Aftermath

The presents were so pretty under my tiny tree. Some of the packages were actually taller than the tree, but fortunately they were piled up on the floor below the cabinet that I set the tree on. Somehow the tree looked more magical with all those presents below it.

Now the remnants of those presents remain. I am always slow to remove them all to their appropriate places. I love to see them there as long as possible, until I need them, or it’s finally New Year’s Day and time to put away the holiday decorations. Sigh.

I’m not finished with Christmas quite yet, though. Mara just sent an email today stating my presents had just gone out in the mail. My parents found something under their tree that forgot to find its way south with the other packages they sent. I’m guessing that’s what is waiting for me at the FedEx office. I’ll pick it up after work tomorrow and then I’ll know for sure.

I’ve already used the gift cards and money that were sent. I’m always amazed at how fast monetary presents disappear. Shouldn’t I be able to stuff them away and save them for the rain? Oh, wait, this is Central Florida. It rains all the time here… My bad.

Christmas Day, Yaw and I both phoned our far-away loved ones and caught up on current events while extending our Merry Christmasses. The fur bellies scarfed their Christmas canned food and looked at me as if asking, “Where is the rest?” I told them the rest is the bag of balls, mice, feathers and other kitty-size toys I bought. I opened the bag and took out four or five small toys and tossed them to the waiting felines. It took very little time for the toys to disappear under door cracks, couches, fridge. More looks of askance and I told them they’d have to wait until I got up the guts to move furniture around before they’d get those toys back. I went back to playing with them with the laser light someone gave me a while back.

Deb, Mike and Ian came over Christmas Eve to exchange presents and spend a few minutes visiting. I tried to get Mr. Bond to climb the wall like he usually does when I take out the laser light, but he never really got the altitude he can reach. He did Christmas Day though. I feel certain it was related to the catnip in some of the toys.

Tonight when I got home from work, Barb across the way stepped outside and got my attention. She had something in her hand but it was dark and I couldn’t make it out. When I reached her, she handed me two small stockings that were stuffed with something and sewed shut. She said they were for my babies and to enjoy cleaning it up when they get done. I thanked her and made my way upstairs, Yaw following behind me. When I got in the house, I dropped the stockings on the floor and went to the kitchen to put down food before the fur bellies could raise a fuss. I needn’t have rushed. I have finally found out how to get into the house and take my time feeding the cats. Just put something with catnip in it down on the floor and go about your business. I should have thought of it years ago—the aggravation and ankle damage I could have saved myself. Oy!

Presents of Mind

Now That's More Christmassy

Ok, I had to get rid of all that flippin' pink. Ew. And this fits the season better, anyway.

A side note on the mailing of the Christmas packages... When I went back to the post office and got in the end of the lo-o-o-ong line, an employee came through asking if anyone was trying to mail packages using a credit card. I raised my hand.

She guided me back over to the same machine that told me "NO!" the day before. I said, "I tried this yesterday and the machine said I had to go through the line because the label won't all fit the face of my package."

"Trust me," she said with a smile, and took my box over to the machine. She put my package on the scale, pushed the same buttons I'd pushed the day before, except for one apparently, and took the resulting label, peeled it, set the bottom to rest just above the "To" address of my package and folded the part that didn't fit right up over the top of the box. That's exactly what I wanted to try the first time, but I was afraid my package would be lost in limbo until time stopped and the presents would be both ruined and forgotten. Go figure.

Holiday Tidings

Today I received a package in the mail. I also tried to mail a package. Actually, I tried to mail two packages but only succeeded in sending one. But that's a different story.

I got a box in the mail from my Mom. I'm sure it's from my Dad, too, but the address label only has Mom's name on it. Anyway, it's the first present of the year, and my tiny little iridescent Mylar tree looks much happier now that it's not all alone in the living room. There are some other presents under the tree, but they are all out-going; which is very nice, because it means there are people here that I care about enough to have presents for them under my tree. And for the first time in a very long time, I am making a stocking for someone other than my fur bellies--another very nice change.

I had my Christmas Party with the McD's gang tonight. On one side I was very happy to see many of my co-workers without uniforms and hats. Who knew they all had such great hair? On the other side, I wished very deeply we'd had it somewhere other than the McD's playplace, with all the rambunctious kiddies in tow. Not that I have anything against rambunctious kiddies, but more than 2 or 3 in a confined space is enough to split my brain into at least a dozen tiny pieces. It was still nice though. The kids were all obviously having a great time. There was good food to eat, and a nice gift exchange, and I got to meet some of the folks who work during the week, or only at night, when I don't see them.

Today I was trying to mail a present to Mara and Rich. I managed to mail her birthday present (from May), but since I went to the machine, and it is unable to adjust itself for a non-standard request, I couldn’t mail the Christmas presents because the label wouldn't fit on the face of the box. I'll have to work on that. I guess that one will be late, too... Have to get it out soon, though. Home made trail mix won't taste yummy anymore if it doesn't get there quickly.

Yaw is off for a few days at the beginning of this week. He comes back Thursday, just in time for his birthday. I've got sauce for Karen-sagna cooking on the stove. I've warned him that this is NOT a healthy meal and that he should plan on fasting up until I feed it to him because he will want plenty of it. The man's waste is smaller than my thigh, and you go to a restaurant with him and watch him take 2/3 of the meal home. But put home made food in front of him, and just stand back. It's an amazing sight.

Well, the cats are lulling me into a late-evening stupor, and I've forgotten the rest of what was on my mind, so I think I shall finish the last two fingers of my beer and head off to bed. Early day tomorrow, battling it out with the line at the post office since a human will have to take my package in. Silly limitations. Oh well.

