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I was watching a segment on morning television that was offering suggestions for Father’s Day gifts. Who doesn’t have a difficult time coming up with the perfect gift for Dad that doesn’t involve a tie, cologne, or socks? Which, by the way, are not perfect! My dad passed away a long time ago and though I no longer stress over the perfect Father’s Day gift, I still have men in my life that present a challenge a couple of times a year, like birthdays and Christmas. Women are much easier to shop for. Don’t believe me, head to your local mall. My son once quipped that you could knock down the walls between stores in a mall and they would all look the same. Just rack after rack of women’s clothing. Men’s clothes are sandwiched between children’s and home goods. Last time I was at the mall, I looked. He’s right.

So, this morning when this segment came on I paid attention and noticed their suggestions, which consisted of tools, like a drill or a lawn mower. They even had a suggestion for gym equipment, like a treadmill, free weights, or even a gym membership. I raised my eyebrows. Really? That’s the best you’ve got?

In my house we have a rule. If I don’t ask for an appliance such as a vacuum or a blender as a gift, don’t get me one, and gym equipment is off-limits. My husband once gave me a treadmill for Christmas. I had always wanted one, but I had not asked for it, and since I didn’t ask for it, I assumed there was an underlying meaning attached to the gift. He thought he was being thoughtful. I thought he was being brazen. And a gym membership? A bold move I would not suggest anyone make.

I assume men have similar rules. Getting a yard tool as a gift translates to weekend “honey do” projects. Besides, you give your dad a drill for Father’s Day and he knows your mom put you up to it. Gym equipment screams, “Mom thinks you’re packing on the pounds”. Tools are great gifts, but make sure the man in your life wants them, needs them, and more importantly “asks” for them. Otherwise, stick to the fishing rod, the golf club, the paddle board, and if you must, the tie.

 

The other day my sister asked me what it was about Florida that created so many thunderstorms? I hadn’t really thought about it, and when I did I realized how much I had forgotten from high school science. It’s possible that I wasn’t paying attention, but that doesn’t sound right.

As it turns out, Florida out distances the rest of the United States when it comes to thunderstorms and keeps pace with the world’s maximum thunderstorm areas, equatorial Africa, near Lake Victoria, and the Amazon basin. Those two areas have thunderstorms virtually year-round, whereas Florida’s thunderstorms are more seasonal, from spring to late fall. The western half of the Florida peninsula counts more than 80 days of thunder and lightning in a given year. That’s almost three months!

We are just now kicking off the rainy season and thunderstorms are beginning to show up for the party. It’s been a particularly long dry spell, so the summer rains are welcome. The light show these powerful storms produce are beautiful, fascinating, and lethal. All too often people don’t respect its power and the results are deadly. The very thing that makes Florida such an attractive tourist destination…warm weather and lots of water, also makes it the lightning capital of the country.

Lightning is fascinating! It super heats the air to 50,000 degrees, resulting in the shockwave we call thunder. Lightning has positive and negative polarities, though most strikes come from the negative charge at the bottom of a cloud. Less than 5% come from the top of a thunderhead’s anvil, where the positive charges hang out, but when it does, the strike can be 10 times stronger than a negative one, making them more deadly and more destructive. They can hit the ground directly beneath the cloud, but mostly these positive charges are found on the outer edges of the cloud and can release their energy more than 10 miles away, resulting in the phenomenon known as, “a bolt from the blue”.

As magnificent as lightning is to watch, its power is deadly and no more so than in Florida. Last year 38 people were killed in the U.S. by lightning in 17 states, 9 of them in Florida. It happens because we don’t want to be inconvenienced by something we feel is unlikely to happen. Using a wide lens it probably is unlikely, but what if you were one of those 38 at the beach, hiking, enjoying a family picnic, under an umbrella, jet skiing, working in the yard, working construction, or simply walking to the car, because you thought it couldn’t happen to you, only it did.

We’ve all gotten caught outside at one time or another. I have to climb a flight of stairs to our apartment. Some days they can be steeper and longer than usual. I take a deep breath before grasping the rail that I use to drag myself up to the landing, but when Thor is throwing lightning bolts from the sky I can make the dash up those stairs like an athlete in training, never even brushing my hand against that metal rail, because that would be crazy!

