Where Does the Time Go?

Time Keeps on Slipping, by the Steve Miller Band.

It's amazing how fast time flies. One day, your youngest starts scool, the next, he or she is graduating high scool, if not college, leaving you to wonder, Where did the time go?

My mother's birthday was earlier this month. If she was still alive, she would have turned 95 this year. It doesn't seem that long since she turned 40, a few days after we arrived in Florida, a life-time ago.

Mom

We left Pittsford, New York, just outside Rochester, the last week in February 1971. Mom's map-reading skills were never that great; fortunately, mine are. We caravaned the first day with my uncle, who wanted to make sure we got a good start. Somehow, we ended up in Springfield, Massachusetts the first night, a side-trip of about 250 miles out of the way.

In the morning, Mom was sick with what turned out to be a life-long illness, though we didn't realize it at the time. We simply thought she was not doing well with the stress; she was moving half-way across the country with three kids, getting ready for a divorce, and about to hit 40, which, at the time, was a much bigger deal than it is now.

I was handed the keys to our Ford Station Wagon, reminded that I had my New York State learner's permit(!) and the ability to read a map, and told, "Get us to Grandma and Grandpa's place." Grandma and Grandpa lived in Kenneth City, a small city next to St. Petersburg on Florida's west coast. No problem!

Our uncle headed back to his place in New York, leaving us to head south caravan-free. Each morning of the trip, I would look over the map, figuring where we'd need to switch from I-95 to other roads so we could skirt different cities, seeing about where and when we could pull over for a break. It was during one of those breaks when I taught my sister how to read a map, over coffee (Mom and me), soda (my brother and sister) and whatever we felt like eating. She did fairly well, taking us only a couple of miles out of the way during a break in Pennsylvania. It turned out great, though: two or three miles off I-95, we went to turn arouond at a small diner and gift shop.

"Let's stop here to eat," Mom suggested. Good call, as my sister and I were able to pool our money for Mom's birthday gift. It was a speckled enamel tea pot, a one-of-a-kind gift that we thought was very cool. (No, we didn't give it to Mom right away; we waited until her birthday in Florida.)

A day or so later, we even spent the night in D.C., where a friend of mine, a surrogate older-brother, was going to school. He took us to dinner, then, after dropping Mom, my brother, and sister at the hotel, took me out to hang out for an hour or so.

After almost a week, we finally pulled into Grandma and Grandpa's Kenneth City appartment a day or so before Mom's birthday.

Grandma and Grandpa

The next day, Mom spent her 40th birthday in a nearby hospital emergency room. The doctors there were unable to discover what was wrong, and, after several hours, released her, telling her to rest, but come back if things didn't improve. Fortunately, things improved within a week or so, and we got on with the business of finding a house, getting us kids enrolled in school, and finding Mom a job.

Over the years, life ebbed and flowed with the usual ups and downs. I had already decided that I was goiong to leave Florida as soon as I was able to, while Mom and my sister and brother decided that they'd stay indefinitely. The irony is that after marrying my first step-dad, Bill, there was a move to Murray, Kentucky, where Bill was from. Later, my sister and her second husband moved to Colorado before landing on the West Coast. (My brother died 19 years ago, so there was no move for him.) I'm the one who remained in Florida...55 years after arriving.

Where does the time go?

Memories in the Mail

Our mail showed up maybe an hour ago. Not that there was much in the mailbox: only a postcard-like ad for a dentist's office, and an envelope from Valpak. The envelope always mentions the chance of $100 in the envelope, so to entice people to open and look at the ads inside. Some ads, I put aside, thinking I might use it some day, maybe, while the rest go into the recycling bin.

One ad that almost always gets my attention is for Village Inn. There are at least three in the county I'm in. But it's been several years since the last time I was in one, and, before that, decades since I'd been in another Village Inn on a regular basis. They tend to be a little out of the way for me at the moment, especially when I have to catch a ride places. But there was a time...

I'd worked on several fire departments in Pinellas County, Florida, decades ago. The first was when I got on as a volunteer with one department in 1979. Then, the beginning of 1980, another department had an ad for full-time firefighter/paramedic trainees. I applied, and was one of six or eight people hired, including another woman. At that time, there was only one other female firefighter in the county (as far as I could tell), and she'd been on the job less than a year. There may have been a couple of other women volunteer firefighters in our county, but I'm talking about paid positions.