Christmas Decorations

Add to the list of Christmas decorations from Florida that leave me floored: yard ornament PINK FLAMINGOS IN CHRISTMAS LIGHTS. Up North, they stick to sleighs, deer, Santa or Frosty... the wire frame of the character lit up with Christmas lights. In Florida, you can find those things, but you can also find pink flamingos, palm trees, surf boards. It's a very interesting cultural difference.

I'm still not used to it.

In my apartment complex, the management is holding a Christmas decorating contest for $25, $35, or $50 off your rent. I look around my own little section and see two other apartments have entered the spirit of the season.

Across the way, Barb and Fred have hung icicle lights from the bottom of the walkway to the second floor. They've also decorated the little patch of lawn in front of their place with numerous yard ornaments and found every inch of gaudy garland left over from Christmases past and strung it around and through everything in reach. I've noticed that since they decorated, they have been afraid to pull all the way forward in their parking space. Good thing I back into mine or we'd be having bumper wars every morning. Although their decorations are quite handy when I leave early for McD’s or come in late.

Below me, Mike and Johanna have gone for a more natural look, sticking to pine tree and berry garlands, massed in equal amounts and strung with lights. Their decorations aren't quite so bright and it's usually dark when I leave and come home, so I haven't seen if there is more hiding among the remaining plastic and silk flowers still out from the summer. I did note that they've wrapped their patio table in Christmas paper. That's different.

I decorated for myself and only myself. If the complex likes it and awards me, that’s great. If not, it’s still OK because I didn't spend any money that I wouldn't have spent anyway. I have only a few small, unlit decorations out. I have my wreath that I put so much thought into last year, strung on the door with the pretty purple and pewter Christmas bells with the Celtic knot at the top. In my front window, I have a silver reindeer with a pail of pine cones on one side, and the gold sleigh that Kat and Rob gave me a few years ago on the other side. On my patio table (really a home made bed-side book stand bought at a yard sale), I have a tiny white tinsel tree dotted with red bell ornaments and topped with a little plastic robin with real feathers that I found at K-Mart. I hope none of the neighborhood cats take a liking to that. It's really quite pretty there. So, none of my decorations will scream at anyone from the roadside, but they are there, and they are things that make me feel Christmassy inside. And when you get down to it, that's really all that matters, isn't it?

Why do I ask this question? Because the other day, on my way out to work, Barb stopped me and said “Aren’t you going to decorate? They’re having a contest, you know.” And I smiled, replied, “I have decorated,” and left for work.

Raniy Palm Tree House

Sitting on the sofa, ignoring an apartment desperate to be cleaned, enjoying the company of Yaw and the fur bellies, I hear the familiar pit-pat sound of rain outside.

I peel myself off the couch and step out on the walkway to observe.

Pit-pit-pat-pat-pat. Tippa-tap-pat.

The sky is brightened by the light reflected from here below. It appears to be a light grey with hints of lavender. The air is cool and soft breezes are stirred by the rain as it comes down from the sky and touches on the branches of the oaks, the blades of the palm fronds. Somehow the trunks of the palm trees are protected from the steady streams of water, as is my place on the walkway where I stand safely dry and watch the cloud shapes drift lazily through the atmosphere until pushed into frenzied activity by a stray breeze.

I listen to the silence of the world around me as it is softened by the blanketing rain. I hear cars passing on the wet street. Whoosh, whoosh, shhhhh.

A stray rain drop is blown off a palm blade and onto my arm and I suddenly am reminded that the air is cool out here and there is a warm sofa, two fur bellies and a Yaw inside. I suddenly miss those things and step back inside to return to hearing the muted pit-pat sounds through my open window.

The palm tree house remains my shelter in the storm. Let the world rage around me. I will remain here where there is comfort and safety until forced to join the battle.

NASA at Night

OK, I wasn't really at NASA; I was just across the Indian River Lagoon from it, though. A crisp non-Florida-like evening with a clear sky and an excellent view of Orion was set there just for me while I stood in a park (which was technically closed) with friends and watched the shuttle light up the night like a miniature sunrise.

It was absolutely beautiful. It started with a small spark of light at the base of the shuttle, so small you weren't really sure you were seeing it. Then, quickly expanding, it became a brilliant candle sitting on a bed of bright pink, orange, and blue-limned cotton balls. Finally it was a streak of orange surrounded by blue-grey skies and it's reflection on the river was just like all those gorgeous sunrises I used to watch from my balcony in the towers.

There were cheers of joy and "Oh's" of appreciation. Deb turned to Mike and thanked him for a shuttle launch for her birthday party. I leaned over Yaw's shoulder to see what it looked like on his tiny camcorder. Ian and Holden chased each other around Deb and Mike and the crowd in general celebrated together and separately.

We all watched the shuttle make its way up into the night, slowly becoming a smaller puff-ball of light, and finally looking like a super-brilliant star traveling with purpose to some unknown destination.

I love Florida. It's very good for my imagination.

What is this blog?

And why is it so darn pink?

Night Flight

I flew to Virginia last night to spend my 40th birthday with my family. Yaw always says things happen as they should, whether we understand it or not. Ok, I'll buy that.

My flight was supposed to take off at 6 pm. Due to storms and some kind of problem with the jet, my flight did not take off until 8:30 pm. The delays left me time to learn that my mother was in the hospital, and to speak to my Dad and to her. I was reassured that the doctors felt it was not anything serious and were just keeping her for observation. I will call them in a little while to see if they have decided to release her yet.