We had our first thunderstorm of the season a few days ago. LeAnn, a neighbor, who lives downstairs, was so surprised by it that she wondered what in the world the folks upstairs from her were doing to cause such a racket! It wasn’t until she saw the flashes of light that it dawned on her what was happening. Us upstairs neighbors get blamed for everything!

Today more thunderstorms are predicted as the raining season gets underway, sharing the spotlight with hurricane season, but that’s another story.

My friend, Jeanette, use to teach a Silver Sneakers class, an exercise class specifically designed for the over 50 crowd. She would pass on interesting information on occasion, good stuff for all of us, regardless of age. Most of it I would incorporate into my daily routine, except when she sent an article about how wearing flip-flops are not good for any of us. What!? Those are my favorite shoes, staples really, and actually my only footwear since moving to Florida. There was no way I was giving these up!

I don’t wear those cheap, yet cute flip-flops, big on fashion, but low on arch support. I wear fairly expensive ones, with strong arch support technology, therefore I knew my footwear was exempt from the problems they were talking about here.

This particular article talked about how your toes have to grip the flip-flop in order to keep it on your foot, which in turn messes with your gait. So, I paid attention to how I walked with my flip-flops on, almost walking into a pole with such focus!  I discerned no such toe gripping. That must plague the casual wearer only. I am an expert, having mastered walking in flip-flops with relaxed toes and normal gait. I’ve got this!

Having had knee issues for most of my life, I have altered my gait in order to compensate for the pain. Since having my knees replaced, I noticed that my shorter stride has become a habit. One that surely has not been reinforced by my incessant flip-flop wearing. Nevertheless, perhaps I should try a different sandal to see if I can elongate that stride, and eliminate some bad walking habits that could be causing me other issues. If nothing else, it’s a good excuse to buy a new pair of shoes.

I bought a pair of Tevas that strap on.  A small step up from the more convenient slide on flip-flop, yet still leaving my feet exposed to the Florida sun. Would you believe, the first thing I noticed was that my toes were not gripping my shoe! What?! How could that be? I never noticed my toes gripping before, but I could obviously feel a difference. My feet were relaxed. Is that the right word? Yes, they felt relaxed and because my shoes were strapped on, rather than gripped on, I was able to stretch out my stride. Who knew?!

I’m not here to do a promo for Teva. I have other issues with those strappy sandals, but my point is this…what other things are out there that we know we know, that we really don’t know? When you’re absolutely sure you know, super sleuth it. Do your own experiments and research, so that when you swear you know what you know…you really do know. Am I getting rid of my flip-flops? What, are you crazy?

Some people just love to run. That’s pretty evident with all the different marathons taking place on any given weekend around the country. The Boston Marathon, the granddaddy of all marathons, just took place on April 17th. 27,221 runners started that race, 26,411 finished it. But that’s just one race. There is the Disney World Marathon and the New York Marathon. You name the city and there is probably a marathon. Then there’s the Color Runs across the country that have become popular, and 10Ks for all occasions, along with the Two Mile Fun Runs for the less ambitious and more practical runners.

I am no longer a runner and I never was a distance runner. When I was in Jr. High I was on the track team. Must have been driven by a competitive spirit that was out of control, as I’m pretty sure I never found it “fun”. I was fast, but I was a cheetah! Able to gain top speed over very short distances. I gave it everything I had and then some, but when I crossed that finish line at 50 yards I was used up.

Why coaches insisted that everyone train by running a mile I have no idea. For me, running a mile was akin to running a marathon, felt dreadfully as long and equally painful! Why not have cheetahs practice what they do best, sprint? I never saw the cross-country team running sprints! They didn’t cross into my domain; I would happily stay out of theirs.

After I graduated from the 8th grade I hung up my cleats. I would run on occasion, over a very short distance, like to get out of the rain, or if I was late for class, but no one ever held a stop watch as I did it. There was one time however….

