so the two older girls and I were able to focus on their studies uninterrupted. It really didn't make that much of a difference. For some reason, at 7:15 PM this evening, S has just finished Logic, the last of her assignments for the day.
We need to get the girls' Nextel service online again. I had a panic when I realized, on the mainland, that S and G, who are old enough and responsible enough to be home by themselves for a short period of time, were home by themselves incommunicado. Their cell phone, strictly for emergencies, replaced mine after I waded into the water in an attempt to see if the baby seaturtle I'd rescued would swim, forgetting that my phone was in my pocket, and our phone line is a huge jumble of wires connected to my laptop and the fax, but not our telephone. I grabbed my phone as I went out the door this morning because the weather was horrendous, a small craft warning at least, and I had visions of capsizing on the way back out to the island, all by myself. Fortunately, the girls came up with a contingency plan. They were going to give me until a certain time to return, after which they would both walk over to the neighbors to use their phone. If those neighbors weren't available, they were going to use the spare keys to our nextdoor neighbor's house, who is out of town for several months, and use her phone.
I made it home long before their deadline and everyone was fine, but one of these days you might just see me on the news...
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Our Curriculum (2004)
- The Well Trained Mind
- A Child's History of the World
- Abraham Lincoln's World
- The Story of Mankind
- The Kingfisher History Encyclopedia
- Critical Thinking in US History New Republic to Civil War
- Traditional Logic I
- Saxon 5/4 and 8/7
- Rod and Staff English 4, 7
- Spelling Workout H
- Spelling Power
- Latina Christiana I and II
- The New Way Things Work
- Powerglide Spanish Ultimate
- The Violin Book
- The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain
WTM Florida Field Trips
- Vizcaya
- Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens
- Kennedy Space Center
- Randell Research Center
- Gamble Plantation
- Historical Museum of South Florida
- Edison & Ford Winter Estates
- Castillo San Marcos/Saint Augustine
- John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art
- Salvador Dali Museum
- Henry Morrison Flagler Museum (Whitehall)
Favorite Resources
- Webster's Third New International Dictionary Unabridged and Seven Language Dictionary
- Bartlett's Familiar Quotations
- Asimov's Chronology of the World
- The Timetables of History
- Timelines of World History
- The Story of Painting
- Sister Wendy's 1000 Masterpieces
- DK Annotated Guides: Great Artists
- Story of Architecture
Saturday, July 31, 2004
The Old Grey Matter
While I was over on the east coast, I dropped in to visit GG Mil, my husband’s step grandmother, who was recently moved into an assisted living facility in Hollywood to be nearer to extended family. Initially she wanted to return to the facility she’d been living in up in Sebring, FL, because she couldn’t deal with the multicultural aspect of South Florida, but she’s settled in now and satisfied. I was impressed with how nice it is, very elegantly decorated, not medical at all. She had put in a request for cigarettes, so I stopped along the way and bought her a carton. Not the greatest for her health, I know, she uses a ventilator at night, but I figured I would respect her request; when you’re that old, you should get what you want without people harping about the wisdom of such choices. I hope my kids will do the same for me if I reach that age. I, however, plan on subsisting on a diet made up entirely of cookies.
Mil introduced me to her across-the-hallway-neighbor, Shelley. My husband grew up just a few doors down from Shelley and her large family, in Hollywood. She is only about five years older than G. G had told me she was there, after suffering a brain aneurism, so I expected to see someone resembling a major stroke victim, maybe bedridden, with partial paralysis. Nope, she looks just like you or me. She was wearing jean shorts, a surfer tee shirt, looked like she just had her hair highlighted, very tan. In fact she goes out for breakfast every morning and rides her bike most days down to the beach.
It is very disconcerting to see someone like yourself in one of these places.
We talked about where we lived, on the island, on the west coast, and she told me that she had gone to college in Tampa. She has two daughters, so we discussed raising girls a bit. After Shelley mentioned college in Tampa for the third time, I caught on. In a lucid moment, she told me why she was there, that the aneurism had left her with a brain like Swiss cheese, with huge holes in her memory; she showed me the bracelet she wears in case she gets lost. She said with a pained look, that so much is gone, but she mustn’t dwell on it or she would get horribly depressed. Then she smiled and told me about her daughters again. And college.
After living with my grandmother and watching her mind fade into oblivion, I always wondered if Nana knew what was happening, but was trapped inside her own head. She used to rock in her chair and whistle, “The Old Grey Mare,” and then she’d give you a big wink. Years prior to that, Nana used to tell us to be sure and shoot her before she ever got too old and lost her mind, so I used to wonder, guiltily, if the Old Grey Mare was sitting in there somewhere, frustrated that no one had put her out of her misery yet.
Shelley was aware of her tragic situation, but the disturbing knowledge of what had been and what could never be, slipped away as quickly as it came. That’s some consolation.
The old grey mare,
She ain’t what she used to be,
Ain’t what she used to be,
Ain’t what she used to be.
The old grey mare,
she ain’t what she used to be,
many, long years ago.
Many, long years ago,
Many, long years ago,
The old grey mare,
She ain’t what she used to be,
Many long years ago.
On a happier note, G took the girls over to a neighboring marina while I was out grocery shopping today. He had been busy with heavy duty yard work, so for a break, they all jumped in the boat to ride over to the gourmet grocery on Boca Grande for candy, cookies, and beer. Apparently they are regulars there, because the clerk gave them a copy of Pirates of the Caribbean for free, telling them to return it whenever. Sweet G also picked me up a copy of Carl Hiaasen’s latest, Skinny Dip.
What a guy! It’s such a wonderful feeling when someone really gets you. And he’s not even the least bit insecure about buying me a book by my not-so-secret boyfriend.
Tomorrow morning, after I trim the mangrove hedges at low tide, I’m hopping into my hammock with Skinny Dip, Undaunted Courage, the August Vanity Fair, and a book of crossword puzzles.
Got to exercise that grey matter a little.
