There's a Snake on the Loose!

I recently reread Alas, Babylon, Pat Frank's classic novel. Published in 1960 during the Cold War, and written after a conversation in which Frank was asked about his thoughts of what would happen should World War III occur, it tells the story of a small Florida town immediately prior to WWIII, through the first year following the war.

A day or two before the war begins, Missouri, who works as a housekeeper for several people, informs Randy, one of the main characters whose house she cleans, "I think the McGoverns will move. Mrs. McGovern can't handle snake or bugs, and what's Florida without snake and bugs?" (This is paraphrased.)

Between that quote, and several videos posted recently on Facebook about snakes, reminded me of what I've come to think of as our snake in the attic story.

We had a snake slither out through the attic hatch in our hall about nine years ago. At first, I thought my so J. had put a rubber snake there to freak me out...and then it MOVED!!! It slowly dropped to the floor and ended up slithering through the house. Both of our cats (who were basically still kittens) figured I'd gotten them a new playmate. Cats were locked into a bedroom, and I called 911 to see if they could send a couple of officers out, or get animal control for me - SOMETHING. Then I called the landlord, who sent out their pest control guy to see if there were any more creepy-crawlies in the attic.

Now, before you start screaming about misuse of 911, let me say that I'd just watched the news where several cops were called to help an alligator vacate someone's house...so calling 911 wasn't THAT much of a stretch (though the snake was...).

Sooo...two officers came out. One officer - a big, strapping guy with a Southern accent - got there maybe 5 minutes before the other and asked what the problem was. I told him, and he informed me, "Ma'am, unless you want a 6'5" 250 pound man passed out in your living room, we're gonna wait for my backup." Backup showed, up - guy was maybe 5'10" - and HE came inside, grabbed the snake, and took it to a nearby field.

Meanwhile, pest control guy came out and started climbing a ladder to look into the attic's access panel in the hall. Just as he started pushing the panel, J., who was in the kitchen at the refrigerator (out of sight of the hall) opened a new bottle of soda, which let out a satisfying HIIISSSSSSSHHHHH. The guy couldn't get off the ladder fast enough, while I jumped out of the way. J. then came into view with the bottle of soda and, giving us weird looks, asked what the problem was.

Did you know that if you throw moth balls into your attic, it'll keep snakes out? Found this out from the pest control guy (after his breathing got back to normal; also, there were no more snakes in the attic). And yes, they do work.

And in case you're wondering, the snake was a black racer, a non-venomous critter common in "these here parts". Doesn't mean I've gotta like 'em in my house, dropping from the attic access panel in the hall-way ceiling.

Did I mention the moth balls?

Teachers Can Make an Impact

Recently, I overheard several people talking about their favorite teachers. Mind you, these were no kids in school, nor were they of traditional fresh-out-of-high-school college-aged people. These were people who appeared to be in their 40s and beyond. Add to that the occasional TV commercial featuring famous people mentioning people who made a difference in their lives - including teachers - and the fact that the school-year is winding down all got me thinking about teachers who really made a difference in my life.

My mom was a teacher for a number of years, first in Connecticut and New York (state, not city), then in Florida. It's because of Mom (as well as a B.A. journalism) that makes me such a stickler about grammar. But Mom was there decades before I ended up working towards my journalism degree. Blame my mom if you see me trying not to strangle someone who's talking about "John and me went to the store."

But my first non-parental teacher who made a really big impression on me was my sixth grade teacher at Crompond Elementary School in Yorktown, New York. When I was there, the school went from kindergarten through sixth grade. Robert Schattales was the sixth grade teacher most kids wanted to have. His wife taught fourth grade in another school. (I've probably spelled his last name wrong; I graduated there in 1965, which is definitely showing my age.) I doubt that either are still alive. But here's what he did for his students: He cared. He listened. And every couple of weeks, he and his wife would have three or four students a piece from their classes over for dinner, which turned out to be almost a party. Both teachers, and six to eight kids. And it wasn't just the popular kids; every student got a turn to go for dinner at their house.