Shortly after the birth of my first child, Ft. Bragg, California, where we lived at the time, was hosting a 10K and  Two Mile Fun Run to celebrate the Gray Whale migration. See what I mean by “every occasion”? My husband, Kim, prefers the longer rhythms of a 10K, but I was coming off a hormonal overload and thought two miles wouldn’t be bad. After-all, they call it a “Fun Run”, so he joined me, pulling our son along in a rolling convertible backpack (I’m not sure they make those anymore), promising to stay with me. “It’ll be fun”, he said.

Long before we got to the mile mark it ceased to be fun for me! Distant memories suddenly flooding back. When I rounded the corner to head back to the finish I was quickly enlightened that the last mile of “fun” was to be run uphill! I waved Kim and my baby on, ordering him to, “save yourselves”! At my insistence, he and Ben pulled away and it wasn’t long before I lost sight of them.

I finished and I wasn’t last, but I had a revelation. There is nothing fun about a “Fun Run” and I have never been tempted or lured into that trap again. If ever there was a more inappropriate word to be linked with running, I surely do not know it.

I recognize that some people need to run. Some run to clear their heads, to quiet their minds, to feel their muscles work. I don’t pretend to understand them, but I do cheer them. Later this month my sister will participate in her first half marathon, a little over 13 miles. Because she loves to run? No. Because she needs to run? No. Because her daughter asked her too. Now that’s love! She insists I don’t call it a race and I think she’s crazy, but most definitely I will cheer her on!

 

 

We took a drive last weekend and while looking for a particular road sign I wondered where some of these streets got their names and what was going through the minds of the people who named them. For instance, Rattlesnake Hammock! Here in the southeast the word hammock is given to a stand of trees that is in contrast to the surrounding ecosystem, so I have visions of rattlesnakes either hanging from these trees or infesting the ground around them. You don’t need a road to meander through that type of hammock! What you need is a sign, “Warning, Rattlesnake Hammock”

We have Radio Road, which I thought was pretty cool. It drives right into the airport, so I figured it had to do with radioing the airport tower. Nope! It was actually home to Naples’ first radio station. A functional moniker, not an exotic one.

Then there are the roads that have hyphenated names. We have a couple. Goodlette-Frank, named for once upon a time county commissioner Richard Goodlette, and Ed Frank, a businessman who started the famous swamp buggy races. I wonder if Frank ever feels slighted, because nobody takes the time to say, “Goodlette-Frank”, simply calling it Goodlette? Then there is Airport-Pulling. Obviously the airport is on Airport Road, but Pulling was added later to honor a major land investor by that name. Seriously? Reminds me of how often ballparks change their names based on who pays the most money to have it named after them. Airport-Pulling goes the way of Goodlette-Frank, and everyone just calls it, “Airport”. So much for feeling important.

We have Pine Ridge Road and for anyone familiar with the state of Florida you know there isn’t a ridge to be seen anywhere on the peninsula, but I can’t vouch for the panhandle. Neapolitan Way always leaves me craving ice cream. Go figure! And we all know who lives on Wisconsin Drive and Yorktown Road….snowbirds!

Here’s my all-time favorite, No Name Street! How awesome is that! What, just ran out of creativity? No more names came to mind? I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere and apparently it was at this poor street. Sorry, no name for you!

In La Plata County, where we came from, they have twelve roads named Aspen, seven Oak, five Columbine, five Cottonwood, and three Bear Creek. Good luck UPS and Fed-X. If your mail gets delivered to the wrong address, you have only yourselves to blame! Someone get them a flora and fauna book so they can branch out !

There lacks a certain creativity when roads are numbers instead of names. Are those people boring, or just too busy to be bothered? Then there are those towns that are just way too creative. They can’t settle on one name, so instead they choose two for the same road, like Poinciana Drive if you’re on the west side of Airport or Grey Oaks Blvd if you’re on the east side. Better yet is Horseshoe Dr. N and Horseshoe Dr. S, because Horseshoe Drive really is a horseshoe. It’s almost like we’re testing people to see if they get lost!

So, what’s in a name? Everything! Great names are remembered! They fire the imagination, make you laugh, wonder, roll your eyes, and sometimes roll your tongue trying to pronounce it.  You see shadows of people long past, brainstorming the perfect name like Tamiami Trail, Alligator Alley, and yes…Rattlesnake Hammock.

