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This morning I looked out my window to a parade! A parade of 45 ibises! When the rain stops they come out of the woodwork, or jungle, or swamp, or wherever they hang out. You always see a group of them around, but 45 exceeds a group. That’s an assembly! They like to eat small crustaceans, a frog or two, and the occasional snake. All the standing water left behind by Hurricane Hermine means the buffet is open, and the ibises are bellying up to the bar.

Ibises are plentiful in Florida and a beautiful bird, so the first time I heard them called Florida pigeons I was taken aback! My experience with pigeons goes back to my days at Arizona State University, and making a well-timed dash for the door of the life science building. The windows of that building were recessed. The perfect roosting place for pigeons! You could always hear them cooing, which meant they were there, and they were always there. I would look up, making sure I saw nothing but heads, no tails, and then bolt for the door, hoping nothing plopped on my head, my back, or my books.

A pigeon is roughly a foot tall and weighs in at 12 ounces. An ibis, on the other hand, is almost 2 feet tall, weighs in at 2-1/2 pounds, and has a wingspan of 3 feet! That means the bombing run it makes at you or your car has a significant impact. They walk tirelessly on the ground in search of food that they dig up with that long beak, but they roost in the trees. This is a beautiful sight, but could be the reason there are so many car washes in Florida.

Watching my ibis parade made me smile. The reward for suffering through a week of rain.

 

 

I have a few family members, and even fewer friends, who try to twist my arm, cajole, or shame me into eating sushi. Not happening! I consider sushi to be a food fad, popular amongst hipsters, and people who like to think they are “cool” for eating raw fish! They eat it like it’s a badge of honor and you’re just not one of the popular kids if you don’t tag along and join in. You know who eats raw fish? Other fish, bears, and eagles. There are more, but the point is, I’m not mentioned here. You know why I don’t eat raw fish? I have fire! Fire allows me to enjoy my fish grilled, fried, baked, smoked, even blackened.

I suggest that people who eat their fish raw are just being lazy! What, you don’t have 10 minutes to fire up the grill, or turn on the stove? “Nope, just pull that yellowfin out of the fridge and drop it on my plate. I’ll eat it raw. I’m just not in the mood to cook.”

I am really perplexed that they will happily pay a chef $15 for slapping a small piece of raw fish on their plate, adding a lime wedge and piece of parsley! Why? He didn’t do anything! There was no careful watching of the flame, no perfect timing in preparation, no marinating, no roasting, no nothing! But, hey, you’re cool! That’s what it’s about, right? It’s gotta be. I don’t like to cook either, but that is carrying things too far!

Most people feel that sushi puts them near enough to the top of the “coolness” pyramid that they can stop there with the raw meat, but a few continue on with the steak tartare. The ones who really want to separate themselves from the pack are those that eat oysters on the half shell. That’s a full-out 10+ on “yuck factor”. Oh, it sounds glamorous, but it’s not. Raw, slimy oysters. Not only is this “delicacy” uncooked, it’s also alive, though I’d imagine not for long, once they’ve been cut from the shell! What are we, barbarians?! Good grief! Some people have been watching too much “Walking Dead”. You’re also suppose to take great care not to lose the sea water that’s in the shell. Really? Just so we’re clear, I don’t think you’re suppose to drink sea water. I love oysters…smoked, served in olive oil, vinegar, and topped with sea salt. You see the difference here?

Don’t even get me started on caviar! Who looked at that and said, “Let’s eat that?” Someone starving, that’s who!  That’s bait! You call it caviar and it costs up to $100 an ounce!!! I’m not kidding! Check out the fishing tackle aisle at Bass Pro. You can pick it up for a fraction. Same stuff, I’m sure of it!

Call me low brow, but I like my food cooked. This is the 21st century! I’m pretty sure we have all sorts of methods at our disposal to prepare food with heat! If you’re too busy to cook your meat before you consume it, I’m going to suggest you need to re-evaluate your schedule and your priorities. Slow down a little, have a glass of wine, enjoy good conversation while you chill out, and learn to grill for heaven’s sake!

Friday I was helping my daughter set up her home office space, which required us to build a fairly large desk that came compactly packaged in two boxes that were deceivingly heavier than they looked, and equally complicated to assemble. The instruction booklet lacked words, instead each step was marked by number and accompanied by a picture. Ancient pictographs were decidedly more detailed!

Turns out I do better with a combination of written instructions and pictures of what it’s suppose to look like. So, in this case, Mariah “read” the instructions, and my job was to hand her the proper piece of wood, if you can call particle board “wood”, along with the appropriate screws, followed by my expert opinion, “I don’t think it goes that way.”