Then, there was high school. I went to four different high schools, due to several moves. But the teachers at Putnam Catholic Academy (PCA) in Putnam, Connecticut - most of whom were nuns - were great. One of the non-nun teachers, John Huckle, taught math my sophomore year there; he made math fun!

Years later, after a move to Florida, I attended St. Petersburg College (SPC) (though when I started, it was St. Petersburg Junior College). My favorite teacher there taught Composition I and II. Martha Denny loved my writing; she was one of the first people outside of my family (and outside of PCA) who encouraged it. Thank you, Mrs. Denny!

There were other outstanding professors during my time at SPC: William Nixon, Star Weihe, and Thomas King (all in the natural science department), William Rice in the math department, and Bonnie Jefferis and Dean Kohrs, who taught the intro classes to mass communication.

Finally, at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg (USFSP), there are several professors who really influenced me in a positive way. Without getting into all the whys, they are: Ken Minor (who taught writing), Deni Elliot, Tony Silvia, Beth Reynolds, and Bob Dardenne (all in the Mass Comm department), Thomas Hallock (Arts & Sciences), and Gary Mormino (Uncle/Father Gary) and Ray Arsenault; the latter two built USFSP's Florida Studies program.

Teachers can make or break his or her students' academics. Here's to all the good ones out there! You surely don't get paid enough!

Family, Fun, Cats, Rain...It Must Be Saturday

It's Saturday - a dreary, rainy Saturday. Does anything else scream lazy-sleep-in-day as much as a rainy Saturday? I doubt it.

But of all the Saturdays to have it rain, today might not have been the best. The city of Pinellas Park is having their annual Country In The Park, a celebration of all things in a smallish city. It's billed as "the City of Pinellas Park's annual festival and trade show," and features an arts & crafts show (so local artists and crafts people can display - and hopefully sell - their wares), a tree & plant sale, carnival rides, food - pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, curly chips, funnel cakes, and soda and bottled water - the whole shebang. The city even displays some of their vehicles (wow! look at that antique fire truck!) and literature from the different departments.

Vendors Tents from 2015 Country in the Park







Antique La France Fire Truck



Curly Fries and Fried Corn



Making Curly Fries







See? Almost Done!



Fried Corn



But what really seems to bring in a lot of people (as if those aforementioned goodies don't do it) are the display of cars by the Suncoast Mustang Car Club and the live music. Usually, the music - yes, live concert! - consists of mostly up-and-coming local acts, then highlighted at the end by a national act. Usually, the national act is someone out of the major limelight for a year or two, but a national act, none-the-less. This year's national act is Crystal Gayle ("Don't it Make Your Brown Eyes Blue?"). (Sorry, folks, I don't have any photos of Crystal Gayle; all photos here are mine - yes, copyright, and all - and as Crystal hasn't played here yet...)

Suncoast Mustang Club Show, Country in the Park, 2015







Barbershop Quarter, 2015

Suite Caroline, 2012



I usually don't stay for the national act; that usually comes on around 8:00 P.M. (which is when Crystal Gayle will be taking the stage - in case you're in the area and want to see her perform for free!), as I'm usually not up to making an entire day of it. There's only so many times that you can pass the same vendors or look at the city vehicles before you're ready to head home. Besides, in the past, the city has had free buses to and from the event, with the pick-up area only a couple of blocks from home. The city quit doing that, though, several years ago. Since we now have to take a cab to and from the event - $8 to $10 each way - there are only so many trips there and back we're able to do for a free event. (I know, I'm getting picky, right? But considering that parking is limited near the event, if not costly (if you can't get a space at the library or city hall, other parking ends up costing $5 or more), it would make sense to continue the bus shuttle to and from the out-lying park. And yes, it would be convenient for those who live nearby and don't drive.)

Anyway, I had asked a cab driver we know if he'd be available to drive us there around 1:00; he said he'd probably be able to do that. So, at least that was taken care of.

And then, the wait: All week, the local meteorologists had been predicting a 50% chance of rain today. TODAY! Not yesterday, not tomorrow. Today! Country In The Park happens once a year (with their annual Chili Blaze the night before). It hasn't really rained in a while, so why today? But of course, you can't order the weather.