Once in the air though, we climbed above the earth and up into the skies where I found myself looking out into a crisp clear night sky. To my great pleasure, the constellation Orion was to my right, seeming to lay horizontally across the width of my tiny window. I watched him point the plane towards home and knew that all would be well, in one way or another. (This goes back to my teenage years when my brother, sister, and I all joined a group called the Explorers-and offshoot of the Boy Scouts that is for boys and girls together. Our group was specialized in Parks and Recreation. There are all different sorts of Explorers groups: Law Enforcement, Adventure, Medical, etc. Our group always met in Newport News Park and we learned about the forest and her creatures. We often went out on night walks through the park with the ranger who was in charge of us: Mike Poplawski. He’s higher up in the Parks and Rec department now, I believe, but he had an impact, and maybe one day I’ll find a way to let him know that. The one thing I could almost always count on was finding Orion up there, looking down on us. Since then, I’ve always felt that if I was lost out in the wilderness, or within myself, if I could just spot Orion all would be well. Crazy, I know, but what are you going to do? He has power because I choose to give it to him. As long as I believe that, it will work.)

Below Orion’s prone form, there were the distant thunder storms that had rocked the east coast all day, now drifting out over the Atlantic and performing their astonishing fireworks displays for dolphins and sharks and whatever other water creatures cared to observe it.

It was beautiful to see those great lofty clouds light up with shades of blue, purple, and pink, then disappear again into the pitch blackness below the stars. Giant mountains of nature's fury, they glowed from within, from behind, from below; then they were gone until another lightning strike brought them back. One here to the east, another farther north, then south. Sometimes it reminded me of the scene from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" where the mother ship pauses above all the scientists on top of the mountain, and they have their little musical laser light show. But this was nature putting on the show all by herself, and frankly, she's quite impressive without any outside help from us mere mortals.

Changing my concentration again to view Orion resting above all this splendor, I wondered if in some way the stars and galaxies within his great constellation could look on us from so many millions of light years away and see the show our beautiful planet had put on for them. I hope they appreciated it as much as I did. Though, I know down here on the planet, there were tragedies and fear in connection to the fierce storm, seeing it from this vantage point was completely different. We were in nature's way and she was in no mood to worry about us. She had work to do and we should just respect that and step aside.

One should always respect a power that is beyond one’s understanding. I may not be the most spiritual woman on the planet, but I know when I’m in the presence of something far greater than myself, and there she was, showing me her stuff the whole flight home. Amen, sistah.

Pictures from Home

Until I moved to Florida, I lived almost my entire life in the same area of Virginia. Every now and then, I find myself missing certain places that were peaceful sources of regeneration to me. Yorktown Battlefield and the tree that the hurricane ate, the Lions Bridge near CNU along the James River, and Newport News Park, where I took this picture one beautiful Autumn day, on a walk with my Mom and Dad. A very peaceful moment for me. Sigh.

It's almost that time...

The Joys of Vehicle Ownership

There is finally light at the end of my vehicle-less nightmare. Well, sort-of anyway.

Well, the truck finally did it to me, but she waited a good long time and I can't complain about that, however much I want to. It's been about a month now that she's been in the shop, and I finally got done with the warranty battle, the work finally got completed, and now I know how much I get to come up with.

Isuzu's warranty paid for the engine block and the labor. I get to pay for the regular-type maintenance like putting oil back in, new filters and spark plugs, etc. And I get to pay for my clutch, but only the parts, not the labor since that's included in the labor from the engine block.

When it all started, the first words out of the dealership's mouth were $4600 minimum. I said "warranty" and they fed me about a thousand excuses why they thought it wouldn't be warranty. "You didn't have any oil." I had just put a quart of oil in it not ten minutes before this happened. "You haven't kept up with maintenance." There's my service history with Wal-Mart. Always within specs according to the manufacturer's guidelines in my owner's manual. "You aren't the first owner." (I thought that was the most creative one.) When I asked where they got that idea, they said it was because of the mileage. I said, "The vehicle is a 2002 model, which would have come out in late 2001. It was not purchased by me until early in 2003. There were countless test drives on that vehicle before I ever laid eyes on it. And the dealership sold it to me as a new, not a used vehicle. I am the first owner of this vehicle."

About 1 1/2 weeks later, after about 30 voicemails to various people in the service department, I got word that Isuzu would cover the engine block. Then more silence from them with me leaving voice mails asking for progress reports. "Will you give me a loaner?" No, we don't do that. "Then can you speed it up? I don't have a vehicle here." (They don't need to know I've been either borrowing a car from my boyfriend or riding in with him whenever I could convince him to go in early. Besides, the car I've been borrowing has a busted headlight, so when it's dark I might as well not have a car.) We'll do our best, ma'am. These are words I say on a regular basis at my day job, which mean, either I let down 50 other clients desperately wanting my fix to happen right this second, or I add this one client to the back of the list and deal with it in the order in which it was received. I don't bother getting my hopes up too high. I settle for hoping that some hideous amount of money isn't required of me in spite of the warranty group's "cooperation."

So, how much is my little brush with tired-vehicle-itis going to cost me? A mere $554.96. Small change in light of what it was going to cost me, but still, not an easy sum of money to obtain on short notice for the average Jane working two jobs just so she can afford to play once in while. Yep, and it happens right when I finally realize that, “Hey, my body is not going to put up with this abuse any longer. I better find a way to reduce my hours and fast.” And I did exactly that. Now my checks from good old Micky D’s are half the size. Great timing!

So now what do I do?

What any normal American girl living on her own, 800 miles from home, would do.

“Daddy!”

Kitty Deodorant

I found something new and interesting to help keep my house from smelling like a cat box. Since my cat box is right next to my front door, I think this is an amazing discovery.

