Not Sherry

I’ve discovered that our brains often mistake excitement for anxiety. As an example, we are preparing for a family cruise to celebrate our daughter-in-law, who is turning 40. Our oldest grandchild is a pro at sailing the high seas, but for our two youngest grandchildren this will be their maiden voyage. As the clock winds down and the final preparations are made I have become excited, and looking forward to the adventure. The buzz makes it difficult to sleep, but once it comes my brain twists my feelings from ones of anticipation into ones of trepidation! I wake up having dreamt of being caught in a storm, huge rolling waves, a catastrophic Titanic event, falling overboard! You name it, I can imagine it! Though a storm could be a possibility, those other things are highly unlikely on the scale of probabilities! But what if…?

I’ve lived a life of what if’s. A pro really, having been raised by a mother who believed in being prepared for the worst. Assuming the worst was not only possible, but probable. Preparation for the worst is different that being afraid of it, yet our brains can have a difficult time distinguishing between the two.

A very long time ago I learned to scuba dive. The timing could have been better with regards to the “what ifs” that invaded my mind and caused my body to react to fear, I will admit that. It was the year following the release of the blockbuster movie, “Jaws”. Gordon Lightfoot’s song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, about the freighter that sunk on Lake Superior the year before was at the top of the charts. That song came on the radio as we were bound for San Diego, set to board a 33 ft dive boat that was to sail at midnight, and in the morning I would sink beneath the water, testing my skills to become a certified diver. But what if our boat sunk in the inky darkness of the Pacific Ocean? What if I was attacked by a Great White Shark? Possible, but highly unlikely. Nonetheless, visions I couldn’t shake. I am here writing this, so neither of those things happened. Diving was thrilling, yet the battle with my brain caused my respirations to rise, and my heartbeat to quicken. It was hard to disentangle the excitement from the fear.

Years later my son and I rode the Metro in D.C. We were off to see the Air and Space Museum. “What if” we were mugged? We weren’t. My husband and I boarded a plane to Phoenix to visit family. “What if” we crashed? We didn’t. Years ago I was swimming in the Atlantic with my daughter. We saw something unusual several yards away, but couldn’t tell what it was. She suggested I go find out. What? “What if….”? Her response to me was, “You’ve had a good run”. We laughed. Sometimes the “what ifs” are just not worth finding out. We got out of the water.

You know why our brains can confuse the two? I looked up the word “adventure” in the thesaurus. It gave me words like hazard, endangerment, jeopardy, and peril! What?! I never thought of adventure that way. Along with those words were also venture, experience, and feat. To me those seem to be incongruent, in opposition to each other, but maybe they aren’t. Maybe they go hand in hand. Maybe that’s why when we’re excited our hearts race, and our respirations increase just like when we’re afraid. It would appear that fear and excitement are emotional cousins.

Every day we face the “what ifs” both big and small, real or imagined. Embrace or back away. It’s your choice whether it’s worth it or not. But, sometimes you don’t have a choice. Sometimes you do what you’ve gotta do regardless of the “what ifs”. Civilization is on the cusp of a technological adventure called AI. But, remember what I told you that word could mean….hazard, jeopardy, peril. It could be the greatest invention since the last greatest invention, whatever that was, or it could be the stuff our nightmares are made of. Our brain doesn’t always know the difference. If it’s the latter, and turns out to be the “Terminator” I’m prepared. I have two artificial knees. I’m hoping an AI cyborg scan will see me as a hybrid and move on. If not, well…..I’ve had a good run.

I read somewhere once that you should stretch like a cat every day before getting out of bed. It’s supposed to be good for you. Gets the blood flowing, moves the oxygen to your muscles. If you watch house cats, tigers, and lions you will notice they all do it. Someone drew the conclusion that if it’s good for them, it must be good for us. Do you know what house cats, tigers, and lions all have in common? They are all cats!!! I reached a somewhat different conclusion.

I tried it. I stretched out in the morning, stretching my legs, flexing my toes, reaching up with my arms. It felt great….until it didn’t! Somewhere in the process my muscles went from stretching to cramping and they did it with a vengeance! Punishing me for the audacity of imitating a cat!

There are several different muscles that can cramp up while stretching, or just going about your business without warning. You never know which one it will be. It could be the calf muscle. This one is fairly easy to deal with. We all know the drill. Toes to the nose, and if that doesn’t work you deftly jump out of bed, off the couch, or wherever, and bring all you weight to bear on the offending muscle by standing on that foot. It doesn’t take too long before that calf muscle is back to towing the line and operating per its assigned duty! However, the collection of muscles held in the arsenal of our bodies contain much bigger firepower than the lowly calf, and they have been known to mutiny whenever they please. Stretching is usually the trigger, but on occasion they will get a wild hair and for no reason lash out.

I believe the quadricep is the worst! We think of it as one muscle, but it’s actually made up of four. Together they are a powerhouse unlike any other. The first time that muscle cramped on me I made the mistake of treating it like a calf muscle. Don’t do that! It will only punish you further! It took several times of trying to beat it into submission before I learned to not attempt to straighten my leg. Leave it bent and if possible, play dead like an opossum and try to relax, breathe! Easier said than done, I assure you. Heat packs help. There is something about the heat that increases blood flow to the area and allows the muscle to relax. I usually yell at my husband, “Wake up! Get the heat pack! I have a quad cramp!” It happens often enough that he knows the drill, but the agony of a quad cramp lures me into believing he is taking his sweet time coming out of his dreamy slumber, stumbling down the hall with the heat pack to the microwave. Sometimes he will even take a side trip to the bathroom before coming back! Has he lost his mind?! Does he not recognize the agony? This is an emergency!!! He should be running with singular focus! I can actually feel the muscle rolling and tightening under the skin. Creepy! It can take several minutes for a quadricep cramp to ease up. When it finally does, it can leave an ache that lasts an entire day. The quads don’t mess around!

The next one to sneak up on you is the hamstring cramp. This is a group of three muscles, so not quite the power hitter of the quads, but fairly punishing. If you are feeling brave you can stand with this one, but I don’t recommend it. If you are laying down just stay where you are, and slowly extend your leg. If you are lucky it won’t really notice you doing it. Lay there quietly until the storm has passed.

This last one is a puzzler. It’s a cramp of the muscle on the side of your lower leg next to your shin bone. A muscle I was happily ignorant of until the first time it cramped on me. I had just flown to Phoenix, was enjoying a pleasant conversation with my sister, when all of a sudden my leg felt like someone was stabbing me. My sister started rubbing it as I stood there being tortured. I wasn’t sure if that was helping or making it worse, but it seemed right to try something. It felt like it would never stop. Pain is funny that way. When it finally subsided I was afraid to move for fear of making it angry again. I thought it happened because I had worn flip flops through the airport, causing my toes to grip my shoes. Perhaps putting more strain on the muscles around my shin. However, I have since changed my evil ways and still I get them. Sometimes it happens when I am flexing my toes like a cat!! Again, don’t do that!

I looked into the easy answer of why we can get muscle cramps when we stretch. There are a range of reasons from dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, poor muscle conditioning, to the catch all phrase, “You’re getting older”. You know why I think it happens? I’m not a cat!

