Strange Times We're Living In...

The call came down a week ago: due to the spread of the coronavirus, the city of Pinellas Park (Florida) was canceling it's annual Country in the Park event. These are strange times we're living in.

This was supposed to be the 30th Annual celebration that the city puts on every March, starting in 1991. The city's annual Chili Blaze Cook-Off, held the day before the County in the Park, was also canceled. The Chili Blaze, run by the city's Fire Department, raises money for Muscular Dystrophy.

In a way, it was probably a bit of a relief to have both canceled. My youngest son, J., and I had never missed a Country in the Park celebration; M., my next-to-youngest, had only missed one (2018) due to a work schedule, as well as what probably turned out to be the lamest of the annual event. By the time M. got off work, J. and I had already headed home, not lasting more than maybe half-an-hour. Fortunately, last year's was somewhat better, and, with the fees for local arts and crafts people reduced to what it had been, years earlier, as well as what seemed like a ramped-up musical stage, it looked like this year's event would be good.

Country in the Park, 2019



Pinellas Park Art Society's booth at the 2019 Country in the Park



But the flip side was the fact that the state and federal governments were warning people about being in large groups. First it was to avoid any group greater than 250 people, especially for anyone over a certain age or who had any underlying conditions. Then, it was avoid any gatherings greater than 50, then 10. It was crazy. And, because the annual events - both the Country in the Park and the Chili Blaze Cook-off - tended to bring out a large portion of the city's population, both events were canceled.

While I completely understood the cancelation, it just felt strange not heading out: it was the third Saturday in March, we'd gone to so many of the yearly events, and when things are getting a little stressful (which this whole coronavirus this is), it's nice having something fun to look forward to.

2011 Chili Blaze





Crowd, 2012 Chili Blaze



While M. and I had gone to only two of the Chili Blazes the night before the Country in the Park (both in 2011 and 2012), the Chili Blaze was always popular, have food and bands to help attract crowds.

Band, Chili Blaze





Suite Caroline, Chili Blaze 2012





All told, with any luck, both events - Chili Blaze and Country in the Park - will be back next year. Hopefully, the coronavirus won't make people too scared to start gathering together in the future.

We can only hope.

Vendors, Country in the Park

Another Thanksgiving Come and Gone

Yesteday was Thanksgiving. I think of it as Paul's and my holiday, of a variety of reasons, some of which I posted several years ago (has it really been nine years? hmmm...). It had to do with my inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner, us both unintentionally standing the other up, joking the following year about having to get married to get a turkey dinner, only to have it be turkey bologna (the person whose benefit we did that for didn't buy what we were saying), then getting four turkeys the Thanksgiving after he died.

There are so many memories when it comes to holidays. But then, that goes along with life in general. Holidays, though, seem to be a condensed version of life, in that everyone who's able to gets together, rather than the occasional one-on-one.

I had originally thought of getting up at five yesterday morning, but then set the alarm for six. (Five a.m. is just too obscene a time to get up, especially to jump right into holiday cooking.) By the time I had the second set of pies in the oven (apple; the first two were pumpkin, which came after baking pumpkin bread), the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was on. My sons and I watched/listened while they dealt with computers and I worked on the day's dinner.

M. had mentioned that it'd be great to watch the original Miracle on 34th Street right after the parade. We watch it every year, usually in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I had given him a copy of it last year for Christmas, and he really wanted to watch it after the parade. No problem.

Part of me had wanted to go for a walk after the parade was over. It has been part of my holiday ritual for years, not only on Thanksgiving, but also Christmas and Easter. I've made mention of the walk several times over the years: near the end of a December 2012 post, a post from this past April, dealing with an Easter walk. This second one had me a little down, as I really didn't want to see how much more of the wooded area had been destroyed. On the other hand, the subtle changes are sometimes good, and usually interesting. But then, I also wasn't sure when my daughter and granddaughter would be here. I knew when I'd told them dinner would be close to ready, but I didn't want to leave, in case they came early, and wanted to do something else, like, say going to the beach, as we did last year.

But in the end, I didn't go for a walk. I might, sometime this weekend.

M.H. and G. arrived shortly before five. Dinner still had a little ways to go (not long, but enough...) and while stuff was cooking, G. and I talked while she helped peel potatoes and M.H. worked on homework for school. (She's back in college while working, something I'd done years earlier.)

When dinner was finally ready, everyone ate too much (what else is new, right?), and we talked, and basically had an enjoyable time.