It’s simply a bag full of lava pebbles. It comes double-wrapped in plastic and when you peel that off, the pebbles are inside a plastic mesh bag. You put it somewhere in the vicinity of the thing you don’t want to smell and it absorbs most of the odor. And it doesn’t add additional smells to your place. It’s not a mask, it’s an absorber. It’s wonderful!

It is more effective than all the products put together that I have tried adding to the litter, and you don’t even add it to the litter. Mine is on a hanger on the closet bar (the kitty box lives in the coat closet—no there are no coats in the coat closet) where the cats can’t reach it. It’s very important that I keep it up high like that because Binks is addicted to plastic and will try to eat the mesh bag. I’m pretty sure that if the bag doesn’t make him sick, the lava pebbles will.

It worked so well that I bought one for my truck. I’m sad to say it hasn’t been as successful there. My truck has developed a leak, and of course the standard bumper to bumper warranty is long over with, so to get it fixed, I’ll have to find some extra money somewhere.

The leak isn’t an oil leak; it’s a water-getting-inside-the-cab leak. And it’s not from the soft top, either, because that would just make too much sense. Nope, my leak is somewhere on the driver side door frame. I don’t know where—I’ve looked at all the rubber and it looks perfectly normal, no wear and tear. I thought it might be the little do-jiggy that holds up the visor because that was never properly installed and I keep having to screw it back in every so often. But I found moisture on the frame of the door the other day.

I think that until I can get money saved up (first I’ll have to find out how much it costs to find and repair something like this) I will try to locate a car-cover. I have to do something. I live in Central Florida and it’s the rainy season. For those who’ve never lived here, that means there’s a thunder storm every day, and some of them are very heavy. (And most of them have nothing to do with tropical storms or hurricanes.)

Maybe the next time I move, I’ll move to a desert where there isn’t so much moisture and mildew around…

Mean TV

Reality TV is trying to convince the world (or at least unconcious Americans) that all English people are mean.

Think about it: "American Idol," "So You Think You Can Dance," "Hell's Kitchen..."

They should rename "Mean English People TV."

Stupid Reality TV.

Domesticated

I put ottomans on layaway at Wal-Mart today. I feel so domesticated.

Rainy Thoughts Meandering Minds

The rainy season is here again. It has come to help douse the fires from the dry season.

For that reason alone, I welcome it. But there are other reasons, too.

The sky here is always beautiful to me. I have said that many times and will probably continue repeating it, because it is something I feel very deeply.

When the rainy season comes, the sky becomes a constant study in nearly every possible cloud formation you can imagine. Often, there are dozens of different types of formation all combined to make a tapestry of shapes in varying shades of blue, grey, and white.

Even though rainy weather makes me sleepy, the sky will always send me to a different place in my mind. Somehow, it manages to avoid becoming gloomy about 80% of the time. It’s only during the very most dreary moments of a heavy downpour that I feel the melancholy that rain always brought me at home in Virginia.

And it seems more common here than in Virginia that you have a steady downpour happening even while you are shading your eyes from bright sunlight. I saw that happen maybe once a year in Virginia, but here in Florida it seems to happen once a day. It happened just the other day when Deb and I were driving to the brand new Sonic for lunch. Of course, we had to break out in a chorus “I wanna know; have you ever seen the rain; coming down on sunny days?” It’s a rule. You have to sing that line whenever you see rain on a sunny day.

Not everyone who migrates here from Virginia feels the same way as I do. Up until Saturday, I had a neighbor across the way who moved here from just 30 minutes away from where I grew up. He lived here for several months, and I tried several times to catch up with him when we were home at the same time, but it never worked out. Then, Saturday, Johanna from downstairs called me while I was washing McD’s off my skin. She said that Aaron was moving out and leaving his furniture.

So I went over to look at a couple of things and finally got the chance to talk to him. Life and its silly ways. What are ya’ gonna do?

Anyway, I did like the furniture, so I kept the futon and entertainment center and moved them into my spare room. Actually, I didn’t move them. Louis and Mike moved them for me. Aaron did enough just taking the big pieces of the entertainment center apart in such a way that I could reassemble it. It took him about and hour to dismantle it. It took me about 20 minutes to put it back together. But then, I had an Alan wrench. Girls with tools: watch out!

The other benefit of taking this furniture, which by the way is practically brand new and FREE, is that I finally did something to that spare room. I never really unpacked my towels and linens and such because there is absolutely no storage in this apartment. So I have kept out the primary pieces I use, but the rest has been in a huge box back there. Now I unpacked that box, plus several boxes of books, music, etc., and loaded up the entertainment center with it all. Hey, no one said I HAD to put a TV on it. It’s mine; I can use it how I see fit. So now, the mattress and box spring that were taking up the floor in hopes of me EVER having company are on the walkway, leaning against my front window with a great big tarp over them.

Louis and his wife (whose name starts with an “E” and that’s all I can be sure of) are going to try to take Aaron’s apartment and will probably take the mattress and box spring off my hands when they do. Right now they are in a one-bedroom, which is about 2/3 the size of my place with even less storage per square foot. They want to move into Aaron’s place and have a guest bedroom. I think Louis’ wife will probably make him sleep there with his great big TV so she can have some peace and quiet in her room. But that’s their business.

Binks and Mr. Bond are totally enjoying having another room to wander in again. Their little world had gotten much smaller because I was so fed up with Binks knocking down the closet doors in my bedroom. And they weren’t allowed in the spare room because I couldn’t get to them once they were in there. So now, as long as Binks doesn’t become the bane of the closet in that room, they have a slightly less constricted world. Don’t worry; I’ve already covered the futon with a sheet to reduce the shedding effects.