A little over a year ago, perhaps two, our son Ben told Kim he heard about this Coast to Coast bike trail across the peninsula of Florida, from the Atlantic to the Gulf. He wanted to know if Kim was interesting in riding it with him. It would be a 4 day trip and a total of 250 miles. With just a hint of hesitation Kim thought, why not? Why not? Maybe because you’re 67! I wasn’t even sure Ben could do it! He’s a a pilot. By definition his job requires a lot sitting. It’s not like he’s a UPS driver! But sure, why not?

The planning stage seemed to go on forever. There was always something…the time of year needed to be right so that it wouldn’t be too hot, and equipment was needed. Kim didn’t even have the proper bike, which begged the question, just what was the proper bike? He had a beach cruiser. No gears! That would never do, but should he go mountain bike for the swamp, or road bike for the paved trail? All good questions that took longer to answer than seemed necessary. And then there was the training. You just couldn’t go off on a 250 bike ride with no training…or could you? Kim said “No”, Ben said “Maybe”. Like everything, the road to aches and pain starts with good intentions. The training would be sporadic, dropping off to non-existent, and then ramping up to panic mode! Okay, that was panic mode for Kim and, “I’m just going to wing it”, which was Ben’s philosophy. Not my problem. I was the road crew.

The road crew for this trip was pretty low key since they weren’t going to be riding a road. They would encounter one from time to time, but mostly they would be out of sight, though not out of touch. How to get to them in an emergency….well, that was a question that would remain mostly unanswered throughout the trip. Mainly my duties were to carry extra water, Gatorade, protein drinks, snacks, ibuprofen, and the luggage. They weren’t camping, so I would go ahead to the rendezvous hotels, haul the luggage up to the room, where I would make everything as comfortable as possible and search out a good place to eat dinner when they arrived. In the morning I would load up their bikes with fresh supplies, see them off, pack up the room, and haul the luggage to the car, setting off to the next destination. Easy peasy on my part, but what to do with myself for the 8 to 9 hours when they were on their bikes and I was alone? Hmmm?

Finally Ben picked a date. The first week in March. Heartbeats quickened! This was actually happening, ready or not! The first thing that went wrong happened before we even left the house! Ben had made a slight calculation error regarding how many miles they needed to ride a day. The end of each day had to be calculated based on not only where the trail neared the hotel, but they also had to exit a swamp, and clear the wilderness areas along the way. Those things didn’t always line up easily. The mileage and the timeframe weren’t adding up! Two of those days were going to be pushing over 60 and would likely top out at 80 miles! Are you kidding? It’s not like these guys were serious bike riders! They weren’t even gym rats! I raised my eyebrows thinking that might be a bit ambitious. They would cross that bridge when they came to it, but I was pretty sure it would be a bridge too far.

Thursday was “Go Day”. We loaded the bikes on the back of the car at Ben’s house and began the hour drive north to Cape Canaveral Seashore and the Atlantic Ocean. The wind was blustery, and all three of us lifted our eyes to the palm trees that were noticeably swaying. The weather app wasn’t promising. No rain, but the wind would be an issue. I drove across the causeway over the Indian River in Titusville on our way to the beach. I noticed how high it was, but said nothing, wondering if they noticed it too. They would be riding back the same way, and the climb would be brutal. Add in the wind and it changed from brutal to wicked! I felt bad for them and tried not to think about it. Eastward we drove till at last we reached the beach. The wind grabbed my door as I was getting out of the car. It was freezing! Okay, it was 62 degrees, but by Florida standards, that was the equivalent of freezing. I pulled on my sweater and zipped up my polar fleece.

Ben and Kim checked and double checked their bikes and gear. We exchanged some humorous banter in order to diffuse some of the nerves. I verified where I was to meet them, and just like that they were off! Once they turned the corner they were into a 17 mph headwind, with 26 mph gusts. 50 miles would be a miracle in those conditions, especially the first day out. It would be a tough day, and I worried about them. Beyond that there was little I could do, except pray they’d be okay. I passed them and waved on my way out in search of the Black Point Wildlife Drive, nestled within the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge. My own adventure for the day. It’s a 17 mile, one way loop road into marshland noted for its bird life, as it lies within the Atlantic Flyway. I had never been there and I was excited to see it.

It was weird being on my own. I love exploring this state, but I don’t often do it alone. Okay, often translates to never. Now I’m in the middle of pretty much nowhere alone. Oh sure, there were a few other cars out here making the same trek, but I was alone in my own space and my own head. I glimpsed a few flamingoes on the wing, and several lone herons patiently hunting in the shallow water, but because of the wind and the cold even the wildlife took shelter in the reeds of the marsh. There are two walking trails. I chose the shorter one on which to take a stroll with my binoculars. There were a few other people on the trail. A daring choice for any of us. The wind was howling making it uncomfortably cold, and everyone seemed to be pulling their necks down into their jackets much like turtles. I reached the first bird blind, but found nothing in site, even with my binoculars. Returning to the trail I headed for the second blind. I glanced around and suddenly found myself alone. Where had everybody gone? Probably escaped to their cars to get out of the wind. I continued on for a few more yards and then stopped. Was I being foolish? I had walked past several alligator slides. Indicators of where alligators had crossed the trail and entered the water on the other side. If I encountered one out here all alone, up close and personal, who would know? I did an about face and headed back to the car!

Back on the main road I set my GPS for the location Ben had given me for the night. Now to trust it, because I really had no idea where I was going. Just the name of a town I have never been to and the hotel where I was to meet them. GPS had me turn down one backcountry road after another, and because I was alone I was able to ask it aloud, “Do you have any idea where we are going?” Another turn onto a two lane roadway and I had to ask, “Really?!?” But, rather unexpectedly we got there. We? Now I’m referring to my GPS as if it were my companion! Oh dear!

I got the room set up, took a short nap, and then waited for Kim and Ben to arrive. I could track their progress through Ben’s GPS app. Technology can be both a blessing and a curse. Right now, though, it was a blessing. I had gotten a few texts and pictures throughout the day. One disturbing one where they were laying on the ground just off the trail. Kim said they had no choice but to dismount and give their legs a break. Their quadriceps had seized up and refused to make one more rotation. The headwind was proving to be a vicious and skilled adversary. The question remained, could they persevere, and would they? It grew late in the day and they had several miles to go. I began to worry about them making it in before dark. Just before 5:00 they were within a mile. I knew they would be digging deep to finish and it wasn’t long before I saw them ride into the parking lot, looking a lot like something the cat dragged in. 50 miles behind them. Only 200 miles to go! After dinner they sat in the hotel hot tub trying to loosen sore muscles. It would be the last hot tub relief for the trip, as no other hotel had one. The bathtub would have to be the refuge their legs were seeking from now on. Before turning out the lights for the night I asked if they thought they could do it all again tomorrow. The answer for both of them was the same. “I don’t know.”

In the morning they both complained that their legs were so sore. They chuckled when I asked if they were going to be able to get on their bikes, but I received no real answer. After breakfast I loaded them up again with water and snacks. They checked their air pressure. I took a picture, and with a few groans they were on their way again.