One particular combination was giving us trouble. Mariah needed a better angle at which to see in order to solve the problem. I chose to hold the piece of wood on my head. That height was perfectly in her line of sight, but probably not my brightest idea of the day. The problem arose when she decided she needed to adjust the wooden peg with a hammer! Before I realized what she was doing she tapped that peg, and without warning I had a headache! “Whoops! That was a bad idea. Sorry!” You think!?

I asked Mariah what step we were on? “Three”, she said. “How many steps are there?” “Looks like 18.” Heavy sigh. This was taking forever! I looked around the room as she figured out what goes where and how, when I spied another sleeve of screws and fasteners. “No, no Mariah. There are 27 steps!” and us on step 3. I settled in. It’s going to be awhile.

We’d been at it for hours. I had lost track of how many. It seemed like days. Mariah resolutely continued onward, when I pointed out that she failed to place the bottom of the drawer in position before attaching the sides. “Dagnabbit!” I burst out laughing! “What, you’ve never heard that word before?” Sure I have. When I was eight! I don’t think I’ve heard that word in 50 years. When compared to any other colorful sentiment of frustration, it bore the need to vent irritation with the refreshing power of laughter. As an alternative curse word it was so much more satisfying than those of the four letter variety for both of us.

We celebrated Step 27. We finished! It’s a fine-looking desk and will serve her well. I placed those pictorial directions in the bottom drawer, and hope to the stars and back that I never see them again!

I was slogging to my car with a basket full of groceries, having just stepped out of a well air-conditioned grocery store. Why did I park so far away? I actually didn’t, it only felt that way! The news had reported that it was 91 degrees, feels like 102! Feels like? Where do they get this “feels like”? How do they know it feels like 102? Is there a special “feels like” thermometer? I’ve never seen one. Is the “feels like” temperature taken in the sun, or the shade, at the airport, or right here in the parking lot of this grocery store, because I think it feels like 110! I should know. I grew up in Phoenix! Well, Tempe, but now you’re just splitting hairs when it comes to temperature. Suffice to say, I know hot!

Turns out there is a complicated formula for figuring out “feels like” temperature. It has something to do with the actual temperature, the humidity, the angle of the sun, the wind, and an average of what George and Charlie say it feels like to them. Any wonder I struggled through algebra? They are making this stuff up!

Bottom line, here in Florida you can almost count on the “feels like” temperature being about 10 degrees warmer than the “real” temperature. Back in Phoenix when they say it’s 110 they mean it really is 110, and it feels like 110! No George and Charlie in the Arizona sunshine comparing notes on how they feel.

I’ve come to count on that “feels like” temperature though. Mostly because I’ve been fooled by the heavy hitting Florida humidity factor before. The temperature is 75 degrees! Awesome! I throw open the doors and windows only to be blasted by the hot wet towel around the neck feeling of entering a sauna! Did anybody bother to check with George and Charlie on what it “feels like” out here?

Palmetto bugs are the behemoths of the insect world! I don’t care what nice sounding name you give these creatures, the ugly truth, they are giant cockroaches!!!

I know these things are just about everywhere and I’ve seen more than my fair share in Arizona, but Florida seems to be synonymous with these bugs that have eluded evolution and extinction. Oh, don’t get sappy on me! You can preach all about the importance of every creature to the balance of the environment until one surprises you in your kitchen, and then it’s all about extinction, baby!! Maybe not the entire species, but for sure that particular one.

I’ve lived in Florida now for almost two years. Our pest control is pretty good, so when I found my first dead cockroach on the floor as I swept, I was a little surprised. That evening, after a walk, I entered the kitchen to catch a flash of movement across the calendar! We both froze! I don’t know what Godzilla did, after all, I’m at the top of the food chain, but I screamed like a little girl, followed closely by, “Kim! Get out here now!!!” He chased it down with a paper towel. Are you kidding me?! There isn’t enough paper towel on that entire roll to put between me and that beast! A baseball bat would have been a better weapon of choice! Just recounting the experience leaves my skin crawling and checking for shadows!

The next day I was looking at my cat. She sat in the bedroom doorway,  just casually gazing at me, totally oblivious to the lump laying on the carpet in front of her. I wasn’t though. It was another cockroach! This one alive, but thankfully moving slowly. He was no match for my shoe! I disposed of him and gave my cat a fierce look, making it perfectly clear that she was not hired to catnap all day! She darn well better step it up and earn her keep! Lazy cat!