I absolutely loved the job, loved getting my EMT license, going through the training. There were only two draw-backs: one was that I had to cut my hair (when it was long, I'd put it in a braid, and, at a fire, could get the hair completely out of the way under my helmet; couldn't do that when it was short!), and the other was that I only got three hours of sleep a night for the 6-1/2 weeks that I lasted in the fire academy. (It had to do with an unsupportive S.O. I'll leave it at that. We all have stories to tell, right?)

I then worked on another department, left that, and, a couple of years later, became a volunteer, then a paid firefighter, at a fourth department.

That's where the trips to Village Inn came in. Whenever we had a large fire, there was always a recap of how the fire went, what we'd done right, and how we could have improved. For the recap, after we had cleaned up and restocked the trucks, the chief would have the group that worked the fire meet up at the nearby Village Inn, where he'd spring for coffee and several pies, so we could pig out while discussing the fire. Nothing like getting a little extra comradery in. The pie and coffee sessions could last a while, and would frequently dissolve into general talk.

"Hey, how are the kids doing?"

"Great. You still seeing what's-her-name?"

"Yup. Hey, Chief..."

Now, whenever I pass a Village Inn, especially the one we'd frequent, I feel like I should stop in and hash out life's eccentricities.

Maybe someday...

MICHAEL MCGOFF, NATURALIST

Note: This is an article I wrote while in my last year as an undergrad at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. It was written for a journalism class (my BA is in Mass Communications/Journalism; class of 2009).

MICHAEL MCGOFF, NATURALIST

By Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 2009

It is one of those rare Florida days when the temperature and humidity are perfect. A slight breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. Just past the final turn in the long driveway to Sawgrass Lake Park, the park’s Anderson Environmental Educational Center comes into view. The airy openness of the building is deceiving: this is a classroom. But this is not any old boring class: this one is fun. The fun stems from several directions: the interesting subject matter, the outdoors, and the teacher.

Naturalist Michael McGoff is passionate about the subject he taught for years: preserving the Florida environment. “I’ve always had an interest in the outdoors,” the recently-retired McGoff told me while at the center. “Since I was a little kid, I either wanted to be a park ranger or a cowboy. Cowboy positions weren’t opening, so it came to be a park naturalist,” he adds, a smile creeping onto his face.

The Tampa Bay native (“I grew up near MacDill Air Force Base”) decided early on that he wanted to work outdoors. He checked several Florida colleges while still in high school and discovered that Lake City Community College in Lake City offered several associates’ degrees that would allow him to follow his dreams. He enrolled in the park ranger program, ready to follow the call of the great outdoors. But he soon discovered that being a park ranger had more to do with logging and lumbering so he switched majors to park management, which would allow him to be more in touch with nature. The irony is that he no longer sees himself as a park manager but as a naturalist.

According to Random House Dictionary, a naturalist is “a person who studies oris an expert in natural history, especially a zoologist or botanist,” while Online Etymology Dictionary defines it as a “student of plants and animals.” Both definitions fit McGoff perfectly. His eyes light up when discussing the plant and animal life around him.

I first met Michael McGoff in the Anderson Environmental Educational Center at Sawgrass Lake Park. The building’s large entrance looks like a breezeway, open at both ends. In reality, it takes the visitor into a large room where live animals are displayed: there are native snakes in large enclosures, slithering up large branches, turtles swimming in a large aquarium filled with native plants. In the far corner of this room is an office; it was here I found Mr. McGoff.

He offered to give me a tour of his office, which housed cabinets and shelves with all manor of interesting finds. The first cabinet he opened was filled with black plastic boxes, white cards on the front to indicate the contents of each container. “These are the aquatic invertebrates,” McGoff said, pointing to the boxes. “When we do a pond-study with the students, usually fourth-graders, they go out and catch stuff with nets and we identify it.” His eyes crinkled as he spoke about the experience. It was easy to imagine the excitement the students must feel, learning through hands-on experience, rather than simply reading about animals.

Another cabinet was filled with jars of vertebrate specimens, many dating back to 1979 when the county was first developing the park. There were various types of fish, several leopard frogs, sea turtle eggs and snakes. “This is rather old-school,” he said, pointing out several of the specimens. “I doubt we would use the same methods (of recording specimens) today. The idea of keeping a dead animal in formaldehyde is passé.” He much prefers digital cameras to keep a record of what is found.