This morning, when I got up, the sky was a pale blue, without a cloud in the sky. Wonderful! I thought. Maybe that 50% chance would happen elsewhere in the Tampa Bay area. Right? Ha!

About 9:45, a cousin of mine, new to the area, mentioned meeting him in a nearby park (where the bus shuttle usually was) to hand him his mail. (Long story, best saved for another time.) Great. I hadn't even taken my shower yet.

So, into the shower, throw some clothes on, and head for the park, getting there about the same time R. did. Why do I mention walking there? Because as I headed through the back entrance to the park - more like a huge field that's part of the park - I noticed the rain clouds coming in, and smelled the coming rain. (Does anyone else smell rain?) As I handed R. his mail, the first big plops of rain hit us and the ground around us.

"I guess I'd better head out," R. said. He rides a motorcycle and isn't too wild about riding it in the rain, any more than I'm wild about walking home in the rain - especially when I heard one or two cracks of thunder.

When I got home, I fixed breakfast and discovered that one of my two cats - Drexie, a gray tabby - would so love to help me eat my breakfast! She's so helpful like that!

We're about to have another visit from family...but that's okay.

Will we end up at this year's Country In The Park? Probably. Will we stay long? Probably not. Will we be back to see and hear Crystal Gayle? Even though I'm not heavily into country music - I tolerate most of it, and do like several country acts - I wouldn't mind being there this evening. But I don't think I'll make it. But maybe you could?

If you do go and hear her, drop me a comment - let me know how you liked her act!

Cooking

I was in a baking mood this afternoon, so I whipped up a couple of pies, two pumpkin, the third, a cranberry raisin concoction.

This last one was from a recipe my dad had sent me years ago. If I remember correctly, it was somewhere in the middle of a long letter he'd written while stranded on a train out of New York City back home to White Plains during a huge blizzard in February, 1977. He was getting his Master's at Union Theological Seminary, part of Columbia University, and had gone in that morning, only to discover that the blizzard had caused classes to be canceled. The letter was ten or twelve pages long, describing the train ride home, the other passengers, and more. If I remember, it was also in this letter that he described his classes, and one professor who made an impression on him as being especially intelligent and thought-provoking - a man Dad predicted would most likely go far. (The professor was Cornel West; Dad was right in his assessment.)

Getting back to the pies: Dad was a good cook. I take after him when it comes to cooking. He loved cooking, as do I. Dad got his love of cooking from his dad, my grandfather. When my dad's parents came to visit for the weekend, Mom knew better than to get in the kitchen to do more than the occasional meal, as well as washing dishes. Dad and Grandpa would each try to out-do the other when it came to cooking.

Mom's side of the family was also known for their exploits in the kitchen - but not the way Dad and Grandpa were. Mom's mom was a really good cook. Grandma could whip up a really good full dinner without a second thought. It was the rest of the family whose cooking skills were a little sketchy.

Now, don't get me wrong. Mom could cook up a good spaghetti sauce, a really good marshmallow-fruit salad, and other basic meals. But in her book of essays, titled The Color Chartreuse Etc., Mom mentions that her side of the family had questionable cooking skills. In the essay "Cooking Runs in The Family - But Not Far Enough!", she describes her dad's attempts at making oatmeal for Mom and my uncle when Grandma was sick. (Hint: It deals with breadcrumbs being stored in an oatmeal box.) In Grandpa's defense, his vision was a little less than stellar.

Whenever I cook certain recipes, I'm reminded of family members no longer around. The cranberry pie, hot chili, and French onion soup remind me of Dad; scrambled eggs with sour cream in it, Dad's Dad; Dad's Mom's mac and cheese; chocolate cream pie (the first time I made it, my brother was the only one who could stomach it; G. was brave!). Then there's my ex's chili, Mom's marshmallow - fruit salad - which also brings memories of the time Mom had gone out after fixing a ham and marshmallow - fruit salad, leaving my sister and me as the only ones eating (if I remember right, there was almost no salad left when Mom and G. got back to the house; A. and I did enjoy it, though!), and more: a veggie dish my daughter made for her family's first Thanksgiving here in Florida, lasagna (my oldest son comes to mind, as well as when I fix his BBQ Gluten recipe), my second husband, P., loving my spinach quiche (as a Marine, he showed that real men can love quiche!), and many other foods.

