Author: Sheri Pardini

You would think some things would not need saying, but you’d be wrong! An alligator, by definition, might not technically be an apex predator, but an adult alligator has so few who would dare attack it, that it would be splitting hairs to deny it the distinction. The words to live by here in Florida are, if there is water, there are gators, and the reason it’s against the law to feed alligators can be seen in the news a couple of times a year. I thought perhaps this would be one of those moments when I might regrettably be witness to the reason in action.

One evening last week we spent a fun night with our daughter, Mariah, and her family at a beautiful park in Ft. Myers. They had decorated a section of the park, which features several lakes, for Halloween, complete with a hay ride, games, and pumpkin patch, but the big attraction was a small-scale train that you ride on top of. It’s a 15 minute ride through a section of the park that was decorated in festive lights, scarecrows, tombstones, bats, and witches. You know, the usual Halloween elements.

While waiting for it to get dark enough to truly enjoy the magic of the lights, we sat at a table in the pavilion near the water, talking and watching the sunset. I was deep into telling a story when Mariah’s eyes got large! She stood up, pointed, and blurted, “Gator!” My back was to the water, but her words were spoken with such urgency that I felt sure he had snuck up directly behind me, preparing to make me a nice snack! I knew that wasn’t likely, but those words strike such fear in your body that your fight or flight instincts kick in. When alligators are involved, flight should win every time!

We were on a platform a few feet above the water, and protected from it with several slats of railing. What we weren’t protected from was the fool that was under the impression that the sign, clearly posted, reminding everyone that it is “illegal to feed or entice alligators”, did not in any way pertain to him. We had a front row seat, (actually we were standing by now, because it is not prudent to remain seated when a six-foot alligator is in your immediate vicinity), to what we thought was going to necessitate a 911 call.

This man was holding his arm out over the water, as if he had food in his hand, and Mr. Alligator had him locked in his sights. We stood near the railing to observe, but not next to this moron! The alligator was not interested in us. He had only one thing on his mind, and it was clear what it was. He wanted whatever that man was offering, even if it was only his hand. It was obvious this nitwit had not been the only nitwit to ignore that sign, as Mr. Alligator seemed to associate this pavilion and the people on it with a free meal.

Feeding alligators does not make them tame. It only makes them bolder and more dangerous! So while Mr. Chucklehead was holding his hand over the water, Mariah said in a loud enough voice, “He does know they can jump?!” Alligators can jump up to 6 feet out of the water from a complete state of rest! In this case, that would have been high enough. We now watched that gator do something I have never seen before. He dropped his tail in the water, so that his body was in a vertical position! We stepped back! Dusty, who is a paramedic said, “I’ll apply a tourniquet, but I’m not going in that water after his hand!” Mr. Chucklehead quickly decided perhaps enticing that alligator wasn’t the most brilliant idea he had that day, and withdrew his hand, moving back himself. I’m glad he did, because though people like that make that animal more dangerous than they already are, I really didn’t want to see him, stupid as he was, lose his hand in front of my granddaughter.

Finally dark enough, we boarded our miniature train for a fun ride around the park in the dark, with spooky ghosts and goblins. Mariah sat behind me adding, at least to my experience, a running commentary, announcing every access point where an alligator could possibly become a living addition to the decor, making this attraction a real life Halloween haunt!

 

When you’re eating outside, you never know who or what might decide to join you. Such was the case while at Disney’s Magic Kingdom last week. I was sitting at a sidewalk table with my one year old granddaughter, watching the ducks wander around beneath the tables, looking to snatch up anything anyone might drop in the way of food, accidentally or on purpose. Aurora was fascinated, and it kept her occupied while Mariah, Dusty, and Kim went to order and collect our supper.

Though Aurora is a fabulous eater, she is not greedy, and is known to share what is on her plate with Cleo, her dog. Since Cleo wasn’t with us, she spread around a few crumbs of her hotdog and french fries to eagerly awaiting ducks. Mariah looked up from her meal and calmly said, “Uh oh!” I turned in my chair to see that a Great Egret had come to join the party. Because he was on the other side of a low fence, I didn’t give it much thought. I don’t, however, know why. That fence was of no consequence to it.

A Great Egret stands 3 ft tall and has a wingspan of roughly 67 inches. It’s a beautiful bird, but its most impressive feature, when up close and personal, is its large dagger-like beak, that is very fast and deadly when it comes to spearing fish.