The next stop was an impressive shell collection, held on large sliding trays. Most of these were found at Fort DeSoto, while the rest were brought in from other Pinellas County beaches. There was even a horseshoe crab and a sea urchin test in the collection. (A test is the sea urchin’s exoskeleton and usually all that remains after a sea urchin has died.) “I think they’re very interesting,” McGoff said, pointing to these last two items. A lot of the park’s publication materials are also kept in the shell cabinet, which is somewhat air-tight and filled with moth balls.

Heading for a group of large drawers, McGoff’s voice became animated. “This is one of the fun drawers!” he exclaimed, pulling open a deep drawer to reveal an alligator skull. “This is fun as a hands-on exhibit, taking it to schools.” I was impressed; imagine the oohs and ahhs a group of fourth-graders would make over seeing and touching the skull.

McGoff opened another drawer and pulled out a large bag. He admitted that it wasn’t nearly as exciting as the alligator skull. Is that…? “Yes, this is dirt,” he responded, both of us laughing. “But different types of soils are associated with different kinds of plant communities and different elevations, so it’s important for us to know this.”

There was another drawer with fossilized shells, many from extinct specimens, as well as pottery shards and stone tools. “Archeology is another important part of Sawgrass Lake Park’s educational program,” he said. The park once had an archeologist on staff.

Above the drawers sat several stuffed animals, including an otter and a large owl. As the otter stood sentinel, the owl seemed to stare fiercely at us, challenging us not to cause any more extinctions. We headed to the educational center’s main room or lobby, the owl’s stare following us out the door.

Along one wall were aerial photographs and maps of the park. McGoff pointed to a hand-drawn map from 1845. It showed the lake, labeled as Sawgrass Pond; the map shows it connected to the salt water. “There was a tidal influence and with that salt water influence, most of what was growing in this natural basin was sawgrass, a very salt-tolerant species,” McGoff stated.

A second map, from 1952, showed canals. “These canals have been developed, some as early as the 1920s,” he went on. These canals drain much of the surrounding area into a natural basin. “There’s also a spill-way that tends to separate the fresh water from the salt water. Now we have drainage that allowed relatively dry, moist land open to the sun and that’s when a maple forest grew up here,” he continued, indicating land just west of Sawgrass Lake.

According to McGoff, a person might still find rows of citrus trees just north and east of the lake; these were planted by the O’Berry family, early citrus pioneers in Pinel-las County, who planted groves in the park.

“SWIFTMUD purchased the land for flood control,” McGoff continued. In 1979, SWIFTMUD got together with Pinellas County Park Department with the idea that if the land was going to be used for flood control, it could also be used as a Pinellas County park. “While the land is still mainly used as flood control, it is also used now for educational and recreational opportunities.”

Next on the tour is the aquarium located in the middle of the lobby. “It is a central attraction here,” McGoff stated. Several people were peering into its water at the plants and animals, backing up his statement. “Many of the animals here were found in area canals.” There were peninsula cooters, a type of turtle native to Florida, with dis-tinctive yellow stripes on its head and legs; soft-shelled turtles; several large-mouth bass. But not all the animals that make their way here from canals are native to Florida. “We have a walking catfish, which is native to Southeast Asia.”

The last two exhibits we looked at were several snakes in terrariums, sunning themselves on the grass or slithering up tree limbs, and native Indian artifacts. He also talked about one of his biggest gripes: garbage. “If someone brings sodas in six-pack rings or decides to fish using poles and fishing lines and then leave them, birds, turtles and other wildlife can get caught and not be able to get away. Even if they do get away, the rings and filaments can prevent them from eating. I guess what I’m trying to say is that garbage kills.”

The phone rang; it was for Mr. McGoff. He smiled, took the call, and waved as I headed off to wander through the park with a new appreciation for the local environment. Several hours later, as I was leaving, I found Mr. McGoff to report several areas where I had spotted some garbage. Most of it was beyond reach from the boardwalk.

“It’s amazing,” he sighed. “It seems that garbage is everywhere, even here.” He made note of where I’d spotted the garbage and said he’d have some of the park’s volunteers retrieve it by boat. He thanked me before heading back to his office, where he planned to finish paperwork before calling it a day.