After dinner, as I started clearing the table, M.H. started doing the dishes. At first, I thought she was only going to do a few, but the next thing I knew, the only thing left was the roaster pan, which was left to soak in the sink. Everything else had been cleaned!

After my daughter and granddaughter left, I thought about the first Thanksgiving they were back in Florida. So much has changed over the years.

No matter the holiday, there are always memories for all of us, I thought, as I got out the boxes of Christmas cards to start addressing (another tradition - starting the cards on Thanksgiving evening). Hope your day was good...

The More Things Change...

I've been doing a bit of thinking lately about how much things change, and not just the little things, either. October does that for me, puts me in a reminiscent-type frame of mind.

As far as the big/little things are, what might be a little thing to one person can be a big thing for someone else. If you don't see someone for a while, it might (or might not) be a big thing. But if that person has died, it's definitely a much bigger thing for that person, and his or her family. I'm thinking my friend Kevin. While I hadn't seen or spoken with him in several years, and while it might have been a small thing in the grand scheme of the world, it was still sort-of a big thing for us (my family and me), and definitely a much bigger thing for him and what's left of his family.

There were reasons we hadn't spoken for a while, but that's neither here nor there. I figured we had known each other for several decades. He's also the very last person I knew from when we both drove cab whom I had had even the slightest contact with, so with his death, it's like an entire chapter of my life is closed.

My sons and I have lived in the same house in what seems like forever. While some of the neighbors are the same ones who lived in the neighborhood when we moved in, the majority have moved. I can point to a house, and remember that the guy who drove a race car on the local circuit and worked on the car on weekends lived there, then sold the house to S. and C., who had their twins while they lived there, who then sold it to B., who...Well, you get the idea. And while some of the change, no matter how minor, is understandable and do-able, some of it can be almost disconcerting.

I used to walk/run for years. It's easy enough exercise: you put on your shorts and a t-shirt, sneakers, and head out the door, work up a sweat, then come home and get on with your day. I even blogged about it for a while.

I'm trying to get back into it, though I haven't done it near as much as I used to. When one hasn't exercised for a while, it takes time to ease back into.

For a while, my walks included bringing Osha along. (I've posted about Osha here in the past, including "A Tail of Two Cats (and a Dog and another Cat.") She was a sweetheart; it was tough when she passed.

Osha





When I wasn't walking Osha, I'd pass by a nearby stable and house on maybe 10 acres or so of land. For a while, there were quite a few horses stabled there. Then, slowly, the numbers dwindled until there was only one horse, a graying old mare named Smoky.



She would frequently be grazing in the middle of one field. One morning, I brought along a carrot, and managed to get her to come over to the fence, where she received the carrot for her troubles.

"Don't forget to bring a carrot for the horse," Paul would tell me when I'd start lacing up the sneakers. It even got to the point where Paul would ask if we had carrots whenever we'd go to the store.

Finally, the stable started filling up with horses, which made the scenery nicer during my run. (Smoky was still the only horse who got carrots, though.)













Maybe two years ago, I noticed there were no longer any horses at the stable. Smoky had died, according to one of the old men who worked at the stable. And then, the house started looking rough. The city bought it when the renter could no longer afford it, and the owner couldn't sell it. The house got demolished and slowly, the stable started falling apart. It was a little disheartening.

Another change, though I've posted it here once or twice: Paul has passed, as have numerous family members.

Paul



A friend rented our spare room for a short while, years before he quit driving cab, before his health took a dive. Family members were here, then moved; jobs, gotten and lost; scenery changes.

Thank goodness for memories...

My Friend, Kevin

The text hit my cell phone this morning when I turned it on. It was from my friend Kevin's brother, and it was to let me know that Kevin died last night.

I'd mentioned Kevin several times in this blog, though it had been a while since I mentioned him. I'd also posted a photo of Kevin in my photography blog, as well as an article on my production site in which Kevin figured in prominently ("Wait'll You Hear This One!" on this page).

Kevin and I met when we both drove cab in Florida. He started a few months after I did, then quit, finally coming back several months later, continuing through the beginning of 2015. I'd know him for more than 20 years. He was one of the last people I knew from my cab driving days.

He is responsible for my having two cats, as mentioned in "I've Gone to the Cats...". He'd given us Karma; we then adopted Drexie to keep Karma company.

Kev and his dad had shared an apartment for years. Then, when Dad had died (everyone who knew Kev well got to the point where they'd just call his dad Dad, rather than "your dad"), Kevin moved into our spare bedroom for a while. It worked out for a while...until it didn't, at which point, we had him move out.