Mil introduced me to her across-the-hallway-neighbor, Shelley. My husband grew up just a few doors down from Shelley and her large family, in Hollywood. She is only about five years older than G. G had told me she was there, after suffering a brain aneurism, so I expected to see someone resembling a major stroke victim, maybe bedridden, with partial paralysis. Nope, she looks just like you or me. She was wearing jean shorts, a surfer tee shirt, looked like she just had her hair highlighted, very tan. In fact she goes out for breakfast every morning and rides her bike most days down to the beach.
It is very disconcerting to see someone like yourself in one of these places.
We talked about where we lived, on the island, on the west coast, and she told me that she had gone to college in Tampa. She has two daughters, so we discussed raising girls a bit. After Shelley mentioned college in Tampa for the third time, I caught on. In a lucid moment, she told me why she was there, that the aneurism had left her with a brain like Swiss cheese, with huge holes in her memory; she showed me the bracelet she wears in case she gets lost. She said with a pained look, that so much is gone, but she mustn’t dwell on it or she would get horribly depressed. Then she smiled and told me about her daughters again. And college.
After living with my grandmother and watching her mind fade into oblivion, I always wondered if Nana knew what was happening, but was trapped inside her own head. She used to rock in her chair and whistle, “The Old Grey Mare,” and then she’d give you a big wink. Years prior to that, Nana used to tell us to be sure and shoot her before she ever got too old and lost her mind, so I used to wonder, guiltily, if the Old Grey Mare was sitting in there somewhere, frustrated that no one had put her out of her misery yet.
Shelley was aware of her tragic situation, but the disturbing knowledge of what had been and what could never be, slipped away as quickly as it came. That’s some consolation.
The old grey mare,
She ain’t what she used to be,
Ain’t what she used to be,
Ain’t what she used to be.
The old grey mare,
she ain’t what she used to be,
many, long years ago.
Many, long years ago,
Many, long years ago,
The old grey mare,
She ain’t what she used to be,
Many long years ago.
On a happier note, G took the girls over to a neighboring marina while I was out grocery shopping today. He had been busy with heavy duty yard work, so for a break, they all jumped in the boat to ride over to the gourmet grocery on Boca Grande for candy, cookies, and beer. Apparently they are regulars there, because the clerk gave them a copy of Pirates of the Caribbean for free, telling them to return it whenever. Sweet G also picked me up a copy of Carl Hiaasen’s latest, Skinny Dip.
What a guy! It’s such a wonderful feeling when someone really gets you. And he’s not even the least bit insecure about buying me a book by my not-so-secret boyfriend.
Tomorrow morning, after I trim the mangrove hedges at low tide, I’m hopping into my hammock with Skinny Dip, Undaunted Courage, the August Vanity Fair, and a book of crossword puzzles.
Got to exercise that grey matter a little.
Friday, July 30, 2004
OK, I'm shallow
Was it just me, or did anyone else notice that John Edwards's wife appeared to have worn the exact same, robin's egg blue, not very flattering pantsuit, TWO nights in a row, first on the night Edwards gave his speech and then, again, last night, when Kerry spoke?
Who is her handler?!
Who is her handler?!
Clio
Seek One of the Nine Greek Muses
brought to you by Quizilla
How perfect! That would be me at my hospital visit this morning.
Call me Howard Hughes
Guilty as charged.
Spent the morning at the hospital over in Fort Lauderdale. Oh, don't worry, nothing serious, just that mammogram I mentioned a few days ago. Sat for an hour waiting while I alternately held my breath and breathed down the front of my shirt, using it as a mask, because: a) too many contagious, bio-hazardous looking people around for my sanity; b) one of them exhaling the nausea-inducing smell of rotten teeth; and, c) I was hoping a little auto-asphyxiated unconsciousness would spare me another single second of watching Regis and Kelly blasting away on the waiting room television. Because, silly me, I had left my books in the car, I had nothing else to occupy my mind other than concentrating on which knuckle I'd used to call the elevator, for fear I might accidentally rub my eyes or otherwise touch my face with it.
When you have no health insurance and are forced to use the county's low cost medical services, you get what you pay for.
I was sent to find the Cashier's cubicle to pay for the procedure and nearly got lost. What saved me was that fortunately, the Cashier was located right near the McDonald's, which was more clearly marked than either the Cashier or the Emergency room. (McDonald's and hospitals, cause and effect?)
Afterward, back in my car, out came the hand sanitizer. Ah, much better.
Spent the morning at the hospital over in Fort Lauderdale. Oh, don't worry, nothing serious, just that mammogram I mentioned a few days ago. Sat for an hour waiting while I alternately held my breath and breathed down the front of my shirt, using it as a mask, because: a) too many contagious, bio-hazardous looking people around for my sanity; b) one of them exhaling the nausea-inducing smell of rotten teeth; and, c) I was hoping a little auto-asphyxiated unconsciousness would spare me another single second of watching Regis and Kelly blasting away on the waiting room television. Because, silly me, I had left my books in the car, I had nothing else to occupy my mind other than concentrating on which knuckle I'd used to call the elevator, for fear I might accidentally rub my eyes or otherwise touch my face with it.
When you have no health insurance and are forced to use the county's low cost medical services, you get what you pay for.
I was sent to find the Cashier's cubicle to pay for the procedure and nearly got lost. What saved me was that fortunately, the Cashier was located right near the McDonald's, which was more clearly marked than either the Cashier or the Emergency room. (McDonald's and hospitals, cause and effect?)
Afterward, back in my car, out came the hand sanitizer. Ah, much better.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Level Orange?
First my brother on the train, now this.
My questions:
What do you think of racial profiling?
What do you think of national identity cards?
Are you willing to give up any of your rights to fight terrorism?
We are at an impasse here. I say "give 'em an inch..." and G believes if you've got nothing to hide you should be willing to identify yourself. What do you think?
-------
"Democracy passes into despotism." -- Plato
My questions:
What do you think of racial profiling?
What do you think of national identity cards?
Are you willing to give up any of your rights to fight terrorism?
We are at an impasse here. I say "give 'em an inch..." and G believes if you've got nothing to hide you should be willing to identify yourself. What do you think?