After 37 years of working for the Pinellas County Parks’ Department, he has more than called it a day. As of October 1, 2009, Michael McGoff is officially retired. Many people might choose to kick back and relax, maybe playing a little golf or catching the latest soap operas. Not Michael McGoff. It took several weeks of trying to finally reach him.

While the first two or three calls to various Parks And Recreation numbers weren’t helpful in reaching Michael, they were revealing of his personality and his love of the environment.

“What a fantastic guy! He’s why I went to work for the parks’ department!” one woman told me. “He retired and I don’t have his number. Let me give you another number. They might be able to reach him…”

Finally, a lady named Jean (“Just Jean, please.”) at the Parks And Recreation’s main office told me she had a contact number for him. “Let me give it a try. Call you right back.” Half an hour later, she called me. “He wasn’t home, but that’s not surprising. I finally left a message on his voice mail.”

Thanking her, I hung up. Two days later, when my phone rang, an unfamiliar number on the caller ID, I answered. “Hi, Mike McGoff here,” he said to my hello? “I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.”

When asked what he’d been up to, now that he was retired, he answered without hesitation. “I’ve been doing a little traveling around the state. So far, I’ve visited half a dozen State Parks in the Florida panhandle, maybe a few more. Of course, it’s only been six weeks since I’ve retired,” he laughed. Did he plan to visit more parks? “Definitely. I want to try visiting all the State parks in Florida. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for quite a while.”

What was the most enjoyable part of teaching students and adults about parks and the environment, I wondered. “What would really make my day would be is someone said they were here in the fourth grade and were back with their family. Just being able to see people I’d taught come back with their family and say that they were working to help the environment in one form or another was really great.”

Several weeks ago, I spoke with Jason C.... The 35-year-old grew up in Pinellas County and had gone to several public schools in the area. He remembered going to Sawgrass Lake Park on a fourth grade field trip. “There was a man there — I think his last name was McGoff — and he was really excited about the environment.” It was the first time that Jason realized that a person could actually make a living teaching about the environment and making a difference. “I decided then that I wanted to do something to help the environment when I grew up.”

He now lives in Knoxville, Tennessee and is committed to environmental issues. He recently started helping out with the United Mountain Defense, a volunteer group “dedicated to protecting Tennessee’s environment and communities and halting the destructive practices of mountaintop removal.”* “I’ve been busy trying to teach others about the environment and why thinking and acting environmentally so important.” He credited his fourth grade field trip with helping him realize that this was something he’d love to do.

When I relayed this to Mike McGoff, he sounded happy. “I’ve always wanted to impart the love of the outdoors to those I’ve come in contact with.”

Soon it was time to say our good-byes.

So, the next time you’re at a Florida state park, if the tall man next to you begins telling you that that tree is a Bald Cypress and that if you want to see the worlds largest stand, you should check out the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary, and, by the way, he’s proud that you’re teaching your children not to litter, listen; you just may be in the presence of a Naturalist, environmental teacher and hero.



* Quote about the United Mountain Defense group is from UMD’s website and may be found at http://www.unitedmountaindefense.org/volunteer.html.

Note: This was written in late 2009/early 2010.

Also, check this out for a short video.

“WAIT’LL YOU HEAR THIS ONE”

Note: This is an article I wrote while in my last year as an undergrad at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. It was written for a journalism class (my BA is in Mass Communications/Journalism; class of 2009).

It should be noted that I worked as a cab driver in Pinellas County, Florida, during the 1990s.

“WAIT’LL YOU HEAR THIS ONE”

by Robin Shwedo; 2009

©: Robin Shwedo, 2009

Think bartenders have heard it all? There’s a good chance that cab drivers have heard and seen even more!

“So I’ve got these two guys in my car, right? The younger one just turned 21, this is the first Friday he can legally drink, so his buddy’s taking him to Carly’s. They’re both talking ‘bout how nothing impresses them anymore, right?”

Kevin Carter slows down for the light up ahead, hitting the brakes hard when someone in the center lane cuts him off on the way to the turn lane. It’s Friday afternoon — “Idiot Friday,” he calls it, but in more colorful language, because, as he puts it, “Everyone on the road turns to idiots (or the more colorful term) on Fridays” — and he misses the car by a good foot.