Shortly after he moved in, one of his brothers died. There had been a total of four brothers and one sister. In the year or two after Kev moved out, another brother and his sister died. Then it was only Kev and his brother, J.C. (yes, I'm using only his initials here, for his privacy).

J.C. and I would touch base periodically about Kev. The last time was maybe a couple of months ago, when I'd texted about any news. J.C. had called and let me know that Kev was in bad shape, but was, at least, in a place where he was getting care, meals, a bed...

Then, this morning, the text from J.C. that Kevin had passed away. I called back shortly after noon, got J.C.'s voicemail, and left a message. He called back after this six.

We both agreed that Kevin had been difficult at times, but that we both had plenty of good Kevin memories.

"At least he's not in pain any more," J.C. mentioned, and I agreed.

Yes, there were difficult times, some of which led to his moving out, but which I won't go into here; it wouldn't serve any purpose. But there are plenty of good memories. It's hard losing a friend, especially one of the last remaining friends from a particular time in my (and Kevin's) life.

Kevin, you'll be missed. Peace, my friend. This song's for you (it was one of his favorites, that I know about): Low Rider.

Possibly the Last Holiday Walk...Or Not

After disappearing from here for a while, I'm finally back to posting with some regularity (I hope). I'm going to give it a darn good shot!

This past Sunday was Easter, a time when many of us have family over for a holiday meal and to just hang out.

I know, I know, it's also a religious day, as in holy day. But that's beside the point. Most of us have traditions that get us through the holidays, the days, years, which is the point I'm getting to.

Years ago, when I'd quit driving cab, but my better half still drove, I decided to take a walk through a nearby park after putting the turkey into the oven. I'd already bake the pies, and wouldn't have to start the mashed potatoes, etc. for a few hours, so since the back entrance to the park is only a few houses away, I figured I'd burn some calories from the big meal ahead of time.

I picked one of the horse trails that I usually didn't go through the rest of the year for several reasons. It would take a good hour to head to the end of the trail and back; the scenery was a little different, and therefore, seemed a little more of a tradition (the holiday path is how I came to think of it); and the old standard, "just because." It was nice seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday.

Palm Frond, Easter, 2010



For the record, the holidays I'd go out for this walk remained the same three: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. I tried keeping up with this tradition, even after my better half retired. He'd use the time for a nap (who can't use a nap or two on the holidays!), while I got my alone time wandering through the wooded park. True, there were some holidays when I didn't make it out: One Christmas, it rained most of the day; another year, I'd fallen off a ladder the end of October, and wasn't up to a walk on Thanksgiving. But for the most part, it remained that tradition.

Most of the time, I'd walk through the park by myself, though there were a few times when my next-to-youngest son, M., came with me. We'd talk about different things, but one thing that sticks out is this: There are lamps throughout the park to light up the horse path around twilight. These lamps are very cool looking, almost retro-ish, like something you'd expect to see in early twentieth century London. And so, one Thanksgiving, M. mentioned that these lamps reminded him of C.S. Lewis's Narnia series. I asked M. about them, as I knew that there were two different orders of the books: the order in which Lewis wrote them, and the chronological order of them. M. used most of the hour-long walk to regale me about the books.

Then, on Christmas, M. came with me again.

"See that lamp?" he asked, pointing out the first one. "It reminds me of the lamps in Narnia." And he was off and gabbing. When Easter came, and M. came with me, I pointed out the lamp, then requested he not spend the hour talking about Narnia. (By the way, I now am the proud owner of the entire series. That's it, I have to read them!)

The only photo of one of the lamps. It's half-way down the path on the left-hand side. Look close...




I enjoyed seeing the subtle changes from holiday to holiday, year to year. One part of the woods always seemed easy to spot change. It was a stand of pale trees that looked different from most of the trees throughout the park. They were on my left, just before the turn-around point, and had a short path through them that went to part of a recreation center.

Lighter barked trees







Path, from rec center to horse path



Slowly, over the years, the stand changed, shifted. Trees fell, younger ones grew, the path disappeared, so that it's no longer there. It looks almost a total wreck.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Several years ago, on my Easter walk, I was tired, and had trouble keeping up my usual pace. So, I took my time, looking around at the different trees, the changes in the park, that sort of thing. I was actually exhausted, and probably should have stayed home, but after a few rough months - getting rid of a difficult roommate, losing my mom - I wanted to get out for my traditional walk. That was the first time I noticed what I've come to think of as the dancing tree.