The wind wasn’t nearly as bad this day, but they had now entered the “hill country”. I know most of you reading this believe Florida is a flat pancake state, which is true from about midway down the peninsula to the south, but here in the midland north of Orlando you surprisingly encounter rolling hills. In that way they were trading one challenge for another. They disappeared from sight, picking up the trail, and were on their way to conquer another 50 miles or so.

I had no real plans for the day and took my time packing up and loading the car. I would make a stop in Winter Garden for lunch and a nice walk around town. I had heard the downtown area was cute. Sounded like a good place for me to look for something to bring back for the grandkids. It didn’t disappoint. There’s a big Amish influence in this area of Florida. Amish jams and old fashioned wooden toys would be added to the cargo in my car. As it turned out the guys would pedal through the same town a few hours later, and stop at a bike shop I had walked past earlier in the day. Ben was having trouble with his bike not shifting properly. He had stopped along the trail to make a few adjustments, but wasn’t able to solve the problem. They needed a professional. It didn’t take too long before they were on their way again. I reached Clermont later in the day, our destination for the night. Stopped at a traffic light at the bottom of a hill, I could feel the car shifting down to gain the required gearing to reach the top when the light turned green. This was going to be hard on a bike! Once I saw the trail they needed to climb not far from the road. I could almost feel the lactic acid that would be burning in their thighs as they turned the crank again and again. I felt bad for them, but there was nothing I could do.

I got a text from Ben asking me to search out a sporting goods store where I could buy him a long sleeve shirt that was lightweight and had SPF properties. Two days of sun beating down on his neck and bare arms proved too much for skin that spent most of its time in the cockpit of a plane. He had been cooked! His skin protesting that it was on fire! He needed protection and he needed it two days ago! I was the support crew and “Mom”! I bought him two! He was badly sunburned, but at least this would stop it from getting worse. What I couldn’t stop was what they never thought about. Their lips! By the time they began to notice, the damage had been done and they were beginning to swell. The blisters and cracking would come later and would take a full two weeks to heal.

As with every evening I watched the clock and checked in with the GPS tracking to see where they were and if they were moving. I would get nervous if I noticed they had stopped and would text Kim to make sure they were okay. It seemed like every night they were pushing daylight to finish. I was worried, for tomorrow was one of those days that Ben had warned would be a long one. 70 miles! How would they manage that? It was taking them 8 hrs to finish 50, what with a savage headwind, and now the endless hills. Tomorrow they would face a swamp. Deep sand and possible water, with an extra 20 miles to ride. Maybe they could get on the trail earlier, but that would only buy them so much time. The path would be a tough one, and I did not want them out there after dark! This is Florida! A scary place in the dark!

The end of day two they came riding in around dinner time, looking fairly beat. Though not as hard as the headwind the day before, the hills may as well have been mountains. Their thighs were burning as I knew they would be. I saw concern on Ben’s face that night at dinner. He was preoccupied. His thoughts were on tomorrow and what could be done about the extra miles, and the swamp. The sand could mean miles of pushing rather than riding, and if they encountered water it would make things worse. There seemed to be no way to make an additional 20 miles before dark. He studied the map and developed a plan. They would ride the initial 12 miles, which would put them back near the highway. There I would pick them up and give them a lift around the worst part of the swamp. Then I would drop them back onto the trail, having made a slight detour. They wouldn’t avoid the swamp altogether, but it would give them a fighting chance to make it through before dark. With a plan made I hoped they would be able to rest.

The morning of the third day seemed to come quickly. I noticed the smiles didn’t come as easily as they had before. Anticipation seemed to be replaced by dread, though perhaps I was projecting what I would have been feeling had it been me. Kim announced that his legs didn’t hurt as much as his backside! He was suspicious that his bike had acquired a tangle of barbed wire where his seat used to be. Ben laughed, but only because he could relate, and felt it was an adequate description. Instead of ending the day with Tylenol I suggested they start with it as well, passing some around.

Modified plans in hand they set off. I went back to the room to pack up yet again. The guys were making this all about them, but I had my challenges too you know! I am positive those suitcases were getting heavier every time I lifted them back into the car. I was counting the days until I could foist that nonsense back on the men in my life!! Call the nearest women’s libber and tattle on me. I don’t care! It was a struggle for me. I did it, but complain I did. They needed to know that being on the support crew was not a cushy job! When you’re barely 5 ft tall, leverage is not a tool in the toolbox! Either those suitcases were getting heavier, or the back of my car was getting higher! Which was it!?

My lift had cut their ride down to a manageable distance and saved them many miles of pushing through sand, though they still encountered sections where the sand was so deep they just fell over and had to walk. As for me I needed to find something to do. I decided I would find a local park, claim a shady spot, and read my book. Instead, I stumbled into an “Art in the Park” event which cost me $5 to park and walk around. I could do that. There was lots to look at, and I even purchased a couple of birthday presents for later in the year. I had sent a text to Kim to let him know where I was, remembering my Mom’s warning to, “Always let someone know where you are”. Shopping done I was walking back to the car when Kim called. They had come across the same event, wanted to know if I was still there, and how to find me? We met up back at the car. Ben followed Kim and without warning fell off his bike when he stopped! Worriedly I asked, “What happened? Are you okay?” He seemed confused by my question. “Why did you fall off your bike?” He replied, “I did? I don’t know.” He didn’t seem to realize it even happened! Now I was confused! Kim offered, “It’s no big deal. It’s how we get off our bikes now. We just fall over.” I laughed, but I don’t think they were kidding. Turns out Kim did the same thing three days before. Put his foot down and just fell over. No reason really, except pure muscle fatigue.

At dinner they looked all done in. The fatigue of the past three days was gaining on them. When I asked if they were having fun I was met with raised eyebrows and uncertainty, but no answer. One more day lay ahead. This one was supposed to be an 80 miler that would take them all the way to St. Petersburg! I couldn’t see that happening. Neither could they. The forecast was for wind, arriving in advance of a rainstorm that would show up on Monday. I suggested they take an extra day to finish, but Ben felt that with the approaching storm that wouldn’t be a good idea. They had run into a couple on the trail who were headed in the other direction. They started at Honeymoon Beach on the Gulf with the wind to their backs! Clever! Why hadn’t we thought of that? If Ben and Kim altered their destination to Honeymoon Beach it would make the last day 60 miles. The final destination a little shorter than the original plan, but where St. Pete had them finishing on the Tampa Bay side of the city, Honeymoon Beach was actually on the Gulf. This would be acceptable! The evening came to an end in the room with Ben’s bike upside down so he could work on the gearing, the derailleur, or whatever was slipping again! Kim declared it was now a race to see what would fall apart first. His body or Ben’s bike!? I was worried Ben might not feel satisfied that they wouldn’t make their original goal, but he was smart enough to recognize the challenges and limitations of weather, equipment, trail conditions, and their own physical status. This course correction still offered the rewards of Florida coast to coast….the Atlantic to the Gulf. He was more than satisfied with the change.