“So, anyway, we’re sitting in the right-hand through lane on 49th Street, waiting for the light at Park Boulevard. Suddenly, this jet black Mercedes with a moon-roof zooms up in the center lane. Guess who’s driving?” He waits for me to ask who, then answers, “’Macho Man’ Randy Savage. The two guys in the back seat are like all excited, because there’s Macho Man.”

I laugh, and Carter goes on.

“Macho Man yells over, ‘Yo, cabbie, is this Park Boulevard?’ So I’m like, ‘Yeah,’ and he goes, ‘I need to hang a right here. When the light turns, mind if I cut in front of you so I can hang a right?’ And I tell him, ‘Yeah, sure, man.’ Just then, the light changes, and he yells, ‘Yo, thanks, man! You’re cool!’ And he takes off.” Carter laughs, “And here’s these two guys who’ve said that nothing impresses them, totally freaking out because Macho Man Randy Savage and I actually talked!”

Kevin Carter

Kevin Carter has driven for Yellow Cab for a little over twelve years. It was supposed to be a stopgap job, something to do between “real jobs.” Like many other drivers, though, it didn’t take long to become hooked — or come up with a million stories.

“If I knew when I first started driving what I know now, I would’ve picked up at least a good tape recorder,” Carter maintains. “Some of the things you hear out here…”

One story involves a former cab driver — a woman — who had picked up the same drunk from the same bar every night for almost three weeks. The last night she picked the man up, he slammed the car door on his leg “at least five or six times.” She finally had to grab the man by the shoulder to stop him. After telling him to put his leg in the cab, then shut the door, the man looked at her through bleary eyes and said, “Honey, if you ever need a good man, I’m it.”

When the woman refused to give her inebriated fare her phone number (“Sorry, Bud, I’m still using it!”), he insisted she write down his number. “So, when do you think you’ll call me?” he asked, to which she responded, “When Bella Abzug becomes Pope!”

“Cool!” the drunk proclaimed.

“The man had no clue that it’d be difficult for a Jewish Congresswoman to be Pope — and when the remark was made, Bella’d been dead for maybe six months already!”

When Carter first started, the cabs were voice dispatched; dispatchers had to drive cab for a while before training for the job. Cabs now get their calls on computers; anyone off the streets can apply to dispatch.

“You wouldn’t believe the message I got on the computer,” Carter laughed one day. “It said, ‘Body in the middle of road, US 19 and Thirty-eighth Avenue. Body still moving. Traffic tied up. Please avoid.’” Another laugh. “Avoid what? The intersecttion? Traffic? The body?” A shrug. “Rookie dispatchers.”

Paul Middleton retired when his eyesight started to fail. One of the dispatchers nick-named him “the Rookie,” as he’d driven Cab “for only 37 years.” He frequently maintained that if anyone wanted to study psychology, it would behoove them to drive cab.

One of Middleton’s favorite stories involved a scruffy-looking gentleman he’d picked up one evening near the end of his shift.

“I’d been hauling him for the better part of a week,” Middleton recalled. “He was staying in a cheap motel off Haines Road, using a cab to go back and forth to a lawyer’s office in St. Pete, sometimes do a little shopping on his way back to the motel.” The man had inherited a tobacco conglomerate several years earlier; Middleton never found out what he was doing in St. Pete, or why the cut-rate accommodations.

At the end of the week, a wad of cash in his pocket, the man called the cab company and requested Middleton to pick him up.

“Could you pop the trunk?” was the first request. In went two double barrel shot-guns. “We need to stop at a convenience store,” was the second request. After buying two bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine and several Snickers and Three Musketeers, he stated his destination: Key West. Upon learning that the flat rate was usually cheaper than the meter rate, “The man told me just to turn the meter on. Paid all the tolls along the way, too.”

Just outside Miami, the man insisted on stopping in a J. C. Penny’s so he could pick up a few things for the place he’d bought in Key West. “Do you need anything?” he inquired. “Come on, there must be something you need.”

Middleton conceded that his alarm clock had died the previous day. Half an hour later, the fare came back carrying two large bags. Just before placing them in the trunk next to the shotguns, he pulled out an am/fm radio alarm clock. “Best one they had on the shelf,” he told Middleton.