-------
"Democracy passes into despotism." -- Plato
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Captains Courageous
Besides writing a tight little story, Rudyard Kipling has a genius for dialect. All dialogue is spelled out phonetically, just as the characters' accents dictate. This made it tricky until I got the flow of the speech, but eliminated the need to invent my own sound for each character during our read-aloud. We're planning to read Kim later. This makes me a little less apprehensive.
The girls have surprised me by understanding most of the sailing and fishing jargon and colloquialisms. I admit to being lost during some of the descriptions of mizzen-foc'sle-gurry butt-peak halyard-reef pennant-poops, but I get the point, mostly. This from a girl who comes from a long line of sailing experts. Three generations of my forefathers are spinning in their graves right about now. And please, don't tell my dad, he'll drag out his Chapman's and start lecturing.
Once we settle into the rental house, I am looking forward to signing up for the local Red Cross sailing lessons. The two older girls, S and G, took them last year. G was too scared and dropped out. S finished the course, aced her 100 question final exam, but never got to solo because of continuous bad weather. With L in preschool, I would love to take lessons along with the other two this time.
Daughter number two has been amusing me of late with her observations:
Reading a description in Captains Courageous of the captain of the We're Here, Disko Troop, and his large, eleven inch hands, G noted that they couldn't be any bigger than that, "because if they were twelve inches, they'd be a foot."
While crossing the room with a plate balanced precariously on one hand, her father admonished her that she needed two hands. "I have two, Dad."
The girls have surprised me by understanding most of the sailing and fishing jargon and colloquialisms. I admit to being lost during some of the descriptions of mizzen-foc'sle-gurry butt-peak halyard-reef pennant-poops, but I get the point, mostly. This from a girl who comes from a long line of sailing experts. Three generations of my forefathers are spinning in their graves right about now. And please, don't tell my dad, he'll drag out his Chapman's and start lecturing.
Once we settle into the rental house, I am looking forward to signing up for the local Red Cross sailing lessons. The two older girls, S and G, took them last year. G was too scared and dropped out. S finished the course, aced her 100 question final exam, but never got to solo because of continuous bad weather. With L in preschool, I would love to take lessons along with the other two this time.
Daughter number two has been amusing me of late with her observations:
Reading a description in Captains Courageous of the captain of the We're Here, Disko Troop, and his large, eleven inch hands, G noted that they couldn't be any bigger than that, "because if they were twelve inches, they'd be a foot."
While crossing the room with a plate balanced precariously on one hand, her father admonished her that she needed two hands. "I have two, Dad."
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Catching up
Doing a little blog running...
I read Dy's post about the librarian's reading suggestions to my husband. He was astonished that there were such books as Walter, the Farting Dog, which led to a discussion of other children's books in the Captain Underpants vein, and that a librarian would actually encourage a kid to read these. He suggested we write our own children's book, Orlando, the Puking Cat, which, unfortunately, is based on a true story.
Maitresse has some links to interesting articles. In the Village Voice piece, the bit about linoleum made me laugh out loud; it's a fitting metaphor for our president. In Patti Davis's article about finding a presidential candidate who loves us, she remembers back to the Vietnam era, spelling America with a "k": Amerika. This reminded me. Has anyone seen the Amerika gas stations? In the last year or so, in Florida, I've noticed several of them. A Google search didn't help. Does anyone have any more information on these? Either it's some evil foreign corporation asserting their power on our soil, with some in-your-face statement about our country, or they are just really poor spellers. Either way, it gives me the creeps.
While I have done nothing but play these last few days, I see many of you have been busy. Shame on me. Back to work.
------
Housekeeping day. While cleaning up the thick coating of baby-powder fine gray sand that accumulated under our sea-grass carpet, which had been removed and hosed down because of the aforementioned vomiting feline, I found one of our missing refrigerator word magnets, "tradition," and as the whole mess was being swept into the dust pan, I found that an appropriate metaphor for my life.
------
Yesterday's visit with two very different sets of friends left me a bit dazed.
It started out at our homeschool friends' place. Their three and our three girls all played contentedly and quietly with the Playmobil toys for hours. They practically had to be forced out to the beach, but while there, they continued to play all kinds of games, having a delightful time splashing in the surf, and later swimming relay races in the pool, with their friends. It was all very innocent and sweet.
Fast forward five years to our next stop. It was all hairdos, hip hop dance lessons, and hurrying out of the hotel room whenever the teenaged male guests made an appearance.
Different strokes.
Sometimes it surprises me how varied our friends are: Muslim, Catholic, WASP, Jewish, Wiccan, agnostic, atheist, gay, straight, gay-and-just-doesn't-know-it-yet, foreign, domestic, rich, poor, conservative, liberal, radical, modest, thoroughly depraved, and so on. We've lived between neighbors we characterized as the Wild and the Mild, and were on good terms with both. That's where we are comfortable, somewhere in the middle.
-----
As I aim to finish Undaunted Courage, I've picked up a couple of Lewis Lapham's books: Waiting for the Barbarians, and Theater of War.
Yep, I'm in one of those moods.
I read Dy's post about the librarian's reading suggestions to my husband. He was astonished that there were such books as Walter, the Farting Dog, which led to a discussion of other children's books in the Captain Underpants vein, and that a librarian would actually encourage a kid to read these. He suggested we write our own children's book, Orlando, the Puking Cat, which, unfortunately, is based on a true story.
Maitresse has some links to interesting articles. In the Village Voice piece, the bit about linoleum made me laugh out loud; it's a fitting metaphor for our president. In Patti Davis's article about finding a presidential candidate who loves us, she remembers back to the Vietnam era, spelling America with a "k": Amerika. This reminded me. Has anyone seen the Amerika gas stations? In the last year or so, in Florida, I've noticed several of them. A Google search didn't help. Does anyone have any more information on these? Either it's some evil foreign corporation asserting their power on our soil, with some in-your-face statement about our country, or they are just really poor spellers. Either way, it gives me the creeps.
While I have done nothing but play these last few days, I see many of you have been busy. Shame on me. Back to work.