Last weekend Kim & I decided to go hunting for Megalodon teeth on the Peace River. Megalodon is the prehistoric ancestor to our modern-day Great White Shark, though some scientist think it was more closely related to the Mako. I’m not a fan of swimming with any sharks, don’t really care who they’re related to, but this great granddaddy of whomever would keep me far from any water outside a swimming pool, or bathtub.

Megalodon lived 23 to 2.3 million years ago and measured upwards of 60 feet!  The largest tooth ever found is just over 7 inches. A Great White, by comparison, can be as large as 20 feet and the largest tooth found measured just under 3 inches. Get the picture? Big and much, much bigger! Now, to find us one of those 7 inch teeth!

Mariah and Dusty were onboard. The spot we were seeking on the Peace River was only about an hour from their house. We piled into the truck, off on an adventure that started by spotting two bald eagles hanging out in their nests. The GPS guided us off the highway in search of running water. I’ve talked about the need for paper maps before in another post, and this time was no different, because it didn’t take long for modern technology to lead us to nowhere! We got turned around and guided ourselves, by our own sense of direction, and it wasn’t long before the GPS guidance system caught up with us. Sure hope our military has access to a more sophisticated satellite!

Finding what we were looking for, we set off for the water with shovel in hand. We needed a sifter, but not being able to locate one to purchase, employed Yankee ingenuity and built our own out of wire, 2 sticks and zip ties. Not pretty , but it worked. Mariah turned to me at the river’s edge and said, “You know, if this was Colorado we would be thinking right now about how cold this water is going to be. Instead, here in Florida we’re scanning the water and the shore wondering if we’re going to be lunch!” Alligators had been on my mind too, but the water was shallow and very clear. The banks were open, and though alligators might find them attractive for sunning, at least we would be able to see them. There were also a fair number of other tooth hunters nearby, and if ever there was a time for safety in numbers this was it! Our reasoning may be erroneous, but it resonated well. Yet to be sure, we were careful to maintain situational awareness and not get too wrapped up in the hunt.

We scored several fossils, some identified, some not, all interesting. We claimed three shark’s teeth, but small in nature and way too small to be even a Megalodon baby. It didn’t matter, they only served to stoke tooth fever! Kim’s sandals blew out, leaving him in the middle of the river with nothing but flapping soles and frayed webbing strapped to his ankles, virtually barefoot! The constant bending over, scooping sand and gravel, and crouched sifting left our legs and backs sore from the effort. My neck is still aching from a day’s worth of looking down into the river. Totally worth it! Megalodon had eluded us, but we’ll are already planning our return. The hunt is on!

Twice a year, in the wee hours of the morning between Saturday and Sunday, most of the country changes their clocks by one hour. Forward in the spring, backward in the fall. The trickiest part sometimes is remembering which way you’re going. There can be a lot of grumbling over this exercise, but we get ‘er done, and within a week all is forgotten and life resumes as if nothing ever happened.

70 countries around the world and every state in the U.S. participate in Daylight Savings Time, with the exception of Arizona and Hawaii, because they like to march to the beat of their own drum. Within Arizona there are exceptions to the exception. The Navajo Nation, most of which lies within the borders of Arizona, chooses to observe DST, but the Hopi Nation, which is completely surrounded by the Navajo Nation, does not. Which means that in one state there is a time zone, within a time zone, within a time zone. Confused yet?

Technically you can’t save daylight, whether you change your clock or not. We can just control which specific hours of the day enjoy natural light. There are people who hate the time change and others who embrace it, but love it or hate it, what most struggle with is the adjustment. I think the best way to deal with the malaise is to stop converting! We spring forward and when the alarm sounds in the morning at 6:00 we say, “But it’s really 5:00! Ugh!” In the evening we note that the clock reads 10:00, but say, “It’s really 9:00, so I can stay up another hour”, which is why at 6:00 a.m. you are back to “Ugh!”