Dancing Tree, Thanksgiving 2017



And again, Easter, 2019



Half-way to the end of the path - or, rather, my turn-around spot - the path turns to the left. Looking straight ahead, just before one turns, is a row of homes that were built several years ago. They weren't there the first few years I went for my walk. Now, I'm used to them, and enjoy hearing families talking in that sometimes-quiet-often-boisterous way that the holidays bring out. I could always spot which houses had the gatherings in full swing by the amount of chatter coming from the open windows.

One year, I discovered this plant behind the new houses. Unfortunately, it was one of the plants that was cut back.





At the end of the short road that the new-ish homes are is a white fence, signaling a dead end. On the other side of the fence was a cool older Florida-style home. I was always intrigued by it. One year, I even noticed a sign by the garage: Park Taxi Parking Only. Park Taxi had been a cab company in Pinellas Park that was bought out almost 30 years ago by one of the bigger cab companies. My ex had worked for the owners of Park Taxi.

I wondered about the sign, and later discovered that the old taxi owner had bought the house. I knew that the owners had split up after selling Park Taxi, but hadn't realized that the male half of the equation had moved to this house.

The sign that first got my attention





W.'s house, garage, property



Back porch



After learning that it had belonged to W., had been, most likely, the last place he lived before he passed away, I had thought it would be interesting to consider buying the place. It's yard was right up against part of the park, was surrounded by a fence on the north side (the other side of the white fence was the end of a short street with fairly new, nice-looking houses), a stable on the south side, and woods around the property.

One of the last times I passed the house, maybe a year or more ago, the back porch was littered with beer cans, as though either homeless people had camped out there, or someone had broken in and had a party on the back porch.

Wow, I hope someone ends up buying the place and fixing it up nicely, I thought, realizing that I would probably never come up with a down payment.

But it turned out, it had been bought. No one moved into it. Instead, the house and woods were torn down to put in apartments.

Where W.'s house had been



There was also a huge stand of trees a little farther along, at my turn-around point, that was torn down, as homeless people frequently slept there.

Missing trees at the turn around point. This had been heavily wooded.



I hadn't seen the destruction of woods at the turn-around point or where W.'s house had been over Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018, as I had gone to the beach with my daughter, to relax and take photos (check out A Year (or More) of Photos, then type in either Thanksgiving or Christmas, 2018 for time spent there). But as I walked back home on Sunday, saddened by some of the changes, I began to realize that it might be time for a new holiday tradition - or, at least, a new place to walk.

October...

I realize that it's been a long darn time since I've posted here...I hope to change that long writing drought.

It's October, which has long been one of my favorite months, probably my favorite.

There are several reasons for this. First off, my birthday falls in October. It's already passed (Happy Birthday to me!), and that's fine. Another year older...

Then, there's Halloween at the end of the month. When I was a kid, getting dressed up for Trick-or-Treating was a big deal, especially in the neighborhoods I lived in. There were always tons of kids going out, and every house seemed to have better and better treats. We got to stay out after dark, got plenty of candy, saw most of our friends...all with our parents' blessing. What's not to love?

There was also the fact that the school year was still new enough that I hadn't grown bored with it, but far enough along to already be in the grove of it. The air was crisp (at least in New York state and Connecticut, where I grew up), the leaves were changing colors, we got to eat stuff I loved - stews, meatloaf, and other stuff deemed too hot to cook over the summer - and the days were growing shorter. (Why I considered that a plus as a kid, I'm not sure. Maybe it was the memory of going to bed when it was still light out when I was younger...)

And finally, there were the holidays following Halloween to look forward to, holidays when grandparents, aunts and uncles, various cousins, and anyone else in the family would show up.

Years later, when I'd grown up, here in Florida, there were other things to love about October. Sure, there was still my birthday (some things don't change), Halloween (my kids started trick-or-treating, then outgrew it), during which time I'd pass out tons of candy, and while the weather doesn't get as cold here in Florida, it does start cooling off enough to make it bearable outside. The shortening days, while not as short as up north, are still something I enjoy.

Years ago, I started driving cab in September. By October, I was getting the hang of it, the snowbirds were coming back to Florida, and life was good. I met my second husband while driving cab (he was another driver; by the time he retired, he'd been driving cab for "only" 37 years) and we planned to get married in October. That got pushed back to November, but that was okay.



It was while we were together that the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure held its first St. Petersburg race. That first race, held in April, 1999, was my first 5K. The following year, the race shifted to downtown St. Pete and was held the first Saturday in October. I made to almost every race, with the exception of 2012 and then the last two races. I considered it a happy October event, something to look forward to.