------
Housekeeping day. While cleaning up the thick coating of baby-powder fine gray sand that accumulated under our sea-grass carpet, which had been removed and hosed down because of the aforementioned vomiting feline, I found one of our missing refrigerator word magnets, "tradition," and as the whole mess was being swept into the dust pan, I found that an appropriate metaphor for my life.
------
Yesterday's visit with two very different sets of friends left me a bit dazed.
It started out at our homeschool friends' place. Their three and our three girls all played contentedly and quietly with the Playmobil toys for hours. They practically had to be forced out to the beach, but while there, they continued to play all kinds of games, having a delightful time splashing in the surf, and later swimming relay races in the pool, with their friends. It was all very innocent and sweet.
Fast forward five years to our next stop. It was all hairdos, hip hop dance lessons, and hurrying out of the hotel room whenever the teenaged male guests made an appearance.
Different strokes.
Sometimes it surprises me how varied our friends are: Muslim, Catholic, WASP, Jewish, Wiccan, agnostic, atheist, gay, straight, gay-and-just-doesn't-know-it-yet, foreign, domestic, rich, poor, conservative, liberal, radical, modest, thoroughly depraved, and so on. We've lived between neighbors we characterized as the Wild and the Mild, and were on good terms with both. That's where we are comfortable, somewhere in the middle.
-----
As I aim to finish Undaunted Courage, I've picked up a couple of Lewis Lapham's books: Waiting for the Barbarians, and Theater of War.
Yep, I'm in one of those moods.
Friday, July 23, 2004
Whirlwind
After L's four-year old check up, which was just fine by the way, our Turkish friends came out to the island for a sleepover. We were having such a good time they decided to stay another night, which is a huge compliment to my skills as a hostess since they are restauranteurs, and a huge compliment to our accommodations, because in addition to the usual four of us, there were four more people squeezed into our little fish shack. I have a feeling that entertaining a crowd of women and children in a small house is probably a very Turkish thing to do. We've always talked about traveling to Turkey one day, but now we have some pretty firm plans for the spring. And don't you know we'll have to check out the real estate scene...
The weather held out and we spent two fun days on the beach. Tomorrow we're buzzing down to Naples to visit our homeschool pals that we met via welltrainedmindsecular on yahoo, and on the way home we will swing by Boca Grande for dinner with our other friends from Hollywood who will be over for the weekend. This is highly unusual for us, the hermits, and frankly, exhausting.
I passed on my SIL's baby shower Sunday. Still thinking about buying her The Mommy Myth for a gift. I swear, I'm just trying to be helpful. Otherwise, I'm waiting for the baby. The big excitement? Girl, which would make seven in a row, or Boy, the one and only, the heir apparent. We only have to wait until August 18, when she is scheduled for her C-section, to find out.
Next week: Birthday party for a homeschool friend, an east coast mammogram, and a move into our rented Punta Gorda house.
Maybe then a little schoolwork?
The weather held out and we spent two fun days on the beach. Tomorrow we're buzzing down to Naples to visit our homeschool pals that we met via welltrainedmindsecular on yahoo, and on the way home we will swing by Boca Grande for dinner with our other friends from Hollywood who will be over for the weekend. This is highly unusual for us, the hermits, and frankly, exhausting.
I passed on my SIL's baby shower Sunday. Still thinking about buying her The Mommy Myth for a gift. I swear, I'm just trying to be helpful. Otherwise, I'm waiting for the baby. The big excitement? Girl, which would make seven in a row, or Boy, the one and only, the heir apparent. We only have to wait until August 18, when she is scheduled for her C-section, to find out.
Next week: Birthday party for a homeschool friend, an east coast mammogram, and a move into our rented Punta Gorda house.
Maybe then a little schoolwork?
Monday, July 19, 2004
I'm (almost) speechless
Galled over recent reports of possible election postponement in the face of terrorist activity, and lacking the eloquence to coherently respond, I offer words of wisdom from someone with a little experience on the matter:
Lincoln on the 1864 Presidential Election
Response to a Serenade
November 10, 1864
It has long been a grave question whether any government, not too strong for the liberties of its people, can be strong enough to maintain its own existence in great emergencies.
On this point the present rebellion brought our republic to a severe test; and a presidential election occurring in regular course during the rebellion added not a little to the strain. If the loyal people, united, were put to the utmost of their strength by the rebellion, must they not fail when divided, and partially paralized (sic), by a political war among themselves?
But the election was a necessity.
We can not have free government without elections; and if the rebellion could force us to forego, or postpone a national election it might fairly claim to have already conquered and ruined us. The strife of the election is but human-nature practically applied to the facts of the case. What has occurred in this case, must ever recur in similar cases. Human-nature will not change. In any future great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall have as weak, and as strong; as silly and as wise; as bad and good. Let us, therefore, study the incidents of this, as philosophy to learn wisdom from, and none of them as wrongs to be revenged.
But the election, along with its incidental, and undesirable strife, has done good too. It has demonstrated that a people's government can sustain a national election, in the midst of a great civil war. Until now it has not been known to the world that this was a possibility. It shows that, even among candidates of the same party, he who is most devoted to the Union, and most opposed to treason, can receive most of the people's votes. It shows also, to the extent yet known, that we have more men now, than we had when the war began. Gold is good in its place; but living, brave, patriotic men, are better than gold.
--------
Interesting that this is posted on a National Park Service site, isn't it?
Lincoln on the 1864 Presidential Election
Response to a Serenade
November 10, 1864
It has long been a grave question whether any government, not too strong for the liberties of its people, can be strong enough to maintain its own existence in great emergencies.
On this point the present rebellion brought our republic to a severe test; and a presidential election occurring in regular course during the rebellion added not a little to the strain. If the loyal people, united, were put to the utmost of their strength by the rebellion, must they not fail when divided, and partially paralized (sic), by a political war among themselves?
But the election was a necessity.
We can not have free government without elections; and if the rebellion could force us to forego, or postpone a national election it might fairly claim to have already conquered and ruined us. The strife of the election is but human-nature practically applied to the facts of the case. What has occurred in this case, must ever recur in similar cases. Human-nature will not change. In any future great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall have as weak, and as strong; as silly and as wise; as bad and good. Let us, therefore, study the incidents of this, as philosophy to learn wisdom from, and none of them as wrongs to be revenged.