We treat Daylight Savings Time like the metric system. When I was in elementary school somebody decided that it would be a good idea if we learned how to use metric. Their nefarious goal may have been for a complete conversion, but it never really caught on. We Americans like our feet and inches and when we’re faced with a kilometer, or celsius we want to know what that means in miles and fahrenheit. However, there are several professions that use metric or other forms of measurement. My son, the pilot, uses centigrade, nautical miles, and knots. My son-in-law, the paramedic, uses milligrams and kilograms, but what they don’t do is convert. They use the measurement as is, without changing it to what we’re familiar with. Therefore it’s normal and natural to them. Right now it’s 3:00. Just 3:00, not “really” 2:00!

It’s been awhile since I’ve spent the morning at the pool. You know how it is, you get busy with tasks, obligations, the requirements of living on the planet, and the next thing you know, you haven’t taken a mental health moment in who knows how long. This morning was going to be my moment.

While I was gathering a towel, beach bag, and water bottle I noticed the lawn maintenance crew had shown up out front. Before I could change into my swimsuit I could hear lawn mowers working outside. Okay, not ideal, but they probably won’t be long. Our apartment complex is large, and they always start with our building first, so I figured a few moments of disruption and they would move on.

By the time I had descended the stairs and rounded the end of the driveway I had encountered the leaf blowers! In my opinion this is a useless tool. You blow leaves from one side of the driveway to the other, wait a week, so the wind can have a chance at them once more, and then show up to do it all over again. This is the top-tier in job security! These machines are seriously loud! What’s more, these guys work as a team, so you don’t have one leaf blower, you have four! That number sends the decibel count into the stratosphere!  Heavy sigh, but they shouldn’t be long.

As I approached the pool gate I noted the wind was a notch or two above breezy, yet significantly lower than a gale. It’s not cold out and in fact, the wind would shoo away both humidity and the heat of the Florida sun. Since the pool isn’t heated, this time of year it takes a little grit to get into it. The wind was welcome and would keep me from overheating. However, we live at the end of the Naples airport runway. Once upon a time there was plenty of commercial traffic in here, but that has long since gone. Now we have mostly small planes and private jets, but don’t misinterpret private to mean modest. They are good size! Most of the time, we hardly notice the airport’s proximity, but when the wind is just right those planes use a different runway and then it becomes a game changer. Today they are taking off with their tails toward me, running up their engines as they go through their paces, increasing to that deep rumble as they throttle up while galloping down the runway. Though I don’t mind the sound, this morning I was seeking a serene experience, not an exhilarating one.

I lay my towel across the lounge chair, position my beach pillow, put my water bottle where I can reach it and figure that the planes are probably there to stay, but at least the groundkeepers will soon be working farther away.

Wait! What is this fresh hell that has just arrived upon the scene? A street sweeper? Seriously! They are there to clean up the mess in the driveway left by the city water guys who fixed the water line yesterday. “Beep, Beep, Beep” as he backed up, pulled forward, and backed up again, and again, and again!

I opened my eyes to see an idyllic landscape of swaying palm trees, sunshine, and water. I closed my eyes and heard only a cacophony of assaulting decibels. I had chosen poorly! I should have stayed upstairs! I have a book to finish writing, and taxes to do. No quiet meditative, re-energizing moment was to be had. Instead, I laughed! Good medicine, either way!

When we arrived in the parking area, which was small and primitive, I noted that we were the only people there. I wasn’t complaining. I like having the trail to ourselves. All the better for an opportunity to see some wildlife. We were faced with a 10 ft fence, topped with barbed wire. Gates were locked with heavy chains and padlocks. Signs were fixed to the fence, making it clear that you were not to drive your vehicle any farther, if for some reason you thought to storm the gate! There were two walking opportunities. The one to our left was only .3 miles, called the “Memorial Trail”. I hope that wasn’t meant to be prophetic. The other was 1.3 miles, called the “Panther Trail”. Naturally we chose the Panther Trail. There was a door that served as a gate in the fence that opened to the trail. The door was on a hinge, so that it would close behind you, if you were careless enough to leave it open. As we walked through to the other side, I felt as though I had just entered the T-Rex paddock in Jurassic Park! Suddenly, this didn’t seem like the great idea it was last week. I am always bravest in my living room! 