Another October event that I looked forward to was the St. Pete chapter of the Clothesline Project. (Click here for a brief history of the project.)

Clothesline Project, St. Petersburg, early 2000s







Clothesline Project at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg, circa 2009 - 2010.





Group at USFSP who worked on the Clothesline Project at USFSP



However, all good things come to an end. The St. Pete Komen Race changed to a night event in 2015. Then, in 2017, it was changed at the last minute from October to February 2018, due to Hurricane Irma; this turned out to be the last Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in St. Petersburg. (If anyone from the organizing group is listening, if the race is changed back to mornings in October, rather than night, that could help with the numbers running the race. Just a thought...)

The Clothesline Project also ended in St. Pete, for the most part (except for an occasional showing at USFSP).

And October now also holds the anniversary of my better half's death, followed in another blog. (And no, don't ask for the link to it. But if you just happen to stumble across it...cool. Legalities, and all.)

So, while I still love October, the disappearance of important stuff makes the month a little bittersweet.

A Royal Wedding

"Are you going to get up early to watch it?" Nancy, one of my co-workers, asked.

It was the upcoming royal wedding between Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, and the group of co-workers answering phones at our end of the phone room had been talking about it most of the morning between calls.

I answered no, 4:30 A.M. was too early to get up for anything not absolutely necessary.

For most of that week, it seemed that everyone was talking about the upcoming wedding. And who could blame anyone? Prince Harry was marrying an American who was biracial, divorced, and had worked as an actress. The last time a British royal married an American divorcee was was King Edward VIII in 1936 ("Cheers, Prince Harry! But the last time a British royal married an American, it didn’t go well."), and it cost him the throne; Edward was given the choice of marrying "that woman," as socialite Wallis Simpson was known, or staying on the throne.

For the record, Edward abdicated the throne and married Simpson, allowing his brother George to become king.

But that was more than eighty years ago. Times have changed. Besides, Harry is officially sixth in line for the throne, after his father, older brother, his nephews and niece. So there is no chance (or very little) that he would be given the choice of love vs. throne.

Part of me wanted to watch the wedding. I'd watched Prince Charles's and Princess Diana's wedding back in 1981, and while I hadn't watched William and Kate Middleton's wedding, I'd seen the photos and news stories in the days before and after. I mentioned that to Nancy.

"Diana looked so scared when she married Charles," Nancy said, and I'd agreed. But while Diana had looked a little unsettled, Kate had seemed joyous. Meghan seemed to be following in Kate's footsteps: happy, confident, excited.

The morning of the wedding, I'd gotten up at 5:00 to make sure my son M. was awake. He works on Saturdays, and usually gets picked up by his ride a little after 6:15. I then went back to bed, with my alarm set for six. (I have to run interference so our black cat, Karma, doesn't make a break for it. While he no longer seems to want to run the neighborhood, he still tries to head for the door, just to let us know he's still the boss.)

After Matt left, I went back to bed. But within half an hour, he was calling to ask me to look up something for him on the computer.

Darn, I thought. No going back to sleep for an hour or so...

By this time, it was almost 7:00, so I stayed up, fixed some coffee, and turned on the TV. The wedding was on, so I watched.

My daughter, M.H., and granddaughter had driven to a restaurant that was going to have a party to watch the wedding. But as luck would have it, the only available table left was outside on the sidewalk - with no chairs. So much for hanging out at the wedding party.

I watched through the lovely wedding (it really, really was quite lovely!), and actually enjoyed it. (Yay, Harry! Yay, Meghan!)

Later, after I'd turned off the TV, M.H. and G.H. stopped by. They'd ended up having breakfast at a restaurant that my other half and I'd eaten at years ago. It had been a nice Mom-and-Pop place when we'd gone there, open until 8 P.M during the week, serving home-style food. Now it closes around 2 P.M. and, from what I'd heard, is not nearly as good as it once was (it's no longer run by the two brothers who opened it).

"How was it?" I asked, when M.H. told me where they'd eaten.

"Not that great," I was told. "The food wasn't all that great, and the waitresses all looked sad."

I couldn't help but wonder why.

But for the rest of the day, while running errands, checking out some art at the Safety Harbor (Fla.) Museum and Cultural Center, where my daughter had sold a painting (yay!!!), and just hanging out, it seemed everyone mentioned the wedding. And while I hadn't planned to watch any of it, I'm glad I got to see at least part of it.