Mariah’s eyes suddenly grew large and she managed to croak out, “Mom! Mom! It’s trying to reach under your chair!” I turned to see white plumage right next to me! Not near me, but exactly next to me! I am roughly 5 ft tall, so when seated this bird and I are  eye to eye, and the next thing I know that’s exactly what I’m looking at! Well, that’s a bit creepy, but what really got my attention was that dagger he calls a beak!!!

The seating arrangements are now me, Mr. Egret, Aurora, and then Mariah. Aurora is in her stroller. She is fascinated with our new dinner guest, and curiously looking up at him. All I could see were my sweet granddaughter’s beautiful blue eyes, and this bird’s dagger-like beak. Though the bird was only interested in the piece of hotdog under my chair, there was no way for us to know that. Instinct took over in both Mariah and myself. She rose to try to shoo it away. I stuck my arm in front of the bird to cover Aurora’s face with my hand in an effort to protect her. I thought for sure my swift movement would scare it, causing it to strike out in fear. Every fiber in my body was waiting for that egret to stab my arm with its beak! I knew it was long enough and powerful enough to go clear through my arm. Thank goodness Dusty is a paramedic, because I was sure at any moment I was going to need one! Mariah’s efforts to scare it off went ignored, and it wasn’t until the egret had claimed his prized hotdog that he had enough of us, and hopped away, leaving everyone unharmed.

Wow! Just wow! I’m not sure if the experience was a treat, or a terrifying experience. Perhaps both, as my heart was pounding, but it was good to know when faced with danger, whether real or perceived,  I am still my family’s Secret Service detail.

 

You may remember that late last year I published a blog titled, “House of Horrors”, about the rats who had turned the crawl space under our house into their personal Romper Room. Well, this time there’s an added twist. No rats, but something much bigger!

Monday was trash day. Right after Kim left for work I went outside to take the trash and recycle cans to the curb when the sight of dirt, having been flung onto the carport parking pad, caught my eye. Oh what fresh hell is this!? For some unknown reason there is a small section between the lanai and the parking pad that is asphalt, rather than cement, which makes this a particularly vulnerable place for a home invasion of wildlife.

Right there before me was a fairly large hole that had been dug by a serious digger! I could see claw marks, but no real tracks, however there was a very clear tail drag! There are only so many critters that have the ability to dig ferociously, have a tail that could leave such a mark, and that live here in south Florida. After doing a lot of research, here are my choices.

An armadillo. It is a superior digger and has a long tail that it drags behind him. The hole is large enough, and though I haven’t seen one in my neighborhood, my daughter’s neighbor has one in his yard, so they’re around. The good thing about one being under the house is they eat bugs. I can get behind that. Feel free to clean up the area. The bad thing is they are powerful earth movers and a lot of times will go through things, rather than around, including pipes and wires. We live in a mobile home, so the only pipes connecting us to the ground are water and sewer. That could be a problem. As for wiring, that’s all self-contained, except where we hook into Florida Power & Light, but that’s not buried. At some point we could find ourselves without water, but at least we’ll have air conditioning. There is no bait for an armadillo and the only way to remove them is with a trap. Not easy to trap something you can’t bait and who can easily dig his way out of any prison. If it is an armadillo and he remains a quiet downstairs neighbor, we won’t bother him.

It could be a possum. The tail drag fits. They are not too cute, but they are good neighbors. They eat insects, fallen fruit, and most importantly, mice. Perfect! However, my research shows they do not have the hands required to dig a hole of this nature, unless the soil were really loose. Kim found claw marks that swallowed his house key, so we can probably rule out a possum.

Perhaps a gopher tortoise. They live here and are protected. You have to have a permit to even have them removed from your property. They can dig large burrows, but unless this is a juvenile, I’m not sure this hole is big enough. They have a tail, but not a long one, which this critter appears to have, so though a possibility, not a probability. I’m scratching his name off the list.

A python was quickly ruled out, because I wanted it to be! Though technically their entire body is a long tail, they are not equipped either to dig a hole such as this. Believe me, I checked! Besides, the tail drag wasn’t thick enough. In case you need to know, snakes don’t dig holes. They commandeer holes dug by others, if they enter a hole at all. Mostly they bury themselves under leaves, in crevasses of rocks, or in trees. Be mindful of that on your next stroll.