I thought it would be fun to visit the National Florida Panther Wildlife Refuge that isn’t far from where we live. We’ve driven by the sign many times on our way across Alligator Alley. Time to check it out.  What’s the first thing you do when going to a new place? Review the website. That’s what I did, so I knew beforehand there was limited access to the area, only open from dawn to dusk, that it was unlikely that we would see a panther on our visit, but just in case, keep small children close at hand. There was a short list of what to do in case of an actual panther encounter and that was about it.

The Florida Panther is believed to be one of the most endangered mammals in the U.S., with an approximate population of 120-160 cats. Once roaming the southeast, they now only live in south Florida. The Panther Preserve provides 26, 400 acres of safe refuge and protected habitat for them. The preserve is securely fenced, but I don’t know if all of it is, or only part. I don’t know if the fence is to keep the panthers in, or the people out, or both. Panthers clearly live beyond the confines of this refuge, recognized by road signs throughout Collier County warning, “Panther Crossing”, and the headlines that all too often report that another panther had a deadly encounter with a car. I would love to see a panther in the wild and was ready to explore a very small portion of panther territory, or so I thought!

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t quite it. Most walks we have been on in south Florida are on raised boardwalks, primarily because they span water and dense foliage. Those boardwalks offer a false sense of security. A barrier to all things wild, when it really isn’t, but you come to feel that way. The Memorial Trail afforded wheelchair accessibility, and though I’m not sure it was actually paved, it certainly was wider than what I currently faced on the Panther Trail. Shortly beyond the gate the trail narrowed to single-track, with the swamp encroaching to within arm’s reach on both sides. It was dense and dark. I found that my eyes were darting from one side to the other and even toward the treetops, because though I was told that it would be rare for me to see a panther, I wasn’t so convinced that it would be rare for a panther to see me! I longed for a little more elbow room, and suggested to Kim that perhaps we should keep talking. You know, make our presence known. He said I should feel free to sing. I laughed, while my brain searched for an appropriate tune. 

We may have walked 20, possibly 30 yards when I asked Kim to stop so I could take a picture. He did and was suddenly swarmed by mosquitos! Three were lined up on his leg for a quick snack, and two just landed on my arm. We didn’t even think about bug spray this time of year! It may be the dry season, but this is the Everglades! We were being devoured, and at this rate in a mile the only evidence left of us would be our clothes. We retreated at a fast clip to our car! “Go, go, go! Drive!”, the windows down to chase out those winged vampires brazen enough to follow us into our safe haven! We vowed to come back wearing long sleeves and long pants, doused in the pungent smell of DEET, and having swallowed a big helping of bravery as we once again enter the lion’s den !

 

I was on my way to I-75 the other day, when I saw one of those portable flashing road signs that the police use to warn you about how fast you’re driving before you get a ticket, or that road construction crews temporarily erect for a small repair job, alerting you at the very last-minute that the lane you are driving in is closed in less distance than it takes to stop a bicycle! This sign, however, was flashing with this mandate, “You Must Stop At Red Lights”, followed by “Do Not Run Red Lights”.  Really? Are people actually driving around out there that don’t know this?!

This is south Florida, and though we have a deluge of snowbirds and an inordinate number of foreigners, I’m pretty sure that red lights have a universal meaning, except perhaps in Rome, where they really do seem to be merely a notable suggestion.  If this sign is necessary, perhaps the practice of renewing our driver’s license online, without a quiz to see if we remember the rules should be revisited, rather than an on-the-road, behind the wheel refresher! On second thought, perhaps it isn’t such a bad idea.

Here are a few signs I wouldn’t mind seeing on the road.  “Driving more than 5 mph under the speed limit makes you a road hazard!” “Driving 10 mph over the speed limit also makes you a road hazard!” “Changing lanes without using your turn signal assumes we’re all mind-readers!” “This is not Daytona, and you are not that good!” “Texting while driving makes you a special kind of stupid!”

Driving is probably one of the most dangerous things we do in ordinary, daily life. It is not a contact sport and it is not a race. We all need to practice a little patience and human kindness, and if we all get to where we’re going without “boom, boom, crunch, crunch”, we all win. If you need to be reminded to stop at a red light, immediately pull over, turn off your car, remove the keys and then throw them as far as you can. You really shouldn’t be driving!