But the election, along with its incidental, and undesirable strife, has done good too. It has demonstrated that a people's government can sustain a national election, in the midst of a great civil war. Until now it has not been known to the world that this was a possibility. It shows that, even among candidates of the same party, he who is most devoted to the Union, and most opposed to treason, can receive most of the people's votes. It shows also, to the extent yet known, that we have more men now, than we had when the war began. Gold is good in its place; but living, brave, patriotic men, are better than gold.
--------
Interesting that this is posted on a National Park Service site, isn't it?
Sunday, July 18, 2004
This past week as my brother rode the train into New York from New Jersey, he noticed a man, who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, taking pictures of the train's interior and platforms, and making notes. He kept on eye on the man and quietly notified the conductor. No one else had seemed to notice. The conductor advised the man that photography is not allowed onboard the train and continued to observe him from the rear of the car. The man ignored this notice and kept on with his picture and note taking. At the next stop, plainclothes detectives pulled the man off the train.
Vigilance or paranoia?
We'll never know.
Vigilance or paranoia?
We'll never know.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Fahrenheit 9/11
First off, setting aside Michael Moore's politics for a minute, production-wise, this is technically and creatively a great movie. The editing, the soundtrack, the sheer amount of work involved in producing this movie, Moore did a brilliant job. I was equally amused and disturbed. The man is obnoxious, confrontational, and very funny. His sequence on September 11 was perfect: Devastatingly simple and just plain devastating. Think he'll win any awards this year? I don't know, he's pissed off a lot of people this time around, but if he does, I can't wait to hear that acceptance speech.
I had to go back and reread Christopher Hitchens critique. After seeing the movie, he sounds awfully shrill. He seemed most irritated by Moore wanting to have it both ways on many of his arguments. Moore does take both sides of some arguments, for example, that we sent too few troops in/we shouldn't have any troops there, but I can see that. We don't need to be in Iraq, but if they insist on sending troops, for everyone's sake, do it right, with adequate support and minimize the destruction. His main point, that Bush and his big business buddies are manipulating the situation for their own benefit, sticks, and demonstrates quite graphically the absurdity and horror of the situation.
Some points didn't seem very clear to me, particularly regarding the dynamics of the relationship between the Saudis and Iraqis and Taliban and oil company execs, but I admit to losing my focus on the narrative several times as I pondered the technicalities of the production, not due to any fault of the director, but because that's what I do. I had to watch Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo a few times each before I could get beyond the quality of the animation. This is another one I'll have to watch again, when it's out on video.
It's pure propaganda, but it's very well done. See for yourself.
What was really interesting was the audience. Surprisingly, for a Friday night with I, Robot showing in four theaters and Spiderman in three, this one theater was packed with young people. I figured there'd be a few baby boomers and a bunch of empty seats, but I am happy to say, I was wrong. Granted, these were not exactly a bunch of critical thinkers, as gleaned from some of their responses, but at least they were showing an interest in current events. It's been a long time since I've seen a movie end with spontaneous applause.
--------
Q - What's ignorance and apathy?
A - I don't know and I don't care.
I had to go back and reread Christopher Hitchens critique. After seeing the movie, he sounds awfully shrill. He seemed most irritated by Moore wanting to have it both ways on many of his arguments. Moore does take both sides of some arguments, for example, that we sent too few troops in/we shouldn't have any troops there, but I can see that. We don't need to be in Iraq, but if they insist on sending troops, for everyone's sake, do it right, with adequate support and minimize the destruction. His main point, that Bush and his big business buddies are manipulating the situation for their own benefit, sticks, and demonstrates quite graphically the absurdity and horror of the situation.
Some points didn't seem very clear to me, particularly regarding the dynamics of the relationship between the Saudis and Iraqis and Taliban and oil company execs, but I admit to losing my focus on the narrative several times as I pondered the technicalities of the production, not due to any fault of the director, but because that's what I do. I had to watch Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo a few times each before I could get beyond the quality of the animation. This is another one I'll have to watch again, when it's out on video.
It's pure propaganda, but it's very well done. See for yourself.
What was really interesting was the audience. Surprisingly, for a Friday night with I, Robot showing in four theaters and Spiderman in three, this one theater was packed with young people. I figured there'd be a few baby boomers and a bunch of empty seats, but I am happy to say, I was wrong. Granted, these were not exactly a bunch of critical thinkers, as gleaned from some of their responses, but at least they were showing an interest in current events. It's been a long time since I've seen a movie end with spontaneous applause.
--------
Q - What's ignorance and apathy?
A - I don't know and I don't care.
Friday, July 16, 2004
I'm too young for a mammogram. Well, chronologically, I'm close to the recommended age, but emotionally, I'm just too damn young. What next dentures and Depends?
Saw my doctor today and he gave me the good news that I'm probably not dying of breast cancer, but recommends I get my first mammogram now rather than waiting for my 40th birthday, which is still a few months away, just to be sure. He took a look under the hood and pronounced everything there fine too. Oh happy day!
To celebrate, G and I are going out to grab a bite to eat and see Fahrenheit 9/11, while his mom takes the girls for a sleepover at her house.
Saw my doctor today and he gave me the good news that I'm probably not dying of breast cancer, but recommends I get my first mammogram now rather than waiting for my 40th birthday, which is still a few months away, just to be sure. He took a look under the hood and pronounced everything there fine too. Oh happy day!
To celebrate, G and I are going out to grab a bite to eat and see Fahrenheit 9/11, while his mom takes the girls for a sleepover at her house.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Wish You Were Here
The bathroom is done but for the finishing touches: Vintage Florida postcards to be displayed in framed wall groupings.
I hesitate to say I collect these, because I really don’t like the idea of obsessing over objects to the point of having to own every single last one of them, but I do have some somewhere in storage and since I’m unable to locate them in an acceptable amount of time to complete our bathroom renovation, I’ve been having a blast on eBay.