There’s another shuttle launch scheduled this weekend. Right now there’s a big to-do about it because the two top safety people at NASA said they didn’t want another launch to happen until the foam ramps are made more secure. But the top officials above them said, “Oh, it’s OK little scaredie-cats. If the ramps cause a problem, we’ll just strand the astronauts on the space station while we argue about the rescue shuttle that has the same exact problem.” Of course, there’s also the issue of “What happens if the foam ramp causes AN EXPLOSION, you big dumb jerks?! What will you do for the astronauts then?” Oy!

I do still look forward to the launch though. It should be interesting (if it actually goes up on Saturday) to watch from whatever bar in Melbourne I happen to be paused at. My hash group is having a pub crawl on Saturday; sort of a pre-July 4th event.

There’s also the fun of watching the tourists in RV’s, SUV’s, vans and tents get in trouble because they parked right next to one of the thousands of signs posted along US 1 that say “ABSOLUTELY NO PARKING ANY TIME.” I think there is an addendum in invisible ink that says “ESPECIALLY DURING A SHUTTLE LAUNCH.” And what’s more fun is guessing how much the locals will ask for parking in their lawns. The Towers where I used to live put a sign up that said “$20 for the day.” I didn’t care as long as no one parked in my spot. That won’t be a problem where I am now. You can’t see the cape from this place, and it’s gated anyway.

But you can see launches once they’re up in the air from here. Last Friday a rocket launched at about 6:15 pm. All the neighbors were out in the parking lot or on the walkways watching for it, drinking beer and barbequeing. It was great. I was out on my walkway with a glass of wine and some oriental left-overs. The cats were very confused and anxious when I came back inside. Their little eyes were as big as saucers. It was very cute.

I hate the walls in my apartment. I hate apartment walls anyway. They are always bland, some horribly neutral color with no warmth or imagination, and they are always covered with at least a dozen layers of paint from all the past tenants. In trying to think of what would make them more bearable to me, the future of said walls has morphed through many phases. First, I was going to paint them pale shades of colors like Moss, Heather, Sun Gold, etc. Then I thought that if I painted them an actual color, I was going to have to UNPAINT them whenever it came time for me to move. (This is because I am cheap and want my entire deposit back. If I didn't care about the deposit, I would just not repaint the walls.) Then, I said, OK, I just do a hi-lite sort of thing using the same dry-brush tecniques I use when I paint ceramics. The walls are all textured, so I could just touch the tops of the bumps and ridges with the color of choice. The same issue came back to haunt me—I’d have to unpaint it before moving. Then I said, “Oh! I can paint a pattern onto the wall, like a big Celtic Knot or something! That would be really nifty.” Then the other little voice in my head (the one that takes all the fun out of everything) said “Dummy, if you do that, not only will you have to cover it up when you leave; but you’ll also have to match the covered up area to the original color. Way worse than just repainting the whole wall!” So, the newest plan is this: I have purchased one long canvas, and two tiny canvases. I need to purchase two more tiny canvases for the current incarnation of my plan. The long canvas will be painted with a symbol of eternity from one of my books on Celtic lore and traditions. Above this will be hung my Beech walking stick (the one I call my Druid Staff) stretched out the length of the canvas and mounted on decorative long nails (or just regular long nails, which I will paint to be less obvious). This arrangement will be above the love seat on the longer wall in the living room. The (soon to be) four tiny canvases will contain various designs from nature and/or Celtic or Native American culture. Above these will be mounted my shorter walking stick, which I believe is Oak, that my father found and whittled into smoothness for me. This arrangement will reside above the long sofa on the smaller wall in the living room. Yes, I know the long sofa is on the short wall and the love seat is on the long wall. It’s my home; leave me alone.

So that’s my big plan to make the walls less annoying here. Of course I still don’t know what to do with the walls in the other two rooms, but I have all the way until I decide to move out to worry about that. No big hurry; it doesn’t look like I will be receiving any windfalls any time soon, and I’m not going anywhere until I can afford something better. My palm tree house has its plusses, but I really would like to work my way up into a higher income neighborhood one day.

Coffee Pots and Good Weatheer

If the temperatures would be like this year round, I would be completely ecstatic. We’re in another “cold snap” where the temps are starting out in the 60’s, moving upwards into the 70’s and dropping back into the 60’s throughout the course of the day. MMMMM, that’s nice.

So, today the weather played this same game again. I worked until 1:00, as usual. When I got off, I rolled down my windows and drove home the long way so I could have the river view for my short little trip. I got home and got my shower as usual, but decided I didn’t really want a nap. The cats were so disappointed. Actually they were more disappointed that I didn’t put food down for them. It wasn’t time yet.

However, it was time to replace my coffee pot. Yep, less than a year here and I’m already on my second coffee pot. I have no idea what happened. I’ve used this coffee maker every morning since I got here. I used it Thursday morning with no problems. Friday morning I got up and followed the usual ritual of setting up the pot and turning it on while I fired up the computer and turned on the 24 hour news channel (that repeats the same news every 30 minutes). Usually, by the time the computer’s up and at it, the coffee is ready and waiting for me to pour my first cup. And usually life is good at that point.

Friday morning there was no joy at the pouring of the first cup of coffee. There was no first cup of coffee. There was no coffee.

THERE WAS NO COFFEE! (Coffee addicts everywhere are all groaning in understanding of this horrific revelation.)

My best guess is that something happened to the electronics. The light lit up but the water and pot warmer never heated up. So it didn’t percolate and nothing went into the carafe. How depressing.

Realizing I was not going to function without some form of caffeine, I drank the dregs of a diet coke I had in the fridge, quickly showered and dressed (thank goodness it was jeans day!) and left early to go the long way around so I could hit 7-11 (oh thank heaven…).