The sun rose. This was it! The last day of miles hard earned, with 60 ahead! There was an excitement and a determination that was palpable. I passed out the Tylenol, and added chapstick along with other supplies for hydration and energy. As I was adding they were both tossing things out, lightening the load. Ben tossed his spare tube. A bold move considering the flat tire from the day before. Kim had two with him. He left one behind. Ben ousted his rain jacket and Kim did the same. They paired down their snacks, but kept the fluids. It was a bit comical to watch as they searched for things they could do without. Their legs never had enough time to recover and their backsides continued to suffer from being saddle sore. Mounting up and starting off was likely the most painful part of the day. Today’s trail would be beautiful and meandering. Their endurance and commitment was commendable. These guys are weekend warriors and not even “every” weekend, yet here they were, digging deep, and giving it everything they had to finish.

As for me I packed up the room once again. Those suitcases felt like they contained rocks when I hoisted them for the last time into the back of the car. The box holding extra water had gotten skewed and I was about to do some tossing of my own if I couldn’t tug and push it out of my way. Channeling my inner sailor with some well chosen, and emphasized salty language I was finally able to muscle it enough to make room for suitcases. I did declare, if only to myself, that the guys could handle those suitcases tomorrow without me!!

I was on my way to Dunedin and Honeymoon Beach on Honeymoon Island. It was a long drive and the parkway I was on allowed for glimpses of the trail Kim and Ben were riding. I wondered if I would see them? I saw lots of riders, but never them. The trail weaved and wandered nearby until at last it disappeared. While I was eating lunch I got a text from Ben. He wanted me to find a liquor store and buy three airline size bottles of whisky for a celebratory drink when they finished! I smiled. My pleasure!!!

Our hotel was situated on the road to the beach. I checked the GPS as usual to locate them. Their average speed was faster than it had been on days past, in spite of the headwind. But that foe remained around 7 mph, instead of the 17+ of their first day. Their pace was around 10 mph, sometimes more. They were like horses heading for the barn! When their position indicated they had passed me I got in the car to meet them on the beach. I caught up with them on the causeway, honked and waved. This was it! This is what they had worked so hard for! Almost there!

Only a few minutes after I parked I received a call from Kim asking exactly where I was, directing them to me. There they were!! The sand and the water of the Gulf greeted them. The smiles said more than words ever could! In that moment I felt I had never been more proud of them! They fought hard for it. They adapted. They overcame and kept going. It wasn’t life and death, but maybe for them in a way it was. A personal goal attained. Father and son, aged 67 and 38, pedaling 206 miles from the Atlantic seashore to the turquoise water of the Gulf. Yes, I was very proud!

True to my word, in the morning I made them load those darn suitcases in the back of the car. My work here was done!

As I write we are nearing the end. Only a few more days and Christmas will be upon us. This is one of those short seasons that catch us all a little off guard, and if you are not careful these last few days will be more stressful than merry.

I thought I was so clever this year. I bought my Christmas cards in January. I had plans to sign and address all of them before the end of the month. January slipped into August, but hey, still way early, right? I sat down to write my Christmas letter in October. We were already 10 months into the year and though not over, it would be easy enough to just add a few lines right before Thanksgiving to wrap it up and pop them in the mail. A little Christmas music was added for motivation. I was proud of myself for being right on target, but I couldn’t see around the bend.

Kim bought me pretty Christmas stamps that I was sticking in their appropriate place in the corner of each envelope. Guess I should have put my glasses on for this part. Didn’t think I needed them. I know where the stamps go! Not so hard. I saw the word, “Forever”, and assumed that was printed on the bottom. I was wrong, so about half my cards went out with the snow globe sideways. Do you suppose anyone noticed? “By the way Kim, how much is a stamp these days?” $.73 cents!!!! Add that to a box of cards and you have to re-evaluate your budget just to send a Merry Christmas greeting and a few words to catch up with friends. I’m beginning to understand why Facebook floods with Christmas wishes, while my mailbox holds only one or two cards every few days. I imagine there will be a future when I will have plenty of free time, because Christmas cards will be a thing of the past. I understand, but I think if that happens we will have lost something more significant than a tradition.

It was mid-November when I inserted my letter in their respective cards and stuffed envelopes. This is where I got derailed. I turned the envelopes over only to discover they were not self-sealing!!! What the heck!!! Who bought these?! Ok, I did! Why would I do that?! Rookie mistake, but I’m no rookie! I’ve been sending Christmas cards for the last 45 years! Argh! Where’s the sponge? They didn’t make it to the post office until December 9th! That’s right! You heard me!

This was going to be my year where I would spend the season relaxed, drinking cocoa, and watching Hallmark movies instead of checking my list, searching all over town and on the internet for just the right gifts. I ordered my first Christmas present on November 6th. I waited and waited, but it was lost! As in the mail lost! Okay, it happens. Just cancel that and order another one. This one coming too late for me to deliver it myself, but carefully timed to be intercepted on the front step of my son’s house….or not. It didn’t arrive. “Delayed in transit”, the message said. “Expected tomorrow”. Okay, all still good, or was it? The next day came and went, and still a no show. “Looks like it may be lost.” Lost!? How can they be so casual? We’re a week and a half out from Christmas and my package is MIA again!!! Sure I got a refund, but it doesn’t fix the fact that the clock is ticking and I am empty handed! I don’t know exactly who is to blame, but I’m blaming someone, anyone, everyone!!!! Third time is a charm, right? We’ll see. I’m watching and waiting while my well planned out schedule of being prepared before December is circling the drain. And before you chastise me for not buying local, I tried. Chasing it down locally became an adventure in itself and a story for another time, since at some point I expect this present to be a surprise whenever it arrives.

So today, the first day of winter, the gifts are wrapped, the cards sent out weeks ago, and here I sit. I’m ready for the 25th four days ahead of schedule. Not quite how I planned it, but I made it. I have the music on, the cocoa steaming, the feet up and the lights on with time left to reflect on the true reason for the season.

I hope you are ready as well, for no matter how you celebrate Christmas it waits for no one, not even the U.S. Mail. May your hearts be filled with the spirit of this special season. See ya next year.

A year ago our son, daughter-in-law, and oldest grandson handed us a gift bag. In it were two lanyards, each with a picture of our grandson, Apollo, standing in front of a backdrop showing a cruise ship, and on top was printed Alaska! Our 49th state has forever been on our bucket list, but it was always more of a far off dream than something that would ever be a reality. Kim and I looked at each other and then at them. I didn’t know what to say, so instead I cried.

We would be joining them on this adventure. They had given us one year to prepare and plan, and believe me there was plenty to do. There were excursions to decide on, plane tickets to book, but more importantly we had clothes to buy! We’re talking Alaska in early June and for the last 10 years Kim and I have lived in Florida! Those two states couldn’t be more different in scenery and temperatures. Oh no! The temperature! I didn’t even own a pair of pants!

We’re no strangers to the cold. We lived for over 3 years in Wyoming and 23 in Colorado, but it’s been a while. 65 degrees used to feel like early summer. 65 now means winter. We watched YouTube travel videos to see how other people dressed for the Inside Passage. Each one showed people in hats, coats, sometimes even parkas. With each one came the same question as we looked at each other with wide eyes, “What time of year was that?” which was followed by nervous laughter. Obviously we were going to freeze!!!