My last thought is an iguana. They do dig burrows, they have very long sharp claws, and though once again, I haven’t seen one in my neighborhood, they have been spotted in the area. They eat a large amount of plant material, and we have plenty in our yard. I actually wouldn’t mind the prospect if they would consider taking on some of the weeds. However, I haven’t seen any evidence that my huge hibiscus trees, or my giant bird of paradise has been bothered by anyone snacking on them.

I would love to set up a trail cam to capture an image of what it is. For now we appear to be living symbiotically. If I stumble over it in a dark hallway in the middle of the night, it’s getting an immediate eviction notice, by whatever means is deemed necessary.

 

I’m not sure what causes certain memories to pop into your head when they do, but one popped into my husband’s head the other day. He asked if I remembered having a party phone line when we first moved to Colorado. Do I remember? Of course! It was 1991, nine years before the turn of the century! The 21st century! Here we were, suddenly propelled back to the 1960’s!

I remember as a kid we had a party line. You had to pick up the phone and listen to make sure you had a dial tone before dialing, or whether someone else was already talking on the phone. This is completely different from an extension, which is just someone else in your house talking on the phone. If that was the case, you could just yell, “Get off the phone! I need to make a call!” On a party line, this was someone else, perhaps a neighbor. You couldn’t exactly tell them to hang up. You had to wait. Sometimes people weren’t really good at waiting and they would pick up the phone every 30 seconds to see if you were done. You got the message and if you were polite, you’d finish up your conversation, so they could use the phone. Barbaric!

The problem with the party line we had was it was 1991, and the Persian Gulf War had just begun. My brother-in-law was in the Army, stationed in Germany, and had been deployed to Iraq! I needed to talk to my sister, give her love and support. If you have ever talked to someone in the military on the phone, or their family, especially during times of war, they are very cautious about what they say. I knew not to ask many questions and my call would be short, since she was in Germany too. The minutes on the phone ticked by in dollar bills, not cents. Now, add to that someone on my party line was interrupting this very important phone call every 30 seconds by picking up their phone! Irritation is not a big enough word. Why was I living in the Dark Ages!?

That didn’t last long and it was only a matter of a few months before we caught up with the rest of the free world, and had a “private” line. Fast forward to the age of the internet. I don’t know when DSL was invented, but it is right up there with indoor plumbing! However, in 2004 we were still part of the dinosaur age, using dial-up. You remember the screeching tones of dial up. No way of connecting to the computer without everyone in the house knowing you were doing it. Then there is the patient factor of waiting for it to connect, but the biggest problem, it tied up your phone line. Unless you had a dedicated line just for your computer, you were essentially on the longest phone call ever if you were surfing the web.

2004 was the year our son went to college in Florida and got slammed back to back with Hurricane Frances and then Jeanne. He spent Frances in a hurricane shelter, but the damage at school was significant, and he needed to come home for a week while they cleaned up. He had a cell phone, but I didn’t, so I called and told him to head for Orlando. I went to work on the computer to see if I could get him a flight out and would call him back. While I was on the computer looking for flights, which were non-existent, and then looking for a hotel room for him until he could get a flight, we were incommunicado! Not exactly where you want to be in an emergency. When the flyer got put on our door that DSL was now available in our neighborhood I didn’t need to think twice. I didn’t even care how much it cost. I just knew that we needed it! However, in 2008 my son moved to Maui, and was back to dial-up! 2008 people!!!

We went from hardwired land lines, with the long curly cords that were always a tangled mess, to portable phones that were far more convenient, but wouldn’t work in a power outage, to cell phones. When no one was looking, the pay phone went the way of the dinosaur, so if you’re still one of those people fighting change and refusing to get a cell phone, good luck with that when you’re out and need to make an emergency call. Cell phone have now even usurped the land line in most homes, replacing it completely, unless, of course, you live in a remote area that gets lousy cell service.

Wow, look how far we have come….good, bad, or indifferent. I say good, or at least it has been for me. I do think we could use a couple of pay phones around, just in case your cell phone is out of battery, but then who carries change anymore?

I find myself, almost daily, having an argument with one or more of my electronic devices. There are these features on my phone and my iPad that are there to help me take shortcuts, which I rarely use. My kids have suggested that I turn them off, but on the few occasions that I do use them, they are nice. What isn’t so nice is when my devices think they know what I’m going to say, or want to say, but they don’t, yet they insist on making the same correction over and over again, until I find myself pounding on that little “x” to erase, while virtually shouting at my iPad or cellphone, “That’s not what I want to say! Stop it!”