I repeated this Saturday and Sunday mornings (only 3 hours earlier) and by this afternoon I had had enough of not having my own *$^% coffee pot anymore.

So today after my shower, I put on public clothes (as opposed to clothes you wear to scrub the bathroom or sleep in) and headed down to Sears. I had been to Wal-Mart (the social center of Titusville on the weekends) on Friday night, but they only had fancy-pants 12-cup programmable monsters or 2-cup baby coffee pots. I am a staunch 4-6 cup woman and would not settle for either extreme, so I left sans coffee pot on Friday.

Today at Sears I wandered around looking at everything BUT coffee pots until I realized I would be truly sorry if I didn’t accomplish my mission. So I wandered up to a counter and asked the clerk if they sell coffee pots. He said no and I got ready to head back to Wal-Mart for an oversized, over-fancy monster. As I was walking away he said, “We do sell coffee makers though.” I resisted the urge to turn around and explain to this snide little puppy just how dangerous a game he was playing. You do not get smart about coffee pots/makers/machines (whatever) to a woman who has had to go 7 miles out of her way every morning for three days in a row to get a 20 oz. cup of not-what-she-wanted-when-she-got-up-that-day. Especially one who is cranky (with or without the coffee issues), and thinking all men need to stay the heck out of her way right now.

Instead, I turned and smiled and said, “Oh, really? Where do you hide them?”

“Just head straight back into that corner there by the restrooms, ma’am.” I don’t know if he was trying to make up for being smart with me (I’m sure my face showed what was flashing in my head in spite of my quick recovery) or if he was trying to get even more smart with me. All I know is there was not a cash register on his head when I walked away and that was a good thing for me because I don’t like the thought of jail.

I found the coffee pots. As in Wal-Mart, my choices remained a two-cupper or a 12-cupper. Still not happy, I searched under, around, and behind every item that resembled any part of a device intended to put caffeine into my body. I finally found a straight 4-cupper with no fancy programming gadgets that brush your teeth after your last cup or whatever. It was not a 4-6-cupper, so I will most likely be making a second pot on some mornings. We’ll just have to see how that goes.

Tomorrow will be the first pot of coffee from this machine. I took the time to unpack and scrub it thoroughly so it would be ready for me tomorrow. Woe be unto the earth if this fails to bring me coffee.

My actual point before I got side-tracked by my coffee-fury was about the beautiful weather today. Once I was done buying my new coffee pot, I decided the weather was way too gorgeous to spend cooped up in my apartment. So I put on my walking shoes and headed out for a walk.

I’ve mentioned the stretch of trees next to the north side of my complex. Today I decided to explore it. I took a jacket with me, which I appreciated a great deal in the woods, and removed and tied around my waist (Hamptonian style) once I was back out on roadways. I soon learned the dirt road on the property stretches all the way through to the road that runs parallel to my road. Enjoying this tidbit, I decided to follow it around to the cross road that connects them so that I made a full circle. The weather was so beautiful and I felt so good just being outside that I didn’t pay the least bit of attention to how far I had gone, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was about a 2-mile circle. (Not the diameter, the outside of the circle was 2 miles around.) It was a very nice walk and I hope to repeat it often. I passed along side a nice little park I didn’t know was there, and pretty little cemetery. And the people I passed were all friendly and said “Hi” back to me, which never EVER happened when I lived in the Towers. It was very nice.

So that’s my big adventure this weekend. Several of my friends from the Hash down here, and apparently some of my friends from the Hash in Virginia were at Daytona Bike Week having a blast. I had been jealous of them until I took that walk, especially when one of them drunk-dialed me while I was at Deb’s house Friday night. I think I had quite enough fun now that I think back on it. Good food and good wine with a good friend, and a good walk today. Life is good today. And it will be good tomorrow if my new coffee pot works like it should.

Kitty-Enforced Naps and New Toys

Binks and Mr. Bond continue to be the joys of my life. Even when I have to spend an hour trying to vacuum their black fur off my cream colored furniture.

So this weekend when I had no special plans for my extra time off, I did my usual Saturday afternoon event. I came home from McD’s, scrubbed off the eau de grease, and took a nap. Only, this time I took my nap on the couch. Not on purpose, mind you. I sat on the couch to spend a few minutes with them before going to my room, where the fan was blowing on high and the pillows were calling my name.

I was hoping that if I spent a few minutes with them first, they would let me take my nap in peace instead of spending the entire time trying to dig me out of my room by banging the bedroom door.

Well, I got a nice long nap right there on the couch. Binks, the primary perpetrator of all Kitty-Enforced Naps, climbed up onto to my lap to give a verbal lashing for earning money to feed to him. In the process, he began purring and padding, as cats do. Not long after that, I was comatose on the sofa with a throw blanket, a cat, and a pile of pillows under my feet.

So much for my brief nap with the alarm set so I would wake up and have a Saturday later on…

I slept until about 4:00. I got up in time to feed the fur-bellies and decide I didn’t want to do laundry after all. Sunday turned out to be a repeat of Saturday. Usually Sundays are much easier at McD’s, but not this time. The Daytona 500 was happening about an hour north of here and my location is right on one of the primary routes from South FL to Daytona. We were packed since before we opened. When I got home the thought of laundry never even entered my mind.

I did take my usual nap, though—in my bed, under covers, with pillows, but without the alarm set. When I got up, I fed us all and watched the movies I had rented. Rather, I slept through the movies I had rented because…a cat was on my lap.

Monday I had the option of working at Summit. As much as I needed to be there closing calls, my body and spirit needed a day off a lot worse. So I took the day off. I slept in until 8 am, then read my book in bed until about 9. Eventually, I crawled to the surface and came out to give the fur bellies their morning treats. Then, I went to breakfast at Cracker Barrel, just beyond the interstate, and I followed that with a stimulating visit to Wal-Mart (the social center of Titusville on the weekends and all federal holidays) for groceries.