After culling and selling homeschool curricula online, my PayPal account has a nice balance which is facilitating the purchase of a number of new cards. My favorites are the linen finished cards from the 40s. They are drawn from actual photos, but so gaudily colored as to have a surreal quality about them. One of my other interests is in handcoloring photos, particularly infrared ones, and these old postcards are always an inspiration. I have a soft spot for the iconic alligators, flamingoes and palm trees, the wacky tourist attractions like the Weeki Wachee mermaids and the water skiing bathing beauties from Cypress Gardens, beach scenes, Everglades scenes, fish, and cards from our hometowns. There are so many available, it seems everybody and their brother has been here at one time or another, it’s easy to get carried away. Florida, the source for an unending supply of tacky postcards. Art imitates life, right?
S, tired of waiting for me as I tried to view all the cards available for auction, slunk off to her room, where I assumed she would get a little computer time in while I was so distracted. Was I ever surprised when she produced a brief essay on Lewis and Clark written in Latin. She has finished Of Courage Undaunted, and is now tearing through Streams to the River, River to the Sea, a book on the expedition from Sacajawea’s point of view. If her enthusiasm continues, I may press John Bakeless’s edition of The Journals of Lewis and Clark on her. Or at least leave it out in a conspicuous location for her to discover. Lately she has been trying to build a canoe for an expedition of her own.
G figured out the identity of The Scarlet Pimpernel before anyone else. She’s got a knack for that. This is as much an indication of her brilliance, as an indictment of my stupidity. This book has been such a fun read-aloud as it allows me to affect a very bad French accent a la Monty Python and the Holy Grail ("I fart in your general direction!")
G enjoyed Paris 1789: A Guide to Paris on the Eve of the Revolution. I’m looking to see what other topics they have available in the Sightseers series. She’ll be starting on How We Crossed the West next, and if she’s not tired of the subject, she might like Seaman's Journal: On the Trail With Lewis and Clark, the story of Meriwether Lewis’s dog.
Our next read-aloud: Captains Courageous. I had considered The Mutiny on Board H.M.S. Bounty, but in memory of Marlon Brando, god-rest-his-soul, we’ll watch Mutiny on the Bounty.
“I believe I did what honour dictated and that belief sustains me, except for a slight desire to be dead which I'm sure will pass.” – Fletcher Christian
I hesitate to say I collect these, because I really don’t like the idea of obsessing over objects to the point of having to own every single last one of them, but I do have some somewhere in storage and since I’m unable to locate them in an acceptable amount of time to complete our bathroom renovation, I’ve been having a blast on eBay.
After culling and selling homeschool curricula online, my PayPal account has a nice balance which is facilitating the purchase of a number of new cards. My favorites are the linen finished cards from the 40s. They are drawn from actual photos, but so gaudily colored as to have a surreal quality about them. One of my other interests is in handcoloring photos, particularly infrared ones, and these old postcards are always an inspiration. I have a soft spot for the iconic alligators, flamingoes and palm trees, the wacky tourist attractions like the Weeki Wachee mermaids and the water skiing bathing beauties from Cypress Gardens, beach scenes, Everglades scenes, fish, and cards from our hometowns. There are so many available, it seems everybody and their brother has been here at one time or another, it’s easy to get carried away. Florida, the source for an unending supply of tacky postcards. Art imitates life, right?
S, tired of waiting for me as I tried to view all the cards available for auction, slunk off to her room, where I assumed she would get a little computer time in while I was so distracted. Was I ever surprised when she produced a brief essay on Lewis and Clark written in Latin. She has finished Of Courage Undaunted, and is now tearing through Streams to the River, River to the Sea, a book on the expedition from Sacajawea’s point of view. If her enthusiasm continues, I may press John Bakeless’s edition of The Journals of Lewis and Clark on her. Or at least leave it out in a conspicuous location for her to discover. Lately she has been trying to build a canoe for an expedition of her own.
G figured out the identity of The Scarlet Pimpernel before anyone else. She’s got a knack for that. This is as much an indication of her brilliance, as an indictment of my stupidity. This book has been such a fun read-aloud as it allows me to affect a very bad French accent a la Monty Python and the Holy Grail ("I fart in your general direction!")
G enjoyed Paris 1789: A Guide to Paris on the Eve of the Revolution. I’m looking to see what other topics they have available in the Sightseers series. She’ll be starting on How We Crossed the West next, and if she’s not tired of the subject, she might like Seaman's Journal: On the Trail With Lewis and Clark, the story of Meriwether Lewis’s dog.
Our next read-aloud: Captains Courageous. I had considered The Mutiny on Board H.M.S. Bounty, but in memory of Marlon Brando, god-rest-his-soul, we’ll watch Mutiny on the Bounty.
“I believe I did what honour dictated and that belief sustains me, except for a slight desire to be dead which I'm sure will pass.” – Fletcher Christian
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Back and Forth
We're still going with the build-on-the-lot plan, but in the meantime, G decided we need a rental for all our belongings stashed here and there -- mostly there, like on display in an unleased store front unit in one of his brother's shopping centers -- while we figure out what and how to build. He had noticed a property in the paper and asked the girls and I to drive by while we were off-island doing a few errands today. Brand new, the cleaning crew was just wrapping up when we arrived and I got to take a look inside. It was perfect. Tomorrow we drop off a deposit check. That was too easy.
Poor G. He's been dealing with the transfer of his step-grandmother from an assisted living facility in Central Florida, to one in Hollywood. Instead of languishing up there by herself, she's had a stream of pretty regular visitors bringing her luxuries like cigarettes and sweet potato pie. But Great Grandma M is a redneck. She can not stand the ethnic mix of people down in South Florida and wants to go back up to her old place, a place with only English-speaking white people. She's pretty vocal about it too. Back up she'll go, once he makes the arrangements, again.
And he had a visit with some of our old friends. He reports they are all in outerspace. High drama, all the time. He can't wait to get back over to our nice, quiet, boring, little island.