I checked with friends and family who have been there before. Good friends from Colorado told us we might be “chilly”, but not cold. I didn’t believe them. Did you read the part where I mentioned they live in Colorado? What do they know? I asked my sister-in-law who lives in Hawaii. Surely there were similarities between us on what we might consider cold. She said she remembered it being “pretty chilly”, which I thought was pretty vague, but I was fairly sure I understood. We wouldn’t likely freeze. Another friend was actually on that cruise when I texted her the same question. She said, “It’s chilly, but not freezing.” Funny, every picture I saw of her and her husband he was wearing a stocking hat and jacket. She had on a parka. That outerwear says cold to me. A sweater would say chilly! They did all agreed on one thing. Dress in layers. Got it!

The Inside Passage is not the interior and the climate they say is fairly temperate. Do you know what temperate means? I looked it up. It means balmy, pleasant. I don’t think so!!! 75 to 80 is pleasant and balmy. You drop below 70 and now you have entered the chill zone! I was seeing average temperatures for our dates that topped out at 65! In reality, they never made it. I was going to need to go shopping, and shop I did.

I needed shoes that were actual shoes, not flip flops! I needed pants. The Inside Passage is a rainforest, so we needed to prepare for rain. Here in Florida the rain is warm. It would be handy to own a raincoat, but instead I have an umbrella, which I rarely use because of lightning. If I have to be out, I usually just run for it. I was pretty sure the rain wouldn’t be warm in Alaska, so I bought a poncho should I need it. Kim told me when walking I looked like a wizard. Not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing, but I let it go. Fortunately I still had a jacket, hat, and gloves from our former lives in Colorado, but don’t forget socks!! When was the last time I wore socks?

It was in the 60’s the morning we were to set sail in Seattle, and just to make sure we noticed there was a pretty stiff breeze to accompany it! We were already “chilly” and Rebecca was sure she did not bring enough warm clothes. The thought had crossed my mind as well, but we would survive even if we had to buy an $80 sweatshirt while onboard. The excitement of what was to come quickly overcame any of our concerns as we climbed aboard our home for the next 7 days. We were going to Alaska!!!

The horn blasted three times indicating that we were on our way. Leaving the dance party behind we headed outside to watch as we left port and began our journey. The breeze generated by our movement forward, joined with the one already blowing in Seattle, and now we had a pretty decent wind! Smiling we hunched our shoulders, pulled sweaters tightly, zipped up sweatshirts, and huddled close together to stay warm. “Chilly” they said! We weren’t even out of Puget Sound yet?! Hmmm!

The morning we arrived at the Inside Passage the five of us stepped outside on the deck after breakfast to take a deep breath and get lost in the view. The three crew members who were working there took one look at me as the cold air hit me in the face and laughed, “You’re in Alaska now!”, one of them said. Whoa! I was going to need more than a heavy sweater if I planned to spend any time in the open air. This wasn’t cold. It was frigid! I don’t remember anyone using that word when I asked about the temperature! You’ve seen those weather reports that give the temperature with the “wind chill”? I think people are being fairly loosey goosey with that word, “chill”. Let’s go with “frosty”. Not only is it more descriptive, it’s more accurate.

We encountered small icebergs in the water in Tracy Arm Fjord. You don’t see icebergs when it’s “chilly” out! Icebergs in the water screamed as they passed, “Put on every layer of warm clothing you brought if you wish to survive!” We were getting on a much smaller boat to take a closer look at Sawyer Glacier. Visions of the Titanic drifted through my thoughts. I heard others murmuring about it as well. It didn’t help when the guide announced that these mesmerizing, azure blue, innocent looking icebergs were bigger underwater than our boat! Wow! Be careful! If I thought it was cold onboard, I’m pretty sure swimming in that water was going to be well down below the “chilly” range, so let’s not entertain a Titanic re-enactment. In spite of the cold, this was by far my most favorite experience of our cruise. It didn’t boast the towering, rugged mountains of the Alaska interior, but rather soft, rounded mammoths that had been scoured through the ages, molded by glacial silt that were equally magnificent. Throw in more harbor seals and their pups than I could count, a few bald and golden eagles, waterfalls, a calving glacier and this place was magical.

In Skagway we were treated to some legendary Alaskan peaks, the Klondike trail, the Yukon, and more wind!! That worked well for the tourist shops as we ducked inside in order to get some warmth back into our hands and cheeks. Walking back to the ship we got as far on the dock as the bow of our ship when we could see the rain making its way across the water. We thought it was coming toward us, but I turned around and looked at the mountain pass behind us. I was fairly sure it might actually be snowing up there, and as I squinted into the distance I realized it was getting closer and gaining ground! We were not going to make it! Rebecca and Apollo scurried ahead. “Save yourself!” Ben chose not to abandon his parents. We stopped ever so briefly for me to unfurl my poncho, wizard-like. Kim and Ben zipped up their coats, putting on their hats and gloves as well. The wind worked itself into a frenzy in front of the approaching rain. We stepped lively now, hoping to beat the squall to the gangway, but it was too fast for us. It pelted us with freezing, wind whipped rain! My gloves were soaked, but my poncho did it’s job. Turns out I was right. Alaska did not dish out the warm rain of Florida. By the time we made it onboard we were more than a little cold!… “Chilly” they said. Hmmm?

Though Juneau started out with a cold breeze that required extra outerwear, this proved to be our warmest stop, which is a relative term. A short while later we were able to remove some cold weather gear, and I was free to enjoy sitting in the sunshine admiring Mendenhall Glacier with just a heavy sweater and polar fleece vest to keep me comfortable. Ketchikan proved similar, though I preferred sitting in the sun to the shade. That’s something we don’t do here in Florida, opt to sit in the sun, unless you’re at the beach. None of us ever stripped down to shirt sleeves. I would describe these two places as “chilly”. Well done my friends. Two out of four. You were only wrong half the time!

Our last stop was at night in Victoria, Canada. We didn’t get caught off guard here, though many did. The wind, our perpetual and uninvited traveling companion, seemed very angry here. Ben, didn’t hesitate to take matters into his own hands and immediately bought bus tickets to take us downtown, rather than endure the walk we had initially intended that surely would include a souvenir of frostbite! Even the border patrol commented how cold it was that night. He wasn’t getting an argument from me.

It wouldn’t be long now before we were headed back to the “balmy” state of Florida, though by definition by mid June Florida had probably blown right past “balmy”. We had an amazing time! We played games, danced, and enjoyed the onboard entertainment with three of our favorite people. We ran into some mildly rough seas where more of the pool water seemed to be on the deck than in the pool. Our nights were illuminated by the nearly Midnight Sun, and morning came shortly after 3:00 a.m. Crazy, right? We saw glaciers, remnants of the Klondike gold rush, and encountered histories of a time gone by. We were treated to sightings of countless humpback whales, bald eagles, harbor seals, dolphins, two bears, and a new one for me… a large school of giant ocean sun fish, otherwise known as Mola! They are huge, freaky looking, and can weigh up to 4,400 pounds!!! What a delight!