One of the things on my list to buy was kitty litter, so I made my way over to the pet isle and picked up a 30-poiund box. While there I spied an item that peaked my interest—especially since it claimed to be the cure for my black fur/cream furniture curse. It’s this flat piece of wood (carpeted of course) with a bristly wire piece that forms an arch in the middle of it. The bristly part is supposed to be fun for cats to rub against; it’s supposed to catch their fur like a great big brush and hold it there until you suck it off with a vacuum. Oh, and it has a compartment where you hide catnip to lure your cats into its clutches.

I bought into it 100%, and I bought it and brought it home. I figured “Hey, it’s only 14 bucks. If it works, I’ve saved myself hours of labor and frustration. If it doesn’t, I’ve wasted 14 bucks.”

I’m glad it was the last thing to come in the door. And I’m glad my cats don’t have claws. It was obvious that I would have to put it together before I could put my groceries away. The cats were circling it like it was their prey and they were wild cats from the outback. Every now and then they slinked up close enough to bat at it and take a deeper whiff. When I took the two pieces out of the box to assemble it, they began attacking the box in earnest. Before I had snapped the two pieces together (very complex design) Mr. Bond had crawled inside the 2-inch-deep box and flattened himself out like a squashed toad on the pavement. All I could see were his back paws and his tail sticking out of the box lid, and every now and then the box would hop a little where he attacked (nothing) the inside walls of it.

Being the notorious cat tormentor that I am, I couldn’t resist the urge to play “slap at the cat’s behind when he’s stuck in a box that’s too small for him.” So, I made a “fftt” noise and poked at his rump. I never would have believed he could get out of that box that fast and that easily. I think he actually turned around inside it. My Dad loves to call him the little clown because he looks so comical with some of the things he does. Dad would have laughed his butt off if he’d witnessed that moment.

Finally, the cat-nip scrubby thing with carpet and bristles was put together and I left the cats to explore it while I put away my groceries. The box took a bit more of a beating as each time the cats traded places (a different cat won the battle of possession of the cat-nip) the loser took it out on the box.

By the time the groceries were all stowed I had to pull the box remnants away from Mr. Bond so I could walk to the dumpster with it. I wasn’t leaving it in the house to be further demolished and make even MORE of a cardboard mess on my carpet.

As I watched the cats get to know their new friend, I anticipated, with great élan, the joy of not having to vacuum my couch and love seat so often…

I should have seen it coming. They loved it, that was clear. But the bristly part didn’t get nearly the attention the rest of it did. The carpeted wood piece was the container of the cat-nip, and therefore was the source of all of life’s joy and pleasure. The base could be worshipped and loved upon with no limitations. And it was.

But the arch of bristly blackness just stuck up off the top of the base like…well…like an arch of bristly blackness. It bore no special feature to draw the attention of the drug-addict fur-bellies. Except for the 30 seconds Mr. Bond spent scraping his chin along it. I’ll have to keep an eye out for that to make sure he doesn’t tear his chin up again.

So now it is Tuesday night. I’ve had a long day made worse by system problems at work on the first day back after a 3-day weekend…in the financial industry.

After work, I stopped in at the nail place and got a fill and had my claws shortened (so I could type), then I came home and ignored all the good food I’d cooked up this weekend. I warmed up a bowl of Chef Boyardee mini ravioli and had a glass of wine and a slice of white bread with butter on it while I watched “Ladder 49”—an excellent movie that I highly recommend viewing.

As I watched the movie, the cats took turns climbing up in my face (because I should be looking at them and not some silly cry-movie) and curling up on the floor with at least one paw touching the new cat-nip of wonderful goodness at all times.

Life with cats. There’s another way to live? I don’t think so.

Full Circle

Or maybe, full sphere, except it's squashed.

I mean the moon. And I say full circle because here we are back on the full moon, which is right where I left off.

So I spoke to my sister today. "You haven't blogged in a long time," she said.

"I know. There really hasn't been anything going on that I felt was blog worthy," I replied.

It's true. I've been all wrapped up in work and thinking about my Mom, who was ill, but is apparently better now. I just haven't taken time to fully observe the little moments that have happened in my life lately because nothing seemed as powerful as the concern I felt for her well-being.

Deb and I have had this conversation a couple of times about how she hasn't cried since her younger son was a very small boy. I tell her it's because within her emotional self, nothing else can compare to the sheer terror and anguish at the thought of her baby boy suffering.

It's been the same for me with Mom, made that much worse because I couldn't see for myself what was going on; I had to wait for someone back home to fill me in, and often broke down and called to check when I felt I had gone too long without news.

So, why didn't I blog about it? For the same reason I went to call my best friend about 50 times and hung the phone up before I dialed. As soon as I went to start, the tears would come and I could no longer focus on what I wanted to do, and couldn't talk past the frog in my throat if my life had depended on it. I finally got to where I could e-mail her, and when she called me I cried all over the phone, which, of course, is what I needed to do. There is a very good reason she is my best friend. I had spoken to Rick, and I cried when I spoke to him, but it's not the same as the full-hearted boo-hoo that only family or best friends let you do.

Well, that was a very long an emotional break from where I was really going. Apparently, I still haven't quite gotten into focus, but it's coming soon.