“You realize it would’ve been cheaper to fly,” Middleton told the man a little later, as they pulled into his driveway.

“Yeah, but this was a lot more fun,” his fare stated, handing him $400. “Keep the change.”

“To this day, if he hadn’t shown me the paperwork, I would’ve sworn he was some day laborer. And here he’d inherited this huge tobacco empire!” He laughed, adding, “Nothing like a hundred-dollar tip.” (1)

Back in Kevin Carter’s cab, heading home from school, I hear another story.

“You know Joan, right?” I nod. Joan is another of Carter’s regulars. “Okay, you know her grandson A. J. lives with her. Well last week, A.J. and one of his friends are playing. The friend’s older brother has an exercise room in the garage. A. J. and the friend are eight years old and they have all this energy, right? So the brother says, ‘Why don’t you two pretend to box? I’ll show you some basic moves. But you have to be careful.’ So they put on the eight-ounce gloves and pretend to box.

“Well, the brother leaves and the friend goes, ‘I got this loose tooth. How ‘bout hitting me and knocking it out? I’ll give you half the money I get for it. It’ll look cool: you hit me and I spit out the tooth!’ So A. J. hits him like three times and the tooth still doesn’t come out, so he grabs the eighteen-ounce gloves and knocks the tooth out with that.

“Now his friend is all mad now because he didn’t realize it was gonna hurt, so he yells, ‘Payback time!’ And he grabs the heavy gloves and goes Wham! upside A. J.’s head!

“’You kidding?’ I ask him, and he goes, ‘See? Look at this!’ Sure enough, he’s got this knot on the side of his head.” Carter quietly chuckles before adding, “Joan said A. J.’s not allowed to play at his friend’s house for a week. A. J. says she’s being mean.”

While most calls are cash calls, many drivers do carry “paper, ”charges that the cab companies extend for various reasons. “I don’t do paper,” Carter maintains. While many charges are metered-paper, others pay much less.

John, an ex-driver, carried paper for several years. There was one weekly charge that he always tried to get. “Ethel and her buds,” he called the group coming out of Sunset Mobile Home Park. Two or three cabs would carry eight to twelve women from the park to the nearest Publix and back.

“It was great,” John admitted. “Eighteen bucks to the store, eighteen back, plus a buck from each lady on the return trip.”

His favorite part was listening to the residents, most of whom were in their seventies and eighties, talk about other residents. “Who are we picking up?” the first pick up in the park would ask. “Oh, Betty, Jane, and Ethel?” The women instinctually knew which order the pick-ups went, and would talk accordingly. “Did you hear about Betty? No? Ooh, she kicked her husband out! Caught him flirting with a woman at the pool. He claimed he had something in his eye…” By this time, John would be pulling into Betty’s driveway. Once in, the first woman would relay, “We’re picking up Jane and Ethel.” Immediately, the gossip started.

“The gossip was always better on the way back,” John reminisced. “They were worse than a bunch of teenagers! And funny…I never would’ve guessed old women could be so wild!”

I’ve called for a cab, and Kevin Carter pulls into the driveway. Before we’re even on the road, Carter is shaking his head. “It’s going to be one of those days, I just know it.”

What happened, I ask.

Turns out, he got a call to pick up at a Circle K. “Usually the person’s waiting outside the store, but I don’t see anyone. I stick my head inside and the only person there is the clerk. So I ask if someone called for a cab. ‘Yeah. He’s in the bathroom.’ So I go to the bathroom and knock on the door. I holler, ‘Cab,’ and the guy calls back, ‘Be right out.’

“By now, the clerk is standing next to me, whispering, ‘He ain’t dressed right.’ I just go, ‘Oh?’ ‘Yeah,’ the clerk says. ‘Just wait. You’ll see.’

“Just then, this Sheriff’s Deputy comes into the store and the clerk tells him, ‘Please stick around. I think the guy in the bathroom needs help.’

“So it’s me, the deputy and the clerk all hanging out next to the bathroom, when out comes the guy, dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, a pair of socks and an IV port still hanging out of his arm. He points to me and goes, ‘If you’re the cabbie, I’m ready to go.’ The cop and me, we’re just looking at each other like, ‘We’re not really seeing this, are we?’ and the cop says, ‘Hey, man, I think we need to talk.’