A week later pest control showed up, as he does several times a year. I told him about the recent invasion. I noticed a hint of smile, as he educated me on the life cycle and sex life of a palmetto bug. Interesting, but I was more interested in his plan to keep them outside. He assured me that though they will come in on occasion when outdoor conditions are not to their liking, such as our recent heavy rains, they must be outdoors to live. That’s for sure, because I have a shoe right where I can get at it, and I’m not afraid to use it!

I was enjoying a wonderful nap on the couch the other day. Through my foggy stupor I heard Patches, my cat, meow. Instinctively I put my hand out to pet her head, reassuring her that I was just sleeping and not dead. Suddenly my eyes shot wide open and without moving a muscle, so as not to startle anyone, I moved my eyes to encompass the loveseat next to me where Cleo was also napping. Cleo is my daughter’s bulldog! I noticed that Cleo’s eyes were as wide as mine, and she was holding perfectly still as well!

I don’t know if Patches suddenly sensed Cleo’s presence, or my eyes told a story that she read quickly as a mixture of fear and foreboding. Patches froze in her tracks and stopped meowing. Her eyes glanced up, for she stood directly beneath Cleo! Whatever happened next would largely depend on me.

There was no way I could out maneuver either one of them, so I opted for the only tool close at hand…my voice. Belying a calm I did not feel I gently said, “Nobody move. Everybody remain calm. Cleo stay.” That last part I repeated several times, as I watched her body tense in response to the crouched stance Patches instinctively took. 

Whatever happened was going to happen in the next few seconds. Cleo held the high ground and to her credit she followed orders and never moved, though I could tell she was fighting every muscle in her body to do it. “Good girl!” Though Patches is fully armed with claws that she is able, willing, and quite experienced in using, she decided the better part of valor was to cautiously retreat to the bedroom and slip under the bed. Again, “Good girl!” I don’t know about those two, but my heart was pounding. So much for my nap!

 

Such a fuss over devices with words like always, never, everyone, and nobody! Kids today are “always” on their phones or their iPads. They “never” go outside to just play. “Everyone” is texting all the time. “Nobody” knows how to have a conversation anymore! Well, not exactly!

I noticed my 18 month old grandson can maneuver his way around the iPad and YouTube better than I can. He scrolls through to what he is looking for with his thumb. Once he finds it, he taps it with his finger. Fascinating! He isn’t random. He knows exactly what he’s looking for, and if something looks interesting, but isn’t, he moves on quickly and fluidly. He’s attracted to the t.v. remote control, and if the phone rings he is positive it is for him. I have received texts from him. I know they’re from him, because even on a bad day the rest of my family can send fairly legible texts. He also called his aunt in Luxembourg once. At least we hope it was only once.

In the course of a day he will flit like a curious butterfly from t.v. to toys, to iPad, to books, to rocking horse, back to iPad, to hide and seek, to swimming, to t.v., to playing on the porch, to going on a hike, to picking up leaves, to having a conversation with you that only he understands, to playing with the pots and pans he drags out of the kitchen cupboards, to rearranging the fridge magnets, and cuddling in your lap. He does everything that we all use to do as kids and more, because he has more to do. Pediatricians warn parents, “Limit their screen time.” Not necessary, kids limit themselves, even though others, mostly older adults, look on with judgments of always, never, everyone, and nobody to describe “only” what they want to see.

These devices are tools of the 21st century. We make observations about how it was back in the day, but we aren’t back in the day. Back in the day we didn’t have seatbelts either, but I would no more drive around without wearing one today, nor would I advise my kids to do so either just because we didn’t have them back in the day! With every text, every email, every question that is asked of Siri we are communicating. And because we do it often during the day, we are communicating a lot. Probably more than back in the day. I know I do.

Today, in the 21st century, jobs are applied for online. Appointment confirmations are sent over texts. Airline boarding passes are accessed by phone. We pay bills online, communicate with employers, friends, and family through email. And when we complain about kids today always being on their devices, we do that on Facebook. Ironic, isn’t it.

The weekend is upon us and I was thinking that it would be a good weekend to go to the beach, or perhaps an easy paddle up the river. Of course now it’s pouring rain, but that’s the weather pattern we’re in now. It’s summer, or close enough to it that we can officially call it the “rainy season”, otherwise known as “hurricane season”, which would make the “rainy season” moniker just a bit understated for the situation, but I digress and getting dangerously close to a run on sentence.