For the longest time, when signing my emails, my iPad would decide that my name was “Usher”. I learned to type in the 70’s on a typewriter. It was electric, in case any of you were thinking that I am from the stone age. I didn’t learn to “keyboard”, as it’s called now, but the typewriter and the keyboard are laid out exactly the same. The “S” you type with your left hand, the “U” with your right, so it’s not like my hands just slipped to the wrong key. My iPad never decides on a different name for me. Just “Usher”. I am not a musically talented, black man, but my iPad seems to think it’s a good name, and I should try it out. It also decides to randomly capitalize letters. Perhaps it believes certain words are under appreciated. A capital letter in the middle of a sentence may make the reader more attentive, or cause them to re-read the sentence to see if they missed something. Sometimes it changes words altogether, but I’ve learned to proofread emails because of this hostile takeover by my iPad. I’ve been made a fool of more than once and have learned my lesson. Sometimes even I can’t figure out where I was going with the sentence that Mr. iPad so carefully crafted!

Then there is the cell phone. We’ve all had these texts where we hit send, just as you notice that the word you meant and the word your phone thought you wanted were not even close! It took three tries for “w” to morph to “wineed”, finally making it to “winner”, and every time I text “for”, my phone is positive I mean “fir”, complete with a pine tree emoji! In the meantime the person you were texting is wondering if you’ve been drinking! One time I texted, “Did you die….”, instead of “Did you buy”. At least that got an immediate response.

The reason I bring all this up is because we’ve all been victims of our electronics, thinking they are far wiser than we are.  The same people who write all the programs for these cute, handy, short-cutting things on your devices to make your life easier, but actually don’t, are also the same people who are writing the programs for self-driving cars, and are talking about pilotless airplanes. Now, ask yourself, is that a good idea?

Kim and I were carpooling with our daughter and her family, driving along Highway 31, on our way to the Peace River for a weekend of family fun to celebrate my 60th birthday, and her 30th. We would be meeting up with our son and his family there. The Florida scenery may be flat, but it is diverse with wetlands, orange groves, sod farms, cattle farms, rivers, and an array of wildlife, but one particular species of wildlife was hitting our windshield, and in record number!

Mariah was driving, noticing that the cars coming toward us all had their windshields covered in splattered bugs! They must have driven through some sort of hatch! Car after car so covered in bug juice we were positive they could barely see through it. Why hadn’t they used their windshield wipers? Probably because there were so many that it would not clear, but simply smear! We wondered where these folks had run into all these bugs, and then we heard it! Splat!!!

One bug splat on the windshield, then another, and another. Soon I had counted five splattered bugs. Mariah tried to keep up with the washer fluid and wiper blades. For a moment I thought we might get some help from the rain that I heard begin to fall, but it wasn’t rain! It was a hailstorm of lovebugs! They hit the windshield in such numbers and such force that it was only the few that got lodged in the wiper blades that allowed us to identify what they were.

I had forgotten that May was lovebug season, when they come out in great numbers to mate! By definition they do not swarm, but gather in the thousands! That is putting a fine point on it! I’m not sure I know the difference! They are more of a nuisance to humans, as they do not bite, but there are just so many of them!!! When they splatter all over your car though, their carcasses become slightly acidic and if you don’t remove them within a day or so, you could notice that they are pitting your paint! They also converge in such numbers that their dead bodies can clog your radiator’s air passages! Whoa and gross all at the same time!

Indeed when we arrived at our destination the windshield was covered in bug guts, and the grill in lovebug bodies. Our son’s new car looked the same and we were grateful for the hard rain that came later that afternoon, which helped to wash most of them off. It didn’t keep them from swarming…..I mean congregating in great numbers around us whenever we were outside, and whether they bite or not, I do not like them covering my clothes and getting tangled in my hair. It was a sight to behold, but still, ewwww!

 

Mother’s Day is coming up, sending most of us into a panicked rush to the store looking for the right card. Do I go with funny or sappy? Do I send flowers, chocolate, both, or something unusual? I do appreciate personal words of love and gratitude from my kids, and whichever way I go with my own mom, I make sure to include those special words to her as well.