We enjoyed a small taste of Alaska. A state so large that you could put California, Montana, and Texas inside of it and still have room to spare! Texas!? We drove across the wide part of Texas once. Took us nearly two days and I thought I’d never be looking at it in my rearview mirror! Using that as a yardstick Alaska is ginormous!! Alaska is raw and wild. I can find no other words to describe it. Like the state itself, there are no words big enough to fully illustrate it. Whether you are viewing it from the water, immersed in its huge mountains, or taking in the wide vistas of the open tundra it is the frontier, and regardless of how many people move there it likely always will be. I thought this trip would satiate my appetite for Alaska, but instead it only made me hunger for more. Thank you Ben, Rebecca, and Apollo for making it possible. For sharing your adventure with us. For being outstanding travel companions. I hope we get to do it again sometime.

I recommend it at least once for everyone, but if you go just know that “Chilly” is a relative word.

One of the things I really enjoy about living in southwest Florida is the wildlife. Birds have a huge presence here and they come in all sizes and colors. Then there are the bigger mammals like bears, bobcats, and panthers. I have never seen those in the wild here, though others have. I would love to see a panther in its native habitat, but one should probably be careful of what they wish for. There are possums and armadillos, iguanas and snakes, and without alligators it simply wouldn’t be Florida.

Living on a decent sized pond we have all sorts of waterfowl, and the fish attract a number of birds of prey. An osprey lives in one of the trees on the edge of the shoreline, and on occasion a bald eagle may stop by to check out the fishing, or a red shouldered hawk may snack on a small turtle that wasn’t quite quick enough, or fully paying attention. Saw that once. Fascinating, but ewwww! I understand everyone needs to eat, but I didn’t really need to see that while I was eating my own breakfast. Don’t judge me for being a hypocrite!

The other morning we had a new visitor. We had heard he had been here a few years ago, along with a buddy. A neighbor had even provided us with a picture of him sitting on the steps leading to our back door, but the pair had moved on after thoroughly fishing out the pond, and those aquatic residents lucky enough to remain were probably not big enough to make a decent snack. That was until now.

Spying something large swimming in the water my husband, Kim, thought it was an iguana making its way to the other shoreline, but it didn’t look quite right and it appeared to be playing in the water. Iguanas are amazing swimmers, but they don’t play! The water for them is just another avenue of travel. They are mostly just looking for a quick way to get from one side to the other. No, this was something else.

He was fast and moved with ease, obviously very comfortable in the water and having a good time. Of course our own survival instincts are on alert. You don’t want to be caught off guard by an alligator who may have taken up residence. Alligators are freakishly fast in the water, though most of the time they move with the slow, self-assured, strutting confidence that they are the most powerful and feared predator in these parts. They seem to relish knowing that everyone around is watching them, and quietly backing out of their way. However, alligators are distinctive looking in the water, and this wasn’t it. But, what then?

He swam fast, diving deep, appearing here, then over there. Swiftly he was making a beeline for the shore and then suddenly here he was, standing in my backyard! A river otter! He was bigger than I than I expected. I wish he had stayed longer, but he looked around, looked at me, and was quickly on his way, using the runoff pipe between our pond and the one on the other side of the street as an underground highway.

They are cute, though not as cute, or as big as their cousins the sea otter. They don’t float on their backs like sea otters, and they’re faster on land than their fluffy relatives. Experts say they are friendly if you don’t bother them. They have sharp teeth and impressive claws, and I’m not convinced that when he shows you his teeth he is smiling, or issuing a warning! You decide. My neighbor was sweeping her lanai when she heard a low growl. Turning she saw him sitting there between our two houses looking at her. I’ll bet that gave her heart a quick jump start!

We were glad Mr. Otter entered our neighborhood, even if only for a short while. The fish and turtles are likely pleased his visit was short and he didn’t bring friends. There was a raccoon down there yesterday afternoon taking a long, cool drink. This morning a large iguana made his way across in search of a warm sunspot. Kim and I were out sitting in the sun, which often hypnotically lures me into closing my eyes. Snap out of it!!! That’s probably not a wise idea!! Who knows who might pop in for a visit.

Christmas was a few days ago. The excitement has begun to ebb as the last few remaining days of the year dwindle away like spent candle wax from the Advent wreath that still adorns my table. These days get lost between the old and the new as though the sun is just putting in time until it drops below the horizon on the 31st and rises on the 1st. It is fitting then that the last several days have been gloomy here with clouds and rain. I was hoping to get to the beach before the year was officially over, but it’s as though what’s left of 2023 is pouting, feeling like leftover scraps. Everyone is waiting for what’s to come, barely noticing these few days as an opportunity to finish the year well before sliding into 2024. Well, it would help if the weather would cooperate and put a little sunshine into what we have left, or else I’m going to have to dig deep to find an excuse to shed these sweatpants, slippers, and cozy sweater myself!

I too am pouting I suppose. The number of Christmas cards that brought me news, and the joy of hearing from old friends at Christmas were not as many as in the past. More and more people are relying on social media to send out a blanket Christmas greeting, and less and less on the old fashioned pony express. I can’t be the only person who eagerly awaits December mail, knowing that December is the month you are guaranteed something more than advertisement flyers from here, there, and everywhere that go directly from the mailbox to the trash can, providing nothing more than a walk down the driveway to get some fresh air. It might also constitute exercise if your driveway is long enough, and maybe you take a lap around the yard while you’re out. No, December means “real” mail, or does it?

I received an email from a dear friend which included an apology for not getting a card out this year. A lot had happened during the past 12 months and her heart just wasn’t in it. As I read about her life I understood why her heart had taken a powder on the tradition this year. Some years are like that. It was the simplicity of one word that finally helped me to understand what I felt missing from my mailbox. It wasn’t that I needed a card in return for the ones I sent out. Sending a Christmas card isn’t about that. It’s about “heart”. I was missing that glittery card with the colorful envelope that even with nothing more than a signature somehow said, “I’m thinking of you”. Okay, okay I’m not a fan of “just” a signature which somehow conveys that you’re barely trying, but I will take it in the spirit of which it was sent. You still have to address the envelope, affix the stamp, and if you chose poorly, lick the envelope! Nothing says you care like having to lick an envelope!

It is arrogant of me to believe the recipients of my card are happy to get it. Perhaps some secretly wish there was an “unsubscribe” opportunity included. After all, I do include the dreaded “Christmas letter” that is the butt of all Christmas card jokes. I’ve lately thought of giving the tradition up altogether. Sending cards seems to have become antiquated, and with the price of postage who could blame anyone for going the Facebook billboard, blanket holiday greeting route? Well, maybe someday, but not today! Instead, as the dawn of a new year sweeps towards us I am writing names on my Christmas card list for next December. It is in my heart.

Peeling off my sweats and donning “real” clothes, I drove to Hobby Lobby to score next year’s cards at a discount. Though other castaway decorations that missed out on being chosen for the holiday still lined the shelves, I didn’t find a single box of Christmas cards anywhere. I’m not sure if I was disappointed, or somewhere deep inside of me there glowed an ember of joy to know I am not the only dinosaur.

I was in the midst of doing some routine household chores the other day. Looking for the fastest way to get through them and onto something more fun I may have cut a few corners, going around instead of under I could hear my mother’s voice, “Sheri, don’t just give that a lick and a promise!”

I’ve been married for almost 45 years and she left for heaven 4 years ago, yet I recognized a familiar shadow coming from within my heart, admonishing me about the shortcomings of taking shortcuts. I haven’t thought of that old adage of hers in years. She didn’t invent it, but she used it often. It originated in the early 1800’s when servants would skim over a hard task to do easier ones first, promising to come back and complete it later. I don’t know about then, but now those “promises” are often broken, or at least forgotten.