Originally, I'd planned to make several homemade soup recipes so I could photograph them for my food blog.

(Another memory - Mom made homemade soup maybe twice a month, serving it out of a huge white soup tureen, a large white soup ladle resting in a notch on the side. Dang, I loved those soups, and dearly miss Mom whenever I make homemade soup.)

But having made the pies is fine, too. The soups can wait until tomorrow.

I love cooking, and the memories it brings.

'Tis The Season

It's December - the time of year when the days are shorter and the nights, longer - at least in the Northern Hemisphere. It is also a time of celebrations, depending on one's faith or religion, as well as where one lives.

I've always loved this time of year: the sights and sounds - the spirit - of Christmas. And yet, there's a reflectiveness to the time of year; as the days get shorter, it's almost easier to have the darkness add a certain melancholy-ness, along with reflections.

This year, we'll most likely be having a quiet Christmas: good food, some small gifts, and having some family over. Thinking of this, I've been inundated with memories of years past...

I wrote about some of these memories in December, 2012. Those memories are wonderful, for the most part, though many times, the memories are easier than the reality of the time.

Example: I was trying to think of the worst Christmas we've had as a family. (Kind-of counter-intuitive, isn't it? Holidays are supposed to be wonderful.) But the worst one had to be the year we had to move. My landlord had lost a job and had to sell all three of his rentals to keep from losing them and the house he and his family lived in. I can't say I blame him for deciding to sell his rentals; I would have done the same.

After months of looking for a place - I won't go into the details - things really looked bad. We had to be out by the beginning of the new year, with little prospect of finding a place.

Christmas, that year, was stressful. We made it through, though, and on the day we had agreed to be out of the old house, I managed to find a place. We're still in the same house. But that Christmas, with its stress, stands out.

"At . it's not as bad as the Christmas we had to move," one of my sons has mentioned in subsequent years, when I've bemoaned being broke.

But, for the most part, Christmas is one of good memories. I have pictures of one Christmas in New York when I'd gotten a bike for Christmas. Somewhere, there's a picture of my sister and me in front of the fireplace in the same house; I think we were getting ready to drink hot cocoa.

There are Christmases in Connecticut that are memorable. One year, my brother, G., had wanted a guinea pig. I think his class had a couple of guinea pigs, and he wanted one in the worst way. Christmas morning, when he came downstairs, he spotted the cage with the cute furry animal and shrieked, "I got a pinny wig!" Of course, after that, the animal's name became Pinny Wig.

There was another Christmas in New York - Rochester, to be exact - before my parents split up. The next Christmas was in Florida; I still remember walking along the beach over looking the Gulf of Mexico as the sun set, that first Florida Christmas. Mom had been working at Red Lobster, and finances were tight. But it made for a peaceful end to the day.

Now Mom is gone. It's been a little more than a year since we lost her. Technically, it's the second Christmas without her. Dad has been gone for more than eight years. So many people gone...and yet, their memories live on, especially at Christmas tme.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

October Can Be a Little Tricky...

October has been a little rough the past few years.

Mind you, it hasn't been that way. But if you've read most of the posts in this blog, one from exactly three years ago (October 24, 2012; "Octobers Haven't Always Been Rough..."), you might remember that Octobers have been a little dicey over the past few years.

I still like October, for the most part: My birthday falls in October, as does Halloween; the weather starts to cool off a little (even in Florida - or maybe it just feels that way, since the heavy humidity of summer is gone); the holidays are right around the corner. Also, the local Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure happens at the beginning of the month, which is almost always a positive event, held with a party-ish flair. Good stuff.