The girls delivered some of our first pineapple crop to our neighbors this past weekend, and returned with an invite to dinner for this evening. The same neighbors L went AWOL to see; the ones I feared might be about to have us investigated by DCF. We had a very nice time. L insisted on wearing the outfit she received today, from her uncle for her birthday, as well as the gold bracelet she received from an aunt. She had a date! She was all googly-eyed with Mr. N, who is a mix of Jimmy Stewart and James Coburn, and who, if I was thirty years older, might find attractive, crawled right up in his lap for a chat and stayed perched there for most of the evening, hanging on his every word. One realizes how poorly one eats when treated to a huge plate of freshly caught sea trout, fresh black-eyed peas, fresh corn-on-the-cob, fresh fruit cocktail, and fresh keylime pie. With meringue. And a piecrust from scratch. They also sent us home with an antique table, sort of a forerunner of a card table with collapsing legs, but made entirely of wood, with beautiful dovetailed joints. They've made the island their full-time residence and have begun replacing functional vacation home furniture with treasured pieces from their large farmhouse. Hmmmm. Can I possibly squeeze one more piece of furniture in?
Poor G. He's been dealing with the transfer of his step-grandmother from an assisted living facility in Central Florida, to one in Hollywood. Instead of languishing up there by herself, she's had a stream of pretty regular visitors bringing her luxuries like cigarettes and sweet potato pie. But Great Grandma M is a redneck. She can not stand the ethnic mix of people down in South Florida and wants to go back up to her old place, a place with only English-speaking white people. She's pretty vocal about it too. Back up she'll go, once he makes the arrangements, again.
And he had a visit with some of our old friends. He reports they are all in outerspace. High drama, all the time. He can't wait to get back over to our nice, quiet, boring, little island.
The girls delivered some of our first pineapple crop to our neighbors this past weekend, and returned with an invite to dinner for this evening. The same neighbors L went AWOL to see; the ones I feared might be about to have us investigated by DCF. We had a very nice time. L insisted on wearing the outfit she received today, from her uncle for her birthday, as well as the gold bracelet she received from an aunt. She had a date! She was all googly-eyed with Mr. N, who is a mix of Jimmy Stewart and James Coburn, and who, if I was thirty years older, might find attractive, crawled right up in his lap for a chat and stayed perched there for most of the evening, hanging on his every word. One realizes how poorly one eats when treated to a huge plate of freshly caught sea trout, fresh black-eyed peas, fresh corn-on-the-cob, fresh fruit cocktail, and fresh keylime pie. With meringue. And a piecrust from scratch. They also sent us home with an antique table, sort of a forerunner of a card table with collapsing legs, but made entirely of wood, with beautiful dovetailed joints. They've made the island their full-time residence and have begun replacing functional vacation home furniture with treasured pieces from their large farmhouse. Hmmmm. Can I possibly squeeze one more piece of furniture in?
Monday, July 12, 2004
Busy week ahead
I have a doctor's appointment scheduled for Friday, on the other coast. It's been awhile, just over four years, since I skip the annual exams and only go when there's a problem, and I never bothered to find a doctor over here. Then, the following week, L has her four year old check up -- over there, again -- and when we return, we will be bringing some friends out for a sleep over. Everybody's due for a dental cleaning, and S had a filling fall out, but I was unable to schedule anything earlier that the 29th over in Hollywood, so I'm waiting for their dentist to call me with a recommendation for someone here on the west coast. Imagine not having to drive three hours to an appointment!
The girls and I completed some of our week's work yesterday, so we're a bit ahead.
Here's to keeping it that way...
The girls and I completed some of our week's work yesterday, so we're a bit ahead.
Here's to keeping it that way...
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Books, books, and books
The quiz on books that has been making the rounds, and the poll over at Mental Multivitamin reminded me of my best and worst book experience yet.
A few years back, I traveled up to Georgia one weekend with my brother-in-law, who had been named executor of his second cousin's estate, to take a look at some antique furniture he thought I might be interested in buying from the estate before he turned all the contents over to an auctioneer.
Colonel Bill, the deceased second cousin, had been an Air Force World War II hero, stationed in Europe for many years. He was also a pack rat, and in addition to a house filled with antiques, he had a large barn packed with other miscellaneous treasures. The biggest find was that all four walls of the barn, floor to ceiling, were covered with the entire contents of the Wiesbaden Air Force Base's library that he had purchased when the library was closed. They were even in Dewey decimal order. The antiques dealer was not interested in the books and told me I could help myself.
Colonel Bill also had several sets of luggage, which the dealer was not interested in. I had two days to pack two suitcases, the limit the airline would allow for checked baggage, with anything I wanted.
It was torture. I ended up with various scientific field guides, books on animal trapping and tracking, celestial navigation, botanical guides, surveying manuals, first editions of Boy and Girl Scout manuals...
In retrospect, I should have bought the two standard issue Air Force trunks he had, stenciled Roswell, AFB, and stuffed them full of books to be shipped home. Assuming they were empty, of course.
------
What is your favorite type of bookstore?
A. A large, well-lit chain store with a cafe and a large selection of books
B. A dark, dusty, used bookstore full of mysterious and vaguely organized books
C. A local independent bookstore that features books by local authors and a self-serve coffee station for customers
A, B, and C, plus online dealers, yard sales, flea markets, museum gift shops, library clearance racks...
What excites you more?
A. Awaiting a new book by a favorite author
B. Discovering a classic you've been wanting to read
C. Receiving a free book from a friend in the mail
Which do you prefer?
A. Fiction
B. Non-fiction
C. A mix of both
What is your favorite of these forms?
A. Novel
B. Short story
C. Poetry
What is your fiction preference?
A. Contemporary fiction
B. Classic novels
C. Genre (mystery, espionage, etc.)
A, B, and C, with a particular weakness for Stephen King
Does the design and condition of the book matter?
A. Yes, I love a well designed book and keep mine in mint condition.
B. No, the words are what matter.
C. Yes and no. I appreciate good design and treat my books with respect, but I am not obsessive about it.
On average how many books do you read a month?
A. One or two
B. Four or five
C. Ten or more
Do you prefer to own or borrow?