I don’t remember ever saying it to my kids. They had it pretty easy. I only demanded they pick up their rooms and their bathroom. I wanted their toys put away and didn’t care how they did it, just that they did. I was savvy to when they tried to pass off clean clothes as dirty so they could just throw them in the hamper, instead of putting them away. I was young once too, you know! On occasion I threw in washing the dishes, but I don’t recall making them do the heavy lifting of scrubbing the tub and toilet. The only dusting was done by Ben. I insisted he dust his models and Star Wars figurines. They were so fragile and delicate that if I even thought to bring a duster close to them one would drop a missile, another a propeller; someone would lose their laser blaster, or a Jedi’s light saber would suddenly be MIA. From time to time some complicated character would decide to fall apart altogether and end up in a heap of alien legs, arms, and weapons on the desk! Oh my! After being chastised way too often, “Mom, stop breaking my stuff!” Ben was on his own for those. Rather than a quaint expression that left you wondering exactly what it might mean, my motto was clear and to the point, “Make it happen!” Now, if they remember it differently…well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

My mom was like others of the 60’s…Old School. If there were chores to be done we all chipped in no matter what they were. As my sisters and I remember it we were the worker bees. Mom took on the supervisory role. Hmm? I didn’t like chore day. It was always Saturday, making a serious unpleasant dent in the weekend! Weekends were supposed to be fun. Chores are not fun! If they were we would say that we “get” to do them, instead of we “have” to do them. I particularly didn’t like dusting. I found it tedious. Still do. Mom didn’t believe in feather dusters, swearing they only moved the dust around. Dusting was even more dull and never-ending when wiping down everything with a rag. Often I would dust around things, but not under them. After all, who was going to be picking them up, looking for telltale signs of residual dust? Mom was, that’s who!

An inspection always followed. My bed would be made, clothes were either hung up or in the hamper, and the floor vacuumed. Bathroom mirrors were polished, the tub and toilet were cleaned, and the trash emptied, but more often than not I failed the dusting test. “Sheri Lynn, you get back in here and do this right! We don’t just give things a lick and a promise!” Getting frustrated she would often throw down that other saying well known to many suggesting that, “If you want something done right, do it yourself”. This did not, however, indicate she was waving the white flag of surrender to my persistent lack of diligence and was actually going to do it herself. It would have been a grave mistake to assume as much.

I wasn’t convinced that dusting was worth all the effort. Growing up in the desert southwest dust managed to creep through every crack and crevasse of every window and door no matter how small, especially after a dust storm. Dusting seemed to be a battle one could never win. But, if you didn’t dust every week it wouldn’t take long before things began to look like a haunted house rather than a home. I have a friend who claims to use accumulating dust as a DIY white board, leaving messages for her family in it. Clever, I’d say! Sighing heavily, I went back to do it again. Leaving the room I could hear Mom saying, “If you don’t like doing it, do it right the first time and you won’t have to do it twice”. Yeah, I know. I just figured maybe once it might slip past her.

Those chores of my childhood are still my chores today. A time or two, maybe three or four I find myself taking those same shortcuts I tried as a kid, only this time there’s no one here to send me back to do it again, or is there? As I clean the bathroom counter, wiping around the bowl of various lotions and the basket that holds the toothbrushes instead of picking them up to clean underneath them, I hear a familiar voice that isn’t really there, “Sheri, don’t just give that a lick and a promise.” I smile into the mirror and silently answer, “I know Mom. I’ll do it right next week. I promise.” And if I don’t I know I will likely hear from her again, haunting me from heaven. Maybe a “lick and a promise” is my way of keeping her close. I can live with that.

How many times have you heard someone say, “I miss the good ‘ol days when things were less complicated, more honest, easier, and not so terribly wrong”. I have said it. You may have said it. I know I’ve heard my parents say it, but were they? Let’s take a look, then you decide.

I’m going to take you on a short walk through history so you can see what was so good about the days behind us. We won’t go far, but we could. Instead let’s start with the pilgrims and the Mayflower. This wasn’t your modern day cruise ship, all inclusive package with private staterooms, deck chairs, all you can eat, and onboard casino. No, the Mayflower was a cargo ship. Hauling passengers was not what it was designed for. The 102 passengers who made the 66 day voyage across the Atlantic didn’t do it in style, but rather squeezed together below deck where it was damp, cold, crowded, and miserable. The “all you could eat” menu wasn’t exactly all you could eat, and the choices were few. So few in fact as to not be any at all. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consisted of hardtack biscuits, dried meat, and beer. Beer was considered safer than water since bacterial microorganisms can survive in water, but not in alcohol. I don’t like beer. Not even a little. Drinking beer every day would have been a horror. I would have made a better pirate than a pilgrim where rum was the beverage of choice. But not even beer, for those of you who enjoy a pint, could have made that voyage anything more than something to be endured.

Moving on to the frontier, pioneers, and wild west. This is my favorite time period. I used to think I would have liked living back then. Those people were tough and self sufficient. Doing what was right was a matter of honor, and honor was valued as much as gold. Let’s face it though, it was those long full dresses, made all the more beautiful, and princess like with layers of petticoats underneath that caught my eye when I was a young girl. I would have been thrilled to wear one of those, along with the pretty, yet practical sunbonnet that went with them. Never mind the weight, or the heat of all that fabric! I love reading Louis L’Amour, watching True Grit, the Magnificent Seven, and The Rifleman. Those were the days! Today though, instead of seeing that era through the rose colored glasses of nostalgia and the glamour of Hollywood, I see them through the eyes of age and experience, otherwise known as reality. Those lovely dresses dragged through dirt, mud, and manure. There was no running water and no electricity, which means there was no washing machine! Those big dresses and petticoats had to be handwashed and hung on a line to dry! If I see a label on clothes that says “handwash only”, forget it! I ain’t got time for that! The biggest issue, no indoor plumbing!!! I don’t even go camping anymore without demanding to know, “Are there flush toilets?” In case you men think this time in history was all about swaggering through the saloon doors with a revolver belted low on your hip, and bellying up to the bar for a shot of whiskey think again! Those guns weren’t for looking badass, nor was the rifle in the scabbard on your horse. They were for survival: game and varmits, not all of which were four legged. If you wanted to eat you were going to need to hunt and often, because there weren’t refrigerators either! However, there were stoves. The cast iron kind that needed to be fed wood or coal to keep them hot. You think preparing Thanksgiving dinner is a chore now?! Just how much wood does it take to keep the temperature precisely at 350 degrees for hours?! There were no dishwashers, except the two legged, two handed kind. We take a nice hot shower for granted, but no running water, meant no shower. If you wanted hot water for a bath you got that the same way you got hot water for those dishes, by pumping water from the well and building a fire! Good Lord, what was I thinking imagining I would have loved to live back then?! The innovations of the 20th and 21st centuries have made me soft!