“The guy says that he left the hospital and that his girlfriend left earlier with his clothes and money, which is why he’s dressed this way. So the cop asks for the girlfriend’s phone number, and while he’s trying to call her, the guy bolts. The cop calls for backup and starts chasing the guy. So the guy vaults over this wrought-iron fence around some storage units, giving everyone a show. Finally gets caught on the other end of the units where there’s a boggy area. Course, by now there’s like eight or ten cruisers there.

“Never did find out what his problem was. Never got paid for the fare. But what can you expect on Idiot Friday?”



(1) This story, relayed from Paul Middleton, happened during the late 1960s - early 1970s; the cab fare from Pinellas County, on Florida's west coast, to Key West would now be a whole lot higher.

Kevin Carter, who I rode with while going to USFSP, retired around early 2015, and has since died.

Hurricane Season, or If It's Summer in Florida, There Will Be Rain

Okay, we're more than one-third of the way through the year, and I'm just now writing my second post of the year (at least for Life in the Left-Hand Lane). No excuses, just that life happens.

We're half-way through May, which, here in Florida, means only a few weeks until the start of hurricane season. Next week, NOAA is scheduled to announce this year's hurricane outlook. With any luck, it won't be too hectic.

The Tampa Bay area of Florida has had numerous close calls over the years, but very few direct hits. There was the 1921 Tampa Bay hurricane (otherwise known as the 1921 Tarpon Springs hurricane) that hit Tarpon Springs on October 25, 1921 as a Category 3 hurricane. According to Wikipedia, "It was the first major hurricane to make landfall in the Tampa Bay area since the hurricane of 1848 and the last to date."

There's also an article from The New York Times (September 27, 2022; "A Major Hurricane Has Not Hit Tampa for Over 100 Years") that states, "The 1921 storm, the most destructive to hit the Tampa area since 1848, was so powerful that it wrecked coastal structures for miles and smashed ships against docks after pulling them off their moorings. Most of the eight deaths attributed to the storm were drownings caused by extra water pushed toward shore, the Weather Service said in a 2013 video."

In 2004, my neighbors and I had four close calls with hurricanes over six weekends to deal with ("4 hurricanes in 6 weeks? It happened to one state in 2004."). Fortunately, the Tampa Bay area was spared - again.

Years ago, I had heard that there were forces protecting the Tampa Bay area from storms, left over from ancient Native American blessings. According to WFLA (the NBC affiliate in Tampa), "Local legend has it that mounds built by the Tocobaga tribe hundreds of years ago, protected the area from major storms for centuries. ...Some locals claim the tribe blessed the mounds for protection from hurricanes and other hazards, but we have yet to confirm the validity of their story." ("Are supernatural forces protecting Tampa Bay from hurricanes? Probably not.") It's as good an explanation as any; maybe not exactly scientific, but it does make one wonder every time we have a near miss that decides at the last minute to head elsewhere.

Several years ago, Hurricane Irma passed close to Tampa Bay. It wasn't a direct hit, fortunately, but it did get plenty of attention. Pinellas County's bus system, Pinellas Suncoast Transit Authority (PSTA) had buses halted for a couple of days, as well as their paratransit system for disabled people. Cabs were next to impossible to get hold of, since many people (including, I suppose, cab drivers) left the area for higher ground. It was a crazy time.

We had family staying with us at the time (my daughter and grand-). My daughter (M.H.) wanted to head out of the area, but as we listened to newscasts, we realized that that was not the best idea: the traffic on the I-275, as well as other roads, was horrendous; gas stations were running out of gas from so many motorists fleeing the area. I had visions of them stranded on the side of the road, out of gas, miles from the nearest exit (with gas stations). Not a good scenario.

Then there's the fact that hurricanes have a tendency to change course. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, when tracking a hurricane, It ain't over 'til it hits.

Since M.H. and G.H. were staying with us, and we have a huge oak tree in our front yard, with a semi-rotten branch directly over the driveway, we decided to find a parking garage for their car. Finding one in downtown St. Pete at the reasonable rate of $20 for the duration of the storm, M.H. and G.H. headed out to park their car. I'd managed to get one of the neighbors to drive me to the parking garage to then pick the two up. (This same neighbor just happened to have enough plywood to board up our windows, since he no longer needed them. Talk about help!)