But then there's the flip side: Nine years ago today, my late husband died. He's thought he'd never marry again after losing his previous wife to breast cancer. (This partly figures into why I started walking/running the first year the Tampa Bay Race for the Cure was held; that year, it was in April, with the subsequent races being held in October. Also, my dad - yes, my dad - was a breast cancer survivor, later losing his life to prostate cancer.) I had also sworn that I'd never get married. As I used to tell Kevin the cabbie, "If Mr. Right ever shows up, he'll have a heck of a time getting my attention!"

But when I first met Paul, I had a strange feeling we'd be seeing a lot more of each other. We married a little more than two years later. And then he died. We'd been married 3 weeks shy of our ninth anniversary. October 3 of this year, I'd officially been widowed exactly as long as we'd been married. That kind-of does a slight number on one's equilibrium.

Paul at Sawgrass Lake Park



So I took this month one day at a time. It was still a bit of a roller coaster month. On the third, my daughter, M.H., drove me to do the Race for the Cure. This year, it was held at night - not the best time of day for me (my night vision isn't the best). It was the first race since having a fairly major medical issue this past spring. On the way there, M.H. stated that she'd wait for me. Then, seeing the festivities, she decided to participate; I think she enjoyed it as much as I did, even if I did run out of steam before we crossed the finish line.

The next day, we went to Pinot's Palette in St. Petersburg (Fla). That day's class was a bit Van Gogh, with the Tardis from Dr. Who. Several hours later, we left with our paintings. Did we have a good time? Ooooh, yeah. Very relaxing, a lot of fun, and something to add a little color to our walls.

Today, we went drove to the University of South Florida St. Pete (USFSP), where the Tampa Bay Times Festival of Reading was being held. Only stayed for a little while, took some photos (which will be posted later), then came home. It was a much needed break and diversion.

One more week until October is over - along with passing out candy on Halloween. It may be do-able.

The Scammers Are At It Again - And I Wasn't Home...

The scammers are at it again. This time, it wasn't the scammers pretending to want to fix my computer; this time, it was about an impending lawsuit that the IRS is bringing against me. Too bad I wasn't home to take the call. But they did leave a voice mail message on my phone.

I usually try to remember to check for any voice mail when I get home. Sometimes I overlook it for a couple of hours, but I do end up eventually checking. This time, I noticed the flashing light on the base of the portable phone right away and knew there was a message.

Okay, ice cream put away in the freezer (I do have a few priorities), I checked the voicemail and heard (in a very heavy accent), "Yes, this is a very important message for you. We know that the IRS is attempting to bring an impending lawsuit against you. You may be to pay back very much money. Please call us back immediately, as we are able to assist you in this troubling, expensive matter..." The person leaving this important message then left a number so that I could call them back.

Isn't that sweet when someone wants to "assist you in this troubling, expensive matter"?

Yeah, right, I thought, wondering how this heavily accented, anonymous person knows that the IRS has an impending lawsuit against me, especially since I haven't received anything in writing from any official government agency in I-don't-know-how-long...In fact, the last thing I received from anyone from Washington, it was a couple of emails from my representatives in response to an email I'd sent them. (Probably an email addressing scammers, no doubt!)

So, I called the number. It rang and rang and rang and rang... At least I didn't get a recording telling me that this was not a working number, which I'd half-expected.

But finally, after about 20 or 30 rings (yes, I'm persistent, especially if I can harass a scammer), someone - or, rather, something - picked up. A heavily accented voice on their voicemail advised me to "kindly leave a message so that we can get back to you and assist you in your time of need."

Dang, I thought. I was so hoping for a live human being.

But since they wanted me to leave a message, I did. And here's the message I left: "Yes, leaver of important messages. It was so kind of you to call to offer assistance in an important matter. I just wish you had been available to take my call.

"In case you're wondering who this is leaving this message, rest assured that I am the reigning Queen Snarkmistress Supreme, of the Snark-castic queendom. I'm afraid I can't leave my number, since you already have it. I look forward to assisting you in your snarky time of kindness."

This was several hours ago. They have yet to call me back. I wonder if they will? I would have loved to have (snarkily) spoken with them...