It’s suppose to be 90 degrees, with 68% humidity which means whatever we do it better involve water or air conditioning! But, then I remembered I had a visit with the dermatologist yesterday and she thought it best to take a few scrapings that left me with some minor, yet open wounds that probably shouldn’t be exposed to the “organic” water of the Gulf. Bummer! Nobody to blame but myself, and growing up in an age when sunscreen was as common as seatbelts. Do a little Google search and you can probably figure out how old I am. Now I use both. Good advice that I’m passing on.

In light of recent events in the news….Five Army soldiers killed in the flooding in Texas, with four more missing; Captain Jeff Kuss, Blue Angel pilot killed during practice in Tennessee. He was from my hometown of Durango; and more stories just like these from more places around the country and the world, what I’m doing this weekend is of little consequence. Yet, maybe it’s these tragedies, these losses that make my insignificant weekend all the more significant.

We all live until we don’t. We have no idea how long that will be. Perhaps, in spite of my melancholy spirit, it’s my duty, our duty to savor and revel in the life we are grateful to be living while we are living.

Why is it when I’m in a hurry, or have a scheduled plan to my day the rest of the world seems to be using a different day planner? I’ve been waiting all morning, and now into the afternoon for UPS to show up. They are making a pick up and apparently I need to be here in order for them to do that. The last time I arranged for this they showed up early in the morning, and I was free to carry on my day. Simple! Everyone was happy!

Not today though! Not today! Today I have a list as long as my arm of things I need to do. One of them is soon going to require me to be in three places at one time if they don’t hurry up, because though I’ve had plenty of time to twiddle my thumbs, I haven’t been able to figure out how to accomplish the impossible! Since we have yet to perfect Star Trek, “beaming” technology I have about two more hours before I’m going to be in the world of “Now What?”

I am keenly aware that the universe does not revolve around me. People have things to do and places to go. They have their own day planners and their own lists, all equally as important as my own, but I just need to cross two things off of mine today to put my hands over my head and shout, “Yes!” Is that too much to ask? Come on Brown, how about you show up at my door in the next few minutes? Please?

We had one hour to break into the safe and find our way out of the bank before the cops got there! One hour and the clock was ticking!

The four of us were in this together. Mariah, Dusty, and Kim were my partners in crime. It was a family affair. Dusty found the key that allowed us to turn on the lights, Mariah grabbed the bag on the desk. We would need everything inside it to pull this off, but how to get in? It was locked and the clues were as hidden as the way out!

Opening drawers, looking in books, scrolling through a rolodex, stepping back to get the big picture, and then leaning in to see the details! The harder we tried the more elusive our goal became. We were talking over one another, bumping into each other, and all the while, “Tick, tick, tick!” The blood pressure was rising! Our hearts were pounding! The sirens! Again with those sirens! We’re going to get caught!

We decoded a clue and Mariah broke into the bag! We found another, then Dusty was into the desk! “Oh no! Another locked box!” More searching and even more clues that didn’t make sense! Trial and error, resulting in more failure as the clock continued to remind us we were nearly out of time.

We were throwing solved riddles on the desk, tossing open boxes on the floor, piecing together what we needed to get the money and get out! Mariah looked at the clock, and as she noticed that not much time remained something happened! She became laser focused! She saw nothing, heard nothing! Her only goal was to solve the riddle and get us out of there before it was too late! She was shouting numbers to Dusty, thinking, and trying again if it didn’t work. She was zeroed in, singularly goal oriented. Dusty became her hands. She was now obviously the brains of the operation! Our job? Clarify when needed and then stay out of her way!

Through one locked door, into the elevator, but which way?  “No!!! Not another locked door!”Hurry! We’re running out of time! The sirens, they’re getting closer!”

We got it! We’re in the vault! We grab the money and the gold! This is great! But the way out is locked! Where is the key? The clue lay in the money itself, but we needed the black light to read it! I had forgotten I was carrying the flashlight around in my pocket. I was needed! Kim arranged the bills. I illuminated them. Mariah figured out we needed to go back to the office to set things in motion, but how?  That’s where Dusty came in. He understood. We were a team! I glanced at the clock. Quick now! Back to the vault, search the lockers, and find the key to the door!

We were out with 3 minutes to spare! Our hearts were pounding and we were laughing, giddy with success! We had foiled the escape room! Escape rooms are popping up around the country, with many different scenarios. Apparently pitting your wit against an imaginary foe and a clock is quite popular. I want to go back and try our luck with the Egyptian tomb. It sounds intriguing, with shades of Indiana Jones.  It’s fun, harder than you think!