I read recently in the Reader’s Digest that if you had to hire someone to do all the work a mom does it would cost $67,619 a year. That’s pretty specific! There was a list of those tasks a mom handles in a day, but I noticed that something was missing amongst the cooking and cleaning. Those are the tangible things, but so much of being a mom is intangible, but ever so valuable. Mom’s have to do so much more than just show up. Being a mom is 24/7 for life, but it isn’t a sentence. It’s a privilege.

When my son was in first grade he struggled with reading. I could have made that the teacher’s problem. Some parents do, but instead we sat together every night, reading every book he had to read the next day in school. He stumbled with Helmut and Olga. Really? What happened to Dick, Jane, and Spot? No wonder he was struggling! I could barely get my mouth around those names. But, night after night he got better, faster, and it became easier, and now reading is one of his favorite pastimes. Hours well spent for a lifetime of discovery and adventure through the pages of books.

When my daughter was in the 4th grade she wasn’t putting much energy into school. I just wanted her to care. She defiantly announced that she didn’t care about her grades. Well, I cared! I was determined that I would stick by her side, check her work, insist she did her best, or she would do it again! One day, either out of resignation that I would not stop, or finally getting why it was important, she cared! She went on to graduate from college Magna Cum Laude.

I wasn’t the perfect mom. I probably hovered too much. Didn’t let them fall enough. But, what I did well was believe in them and all that they were capable of. I would teach them, encourage them. I would never give up on them. Not then, and not now.  That’s what mom’s do. The chores are extra.

My daughter said to me the other day that this will be her first Mother’s Day. I understood what she meant. This was her time, her day to be special to her family. I was not hurt that she wouldn’t be here to celebrate with me. After all, it’s been some time since I’ve spent Mother’s Day with my own mom. The torch has been passed, though once a mom, always a mom.

My mom has cancer. I don’t know if this will be my last Mother’s Day to decide to send chocolate or flowers, to find the right card, and say the right words, or if I will get another Mother’s Day to get it right. My mom might not be the perfect mom, but she is perfectly my mom. I will always celebrate her no matter what the day, no matter how far away she is.

I was sitting on the couch the other evening, attempting to thread a needle, a pair of inexpensive reader glasses perched on my nose. My arms moved farther away from my face and then closer in an attempt to find the sweet spot where everything was in focus. I could say that threading a needle is a challenge for anyone, but the fact is it’s gotten more difficult over the years, even with my glasses on. When did my eyesight decide to take a powder?

Long ago, when I was a small child, I wore blue and white striped glasses, terribly chic I’m sure for a 6-year-old, in order to see anything that wasn’t 100+ yards away. As my eyes “matured” I was able to ditch those glasses. A common thing they say. I still leaned toward farsightedness, but I could actually see things at all distances clearly, and that’s exactly how I liked it. 20/15 vision…more than perfect!

I enjoyed my eagle eyes. I could read road signs a block ahead, which made navigating fairly easy, but it seemed like overnight the road signs went blurry. I rushed to the ophthalmologist, sure that something was horribly wrong, only to be informed that as we “age” this happens. Well, when did I suddenly “age”?!

My distance vision was reduced! By the time I could read a road sign clearly I was nearly past it! As for my near vision, I was needing a longer arm to find that sweet spot. At Mass it was easier if Kim held the hymnal in front of him. I could see it fine there. Seems my eyes were barely working at all! Time to get some tools to rectify the situation.

I have acquired a collection of cute, non-prescription reading glasses from Wal-Mart. I have a black pair with crystals next to the sofa, a tortoise-shell pair next to the bed, a funky speckled pair in the car, a red pair in my purse, and a blue pair on the desk next to the computer. They are even different strengths. The greater the number, the more magnification. I need +1.5 to read a book, because you hold that closer to your face. The ones for the computer are +1 because it’s farther away. As you can see, I still lean more farsighted. But, that doesn’t solve the problem. When I drive I need distance glasses. Those are out of the “over the counter” wheelhouse and I had to go prescription. I have three pairs of those. Two are clear. One is a backup pair, and one pair is sunglasses. With those my eagle eyes are back! Of course I can’t read the speedometer with them on, but I’ve adapted.

Mass is still a challenge. I have to lay my glasses out on the pew. Readers for the hymns, and distance ones so I can see the priest. Logic dictates that things might be a bit easier and far less cumbersome if I just went with bifocals. Are you kidding? That would mean I have “aged”.