A. There is a particular joy in owning a book. I have a large personal library.
B. Why spend money when you can read it for free? I use the public library.
C. Different tools for different job. I own and borrow.
Where do you get (the majority) of your book news?
A. Newspapers
B. Magazines
C. Television
D. Blogs
E. Friends, acquaintances, and other fellow readers
F. Booksellers
G. A combination of the sources above and others, including excellent catalogues
I'm going with MFS's modified version here, and answering G
Are books a professional obsession?
A. Yes, I work or have worked in the field (writer, reviewer, publisher, teacher, librarian, bookseller, etc.).
B. No, I do it for fun.
C. I write the occasional review but have a regular job outside of books.
A few years back, I traveled up to Georgia one weekend with my brother-in-law, who had been named executor of his second cousin's estate, to take a look at some antique furniture he thought I might be interested in buying from the estate before he turned all the contents over to an auctioneer.
Colonel Bill, the deceased second cousin, had been an Air Force World War II hero, stationed in Europe for many years. He was also a pack rat, and in addition to a house filled with antiques, he had a large barn packed with other miscellaneous treasures. The biggest find was that all four walls of the barn, floor to ceiling, were covered with the entire contents of the Wiesbaden Air Force Base's library that he had purchased when the library was closed. They were even in Dewey decimal order. The antiques dealer was not interested in the books and told me I could help myself.
Colonel Bill also had several sets of luggage, which the dealer was not interested in. I had two days to pack two suitcases, the limit the airline would allow for checked baggage, with anything I wanted.
It was torture. I ended up with various scientific field guides, books on animal trapping and tracking, celestial navigation, botanical guides, surveying manuals, first editions of Boy and Girl Scout manuals...
In retrospect, I should have bought the two standard issue Air Force trunks he had, stenciled Roswell, AFB, and stuffed them full of books to be shipped home. Assuming they were empty, of course.
------
What is your favorite type of bookstore?
A. A large, well-lit chain store with a cafe and a large selection of books
B. A dark, dusty, used bookstore full of mysterious and vaguely organized books
C. A local independent bookstore that features books by local authors and a self-serve coffee station for customers
A, B, and C, plus online dealers, yard sales, flea markets, museum gift shops, library clearance racks...
What excites you more?
A. Awaiting a new book by a favorite author
B. Discovering a classic you've been wanting to read
C. Receiving a free book from a friend in the mail
Which do you prefer?
A. Fiction
B. Non-fiction
C. A mix of both
What is your favorite of these forms?
A. Novel
B. Short story
C. Poetry
What is your fiction preference?
A. Contemporary fiction
B. Classic novels
C. Genre (mystery, espionage, etc.)
A, B, and C, with a particular weakness for Stephen King
Does the design and condition of the book matter?
A. Yes, I love a well designed book and keep mine in mint condition.
B. No, the words are what matter.
C. Yes and no. I appreciate good design and treat my books with respect, but I am not obsessive about it.
On average how many books do you read a month?
A. One or two
B. Four or five
C. Ten or more
Do you prefer to own or borrow?
A. There is a particular joy in owning a book. I have a large personal library.
B. Why spend money when you can read it for free? I use the public library.
C. Different tools for different job. I own and borrow.
Where do you get (the majority) of your book news?
A. Newspapers
B. Magazines
C. Television
D. Blogs
E. Friends, acquaintances, and other fellow readers
F. Booksellers
G. A combination of the sources above and others, including excellent catalogues
I'm going with MFS's modified version here, and answering G
Are books a professional obsession?
A. Yes, I work or have worked in the field (writer, reviewer, publisher, teacher, librarian, bookseller, etc.).
B. No, I do it for fun.
C. I write the occasional review but have a regular job outside of books.
Friday, July 09, 2004
The lesser of two weevils?
G is a funny guy. He was so excited and encouraged by Kerry and Edwards's speeches the other day, he is optimistic that they might actually be able to defeat Bush & Co. Was it coincidence when he came up with a new solution for our housing situation, right here in the good ol' U.S. of A? I think not.
We have a four acre piece out on the eastern, agriculturally zoned fringes of Punta Gorda, Florida, purchased as an investment. He's asked me to start researching modular homes and houses to be moved in road-widening projects, in order to pursue developing the property. It could be a cheap and fast alternative to building from scratch, giving us a large enough land base, not too far from the island.
-------
Current reads:
S (11)
Of Courage Undaunted -- Initially resistant to reading it, she's now enjoying the book, even sorry that they're already on their way back.
The New Way Things Work -- This one is her new all-time favorite, being dragged around with her wherever she goes and with lots of bookmarked pages. She's been busy inventing new contraptions. Unschooling science still seems to be working for us.
G (9)
Hitty: Her First Hundred Years -- A book I've been trying to share with this stubborn, reluctant reader. She loves it and has been enthusiastically reading passages aloud to the rest of us.
Me
Undaunted Courage -- I've slowed down a bit as I teach myself to play chess, but am still enjoying this fascinating tale.
Our read-alouds
Pagoo is a big hit and we are looking forward to reading the other Hollings books.
The Scarlet Pimpernel -- While originally skeptical, the girls are delighted by the story and characters and have been begging me to read "just one more chapter!"
The Legos are out again and this time the girls are busy building guillotines, combining their interests in simple machines from The New Way Things Work and The Scarlet Pimpernel.
-------
Comment Replies
MFS: (way late) Of course you're right ("Be wary of equating the grocery clerk's vacant smile with mindlessness.") It's all about the motivation.
Dy: I need to pick your brain about your building research, and we're going with the baskets on the shelves idea. Thanks.
Margaret: Glad the review was a help. The book is definitely an eye-opener, in my case more useful for looking back than ahead, though. Surprised to see you would consider packing up and heading somewhere more remote than WV! I imagine you living up on a mountaintop or down in a holler. Please keep the political comments coming.
Darby et al: As soon as we get the bathroom finished to our satisfaction, I'll post some photos. So far it's nothing to get excited about.
Once the porch is cleared of construction debris, I need to take a shot of our cottage exterior for an updated "After" photo. The "Before" is so horrible that we always wonder what the heck we were thinking when we saw this place.
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