Do you prefer the Roaring 20’s? That decade started off well enough with economic growth and widespread prosperity enjoyed by all. Seemed like everyone was having a good time, with the exception of that nasty thing called “Prohibition”. Bummer! The end of the decade, however, dove straight off a cliff with the Great Depression in 1929. That lasted 12 horrific years, ending with the advent of WWII. Speaking of out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or in this case, was it the other way around? Hard to tell. These poor people endured desperate times when there were no jobs and no money. Many lost their homes and didn’t have the means to feed their kids. In anguish they sent them away to orphanages or relatives that were better off. With WWII came jobs and the hope of getting back on their feet, but rationing goods for the war effort came with it, not to mention all the usual sacrifice and heartbreak that accompanies war! Hmmm….that was a long period of time that fell far from “the good ‘ol days” banner. There was nothing easy about them, and I for one do not want to repeat them!

Skipping ahead we have Vietnam, numerous race riots, the counter culture movement, and the Cold War. The apex of the Cold War was the fear of a nuclear attack, which led to school duck and cover drills. As if hiding under our desks would somehow protect us from nuclear holocaust, but it made sense against flying glass. I doubt broken glass would have been our biggest problem in the event of an actual attack, but it made us feel like we were doing something. Something was always better than nothing.

Violence has always been a part of history. As far back as we can go there has been good guys and bad guys. Some were very bad, some were heroic, and some straddled the line. They say Wyatt Earp might have been one of those in the middle. Maybe Doc Holliday too. There did seem to be less of the senseless violence that we see today against the innocent and defenseless, which I attribute to a breakdown in mental health care, but I’d have to research the past on that subject to see if it is actually true. Jack the Ripper of 1888 London comes to mind, so it wasn’t non-existent, but that’s a deep, dark hole I don’t want to peer into.

If we add in diseases like smallpox, polio, and the Spanish flu I believe you would be hard-pressed to find anyone who lived through those years to agree with you about how easy things used to be. So what makes us nostalgic about them? What makes us think that the past was any better, safer, or easier than the present? I found a lot of hardship in them.

It could be what we are really remembering is a past where we were young and the problems of the world were not ours to fix, or even deal with. We left that up to our parents and trusted that the toughest thing we would face was solving a math problem on the board in front of the whole class! That’s right, that was my nightmare! Pick your own poison.

I suspect the advent of rapid fire news communication is the real problem. We all know that inflation has stolen our dollar making things tough for a whole lot of people, and that there is a boatload of wacky going on in society today, but the 24/7, force fed news at a rate not possible earlier in history is coming at us all day, every day. How many newsworthy things could there possibly be to report all day long? News people are under pressure to produce, so they turn over rocks looking for anything to put out there, and lace it all with hyperbole to make you look. If you get sucked into their cyclone of bad events that’s all you can see and hear, and pretty soon you’re circling the drain with the absolute belief we are going to Hell in a handbasket! There’s no time to search for something good, look for the bright side, smell the roses, or believe that roses even exist anymore.

If you want to find hope and happiness I implore you to limit how many hours you spend a day listening, reading, watching, or having someone on social media regurgitate and interpret the news for you. If you can do that, I believe you will come to imagine that even today might eventually become one of the “good ‘ol days”. For every time and every season brings both struggles to overcome and reasons to celebrate. If it didn’t, if everything was easy and joyful, this would be heaven. And if this were heaven… well, you know what that would mean.

Recently my sister and brother-in-law took a trip back to Boston and found themselves at Cape Cod enjoying the beach with their daughter and son-in-law. It was a stormy day making her photos look more like winter than the middle of summer. Both of them were sporting light rain jackets rather than swimsuits. In fact, I didn’t see anybody in the water. There could be two reasons for that. For one Susan said the water was cold, but secondly they passed this sign on their way to the beach. That would do it!

That’s a fairly serious sign and large enough to make sure you can’t miss it, with “WARNING” in all caps and highlighted in a RED banner, a color significance not lost on me! It would have been enough to give me second thoughts about heading to the beach at all, except for perhaps the chance of seeing a great white up close, but not too close. The picture of “JAWS” wrapped the whole warning up in a nice tidy package. If that wasn’t enough for you the words, “People have been seriously injured and killed by white sharks along this coastline” punctuated the warning with unseen exclamation points. The Chamber of Commerce might give some serious thought about reorganizing their tourist division, or hiring a new promotional team. I don’t think this one is working in their favor. If they are trying to say “Welcome to Cape Cod”, they missed the mark by a mile, but then again if you end up as lunch you can’t say you weren’t warned.

Welcome to Shark Week! It is my understanding that there are roughly 126 different shark species. I wonder how many sharks in total that adds up to? Just thinking out loud. I don’t want the answer. Shark week spends an entire week teaching us all about sharks and telling us how we have an excessive and unwarranted fear of them. How they are really misunderstood and they are afraid of us more than we are of them. I’m pretty sure that’s a lie! Then once they have you believing that maybe you need to give sharks the benefit of the doubt they end their week by spotlighting people who have survived an attack! It’s like they don’t even believe what they are peddling! Of course when you take into consideration how many people are in the oceans around the world shark attacks are few indeed. But if you draw the short straw, get mistaken for a seal and end up on the menu you don’t care too much about statistics now, do you?

I am always amazed by people who have suffered a shark bite and then say how they plan to get back into the water. Hmmm? Not sure I could let bygones be bygones. I did see a 8-9 ft hammerhead shark a couple of months ago. A fisherman fishing from the shore on Siesta Key reeled it in. He was specifically fishing for sharks. He had a partner who took his heavy line and large piece of bait out to deeper waters with a kayak, while he tended the line from shore. He wasn’t far from me, maybe 15-20 yards. I wasn’t unaware of what was happening until he pulled it in close enough that the thrashing caught my attention. I saw the dorsal fin first and thought he had accidentally caught a dolphin, but then I saw the tail whipping about! The tail tells the tale. Wrong shape and moving the wrong direction. Dolphins move up and down, sharks side to side. This was a shark and practically on the beach! For more than several minutes both fish and man battled each other. In the end both were exhausted, and once the line was removed they let him go. I was impressed by the shark’s incredible strength and raw power, but what I noticed most was how quickly he disappeared. He was only feet from shore and yet in a flash he was gone!

What followed surprised even me. I got back in the water!!! It wasn’t like I didn’t think about what I now knew was lurking out there, yet I didn’t hesitate. Why? Beats me. I’m always scanning the water when I’m in it, even though I know it’s an exercise in futility. If a shark is tempted to find out if I’m tasty I will never see it coming. Even if I do, I can’t out swim it. I just witnessed that, but somehow my delusions make me feel better.

You always hear people say, “We’re entering their home.” Well yes we are, but if we’re being honest that doesn’t gate-crash into our decision making. No one waltzes into the water, or steps onto a trail expecting, let alone accepting that they might become a snack for the predators that live there. Well, except for throwing the dice in gator country. You always expect an alligator will eat you given the chance. What’s up with that?

We are apex predators ourselves and we expect professional courtesy among other apex predators. For the most part we recognize the risk, even a small one. It’s up to us to choose whether to take it or not. Now, back to that huge Great White warning. I’ve seen “Jaws”. I think I’ll pass on the water. Cape Cod is known for fried clams. An ironic twist on whom is getting eaten, but I choose that way over the other.