 

 

Last weekend my husband and I were outside doing some yard work when I caught some quick movement in my line of sight. It was one of these, a Basilisk lizard. They are not native here, but they are part of the neighborhood. My guess, someone had a couple of these as pets, and failed to read the fine print that said they get to be over 2 feet long! So, they cut them loose, but perhaps they got here another way. I find them to be fascinating and I love watching them, especially when they run.

Later in the day I spied one of these looking at me from the back of the wicker chair on the lanai. A green anole. That’s where he hangs out. I greet him every day there and we respect each other’s space. Though he’s only a few inches long, I’m not going to sit in that chair as long as he’s there. I’m not afraid of him, but the idea of him scampering across my back freaks me out a bit! His brother shows up in the Florida room from time to time, coming in under the screen door to take a break from the sun. Can’t blame him for that. I look at them. They look at me. It’s all good.

What I have noticed is how each of these lizards remind me very much of a miniature Jurassic Park. I know that “some” scientists believe that dinosaurs are more related to birds than to lizards, but to that I say, “Open your eyes!” With the exception of the pterodactyl, which I find strikingly similar to a pelican,

I find very little resemblance of t-rex or a velociraptor to your neighbor’s parakeet!

Simplistically speaking, humans share half our genomes with other mammals and the other half with bananas. Seriously? What does that say?! Our DNA sequencing is complicated, as is that of a hamster, but the only “kindred” spirit a hamster and I share is our bias toward being chubby. Just because we share similarities doesn’t make us relatives. So, back to my lizards. I think they’re pretty interesting and I’m grateful that we no longer share the planet with their distant cousins, the dinosaurs, but I wouldn’t turn your back on the robin in your yard, plucking worms from the ground, just in case I’m wrong about who is related to whom. 

2018 started off with a cold front that is sweeping across the nation and has left those of us in Florida reeling and wondering what has happened? This is crazy stupid cold! They call it “Grayson”. The focus has been on New York and New England with wind chill,  blizzards, snow and ice. Why? It’s January! It’s suppose to be cold up there! Does nobody remember the great Buffalo, New York blizzard of 1977? 46 to 69 mph wind gusts and 100 inches of snowfall in 3 days! Minnesota and Wisconsin are the states winter jokes are made of! No, the big news story is how cold it is in Florida! That’s right folks, it was snowing in Tallahassee!

Floridians are no strangers to big weather. We will bravely face a Category 5 hurricane, like warriors going into battle, but drop Mother Nature’s thermostat and we are cowering under blankets and frantically trying to remember how to turn on the heat!

You people from up north are ready for this. You train for it. But, down here, in the land of endless summer, what are we suppose to do? Having moved here from Colorado I’ve had my fair share of cold winters, and I kept my snow boots just in case I ever make a trip back there mid-winter, for what reason I have no idea, but at least I’m prepared. For the past three years I have lived here in the Sunshine State, where my footwear consists of two pairs of flip-flops, one pair of Teva sandals, and one pair of snowboots for just in case. There is no in-between! So, when I braved 42 degrees yesterday to go to the store, I was dressed in a long skirt, (The warmest thing I could think of. I don’t own a pair of pants), a lightweight jacket (for those rare occasions when temperatures may fall below 70), and flip-flops. Snowboots seemed too much. I actually believe the heat was turned on in Wal-Mart, which I did not know they had, and perhaps for the second time in three years, also in my car.

My neighborhood is the winter home of many snowbirds. You know, those people who come south every year to escape the bitterness of storms just like Grayson. They spend most of their year in Canada, New York, Michigan, Massachusetts, Ohio, and the like. Coming home from the store, temperatures still not rising out of the low 40’s and the wind blowing strongly, they were easy to spot. One woman was riding her bike, wearing capri pants and a light sweatshirt. My bet she’s from Canada or Michigan! She surely was not a native-born Floridian, or even a transplant! Three doors before I reached my own, I encountered a man washing his car! Washing his car!!! He was wearing long pants and a short sleeve shirt. What possessed him to go to his closet this frigid morning, choose a short sleeve shirt and say, “It looks like a nice day to wash the car.” I didn’t even have to guess. A quick glance at his license plate confirmed he was from, you guessed it, Ontario!

I am a bit embarrassed to say, I hustled my groceries inside, made a hot cup of tea, then cozied up under a nice warm blanket on the couch. It seemed prudent. This too shall pass, and come July we’ll all be fondly reminiscing about those gloriously chilly days of January 2018, wishing they hadn’t gone by so quickly, but right now….I can’t imagine it!