Today, when I was speaking to Ann, I mentioned that I had to go to Wal-Mart because Rick is coming over tomorrow to help me (by) hang(ing) my curtains and I needed 2 more rods. I was whining because I didn't want to go to Wal-Mart in Titusville on a weekend. Wal-Mart is bad enough during the week, but on the weekends it is the social center of Titusville - a fact that has made Deb depressed more times than I can count. There's just nothing around here. Titusville is the kind of town that, when you're in the middle of nowhere on the interstate, you pull off at a truck stop for gas/food/potty breaks. Actually, I think there is a truck stop by the interstate. There's a little flurry of business right there by I-95, including a Denny's, a couple of hotels, some other restaurants, a Lowe's, Staples, and of course, Wal-Mart, the social center of Titusville on the weekend.

So when I whined about how busy it was going to be, Ann said, "You should go at 4:00 when the race comes on TV."

"But I was hoping to be taking a nap then. I have to finish this housework, then I was going to take a shower, then a nap."

"So rearrange your schedule a little and take the shower and nap now so you can go out then. It's not hard to do." (Well, yes it is, but it's only because I'm stubborn.)

So, after looking at my vacuum and thinking I'd rather eat live snakes than touch it right then, I decided to follow her advice. I took a hot shower to scrape the McD's off my skin, turned my fan up to full blast and laid down for about an hour.

When I got up, I vacuumed the floors and sofa and love seat (*&^% black haired cats and cream colored furniture), and walked my recycling down to the big bins the complex maintains for us. Then I got my list together and verified how much I had left in my checking account.

I realized I still hadn't deposited my McD's check from Friday, so I wrote out a deposit slip and put it in an envelope with the check so I could slip it in the night drop. Since I was going to the credit union, which is out on SR 1, along the Indian River, I decided to go the long way so I could ride along the water as long as possible. That paid off ten fold at least.

Riding along the water, I occasionally looked out my driver side window at the almost dusk sky. When I cleared a stand of palm trees, I was stunned by the beauty of a brilliantly white full moon coming up over the water. It was luminous to point of looking incandescent. The sky around it was that beautiful water-color merging from slate gray to soft blue to lavender to rose to orange... You get the picture. Below this was the Cape stretching out long and thin, with the VAB standing tall and proud to the south.

I quickly decided that one brief glimpse in passing was not enough for a sight like that. I made a U-turn and pulled into the abandoned parking lot that had the break in the trees that brought me all this splendor. I pulled up to the end of the lot and parked. I sat there for at least 15 minutes just watching the beautiful orb make her slow and steady way upwards into the evening sky. Framed by the palm trees on either side of the opening, it all looked like a picture from a post card. Except that couldn't possibly do it justice. There is something very calming about watching a moonrise - more so, I think than watching a sunrise, which I miss terribly by the way. I can't see it from my new place because there are buildings in the way. Sigh.

So, anyway, thanks, Ann! Not only did you get me out at just the right time, but you gave me something to blog about!

Danger Days

It's Friday the 13th, there's a full moon out there, and a thunder storm just passed through. It was actually a pretty cool storm. But you know, when I put all three of those together, I just get a little nervous...

The Palm Tree House

My living room looks out over a dorm-like balcony entrance, the walkway that stretches across the four apartments on my floor. Directly beside this balcony/walkway, there are three tall palm trees whose branches (fronds?) dangle just low enough to be seen under the walkway’s covering.

Today is January 8 and the temperature is a frigid 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Well, for Florida, this is frigid. There were frost warnings all over Brevard County last night because the overnight temperatures would approach freezing for the first time this season. On January 8, it’s the first time temperatures have dropped this low. I try not to laugh when people say “It’s so cold outside!” I’m not even from the North, just the Mid-Atlantic region, and I still find this very amusing.

My very nice neighbors downstairs are more susceptible to the chill in the air. I can tell they’ve had their heat on quite a bit already, mainly because I keep finding myself having to run the air to combat it--not today though.

Today I came home from McD’s and opened up all the windows while I did some much needed housework. Four words can fully explain the most difficult and most tedious task I had today: “black cats” and “vanilla couches.” Always aware of the possible solutions to this problem, I steadfastly refuse to give in and continue to vacuum the dark fur from the fabric of my $400 loveseat/sofa set, with its 11 pillows, also covered in fur.

Having completed the main part of my chores for today, I found myself sitting on the freshly vacuumed and fluffed sofa, looking out my front window and feeling very much like I was sitting in one of the many tree houses (and deer stands) that graced the woods that once stretched behind my family’s home in Virginia. Well, I would feel MORE like that if these were Oak, or Maple, or even Pine. But there is a very large Oak (of some kind…possibly a variation of Pin Oak?) that has grown tall and thick at the base of the stairs leading to my apartment. I can see it its branches just beyond the palm trees.

Actually, this complex has many trees and it bears a certain peaceful atmosphere. If you let that atmosphere into your being, you get a sort of sylvan wistfulness. If I’m not careful, I may drift off into one of my Elvin fantasies. I’ll try to stay focused a little longer, though.

This afternoon, I am looking out my front window, through the palm trees at the sun shining on the building across the parking lot. Behind the building, more trees stretch tall and green and beautiful, showing a lovely contrast between shadow and light—one of my favorite things to see. The space to the left of my view is currently still wooded—my apartment is on the Northwest corner of the property and the land to the north is all wooded (for now). There is a large ditch that runs along this side of the property. If it were just a touch wider and deeper, I would consider it more of a canal, but it’s not, so it’s still a ditch. Not quite a river, but at least I still have trees and water near me.

I’m apparently in a very mystical mood today. Everything around me is taking me towards one of those fairy tale journeys, and I’m not succeeding at resisting the pull. I think I’ll light some candles and switch my Media Player play-list over from Rock to Mood Music. That sounds like a great way to end my long day—that and a Lavender scented soak in my freshly scrubbed bathtub. Mmmmm…