My grand- (G.H.) was hoping to get at least something memorable from Irma. Having lived in Rhode Island for much of his life, G.H. had had snow days from school, but had never experienced a hurricane.

"Maybe we'll get to be without power for a while," he said. He also hoped for some minor damage; nothing life-threatening, mind you, but something exciting to report to his cousins and other grandma up north.

I was working at the local newspaper at the time, and, as the storm approached, discovered that most of us would be getting paid days off until it was deemed safe to come back in. (Paid days off, of course, are almost always a nice thing!) M.H. was also getting paid time off, as well as my son, M.

The night Irma approached, we had grown tired of the non-stop hurricane updates on T.V., and ended up putting a movie on the blu-ray player. There are times when movies can be a blessed distraction; this was one of those times.

The movie ended right around midnight. We popped the movie from the blu-ray player, turned that and the T.V., and, a minute later, lost power.

"Wow, cool!" G.H. said. "I wonder how long the power'll be off!"

"Who knows," was the response.

Slowly, everyone drifted off to their rooms, since obviously, there wasn't much we could do in the dark. I think we may have left the dining room light switch on, so that if the power came back on during the night, there's be no guessing. I do know that the front and back porch lights were left on. (More on that in a minute.)

The next morning, I managed to wake up before anyone else was awake. I did notice a sliver of daylight between one of the boards over my windows and the frame, so I figured it was okay to get up. I dashed in to take a shower, and discovered that we still had some warm water in the water heater. Yay! (I've never been a fan of cold showers.)

Then, to the kitchen. Of course, the coffee maker wasn't working; the power was still off.

But wait...still some hot water in the water heater. Using a clean mug, I managed to dump enough hot water through the coffee filter to end up with a pot of coffee, which M.H. found amazing when she wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later.

We spend the morning cleaning up yard debris from the large tree. The neighbors, of course, were all doing the same thing, all of us mentioning that, all things considered, was nothing to worry about. No one's house was damaged in our neighborhood, and only a couple of families had sections of fence knocked over.

After several hours, G.H. asked when the power would come back on, as he was so over not having power. Cell phones can't be charged up; neither can game systems. No T.V., no ice for sodas...Well, you get the idea.

At one point, M.H. wanted to pick up her car, so the neighbor drove us to the garage to pick it up. The neighbor and I took a little more time getting back to the house than M.H. did, as we were trying to see if any convenience store had anything to eat that didn't require power. Alas, it was not to be, and we headed home.

As we pulled into the driveway, I told the neighbor, "Geez, I guess I forgot to turn off the porch light this morning," then realized what I'd just said. The neighbor had power, too. In fact, the power came on just as we pulled into the driveway. All up and down the street, we could hear neighbors cheering the return of the lights.

For the record, G.H. did get to tell his other grandma about surviving the hurricane.

Okay, fast forward to 2022, and a close call with Hurricane Ian.

Several days before Ian, one of my sons, J., wandered out of his room and asked if the lights in the living room had flickered.

"Nope."

He guessed maybe the light in his room was about to go out.

But then, literally half the house went dark. No kitchen lights, no lights in the utility room, etc, but the rest of the house stayed lit.

I called Duke Energy, which figured out that the underground cable supplying 220 voltage to the house had shorted out.

Fortunately, they were able to get someone with a generator out (it was almost 11 at night), and get us up and running, with the promise of replacing the underground cable that week.

But before anyone could come out to replace the cable, Hurricane Ian came close to us. Thank goodness, it wasn't a direct hit. That said, about half the neighborhood ended up in the dark. Most people had their power back on in 24 hours or so.

Us? We lost power Wednesday, and didn't get it back on until Saturday night. The texts I kept getting from Duke Energy assured us we'd have power on "no later than midnight, Saturday."

Over the next couple of days, I kept calling, hoping that they'd be able to get us hooked back up sooner. I ended up having to throw out the food in our refrigerator and freezer. M.H. stopped by several times with fresh coffee. (Yay.)

Finally, at 9:30 P.M. Saturday, I began to wonder if we'd actually have power that evening. It was hot in the house (no power meant no A.C.). We were all a little grumpy.

Around 10:15, M. went to bed. I figured I'd stay up a little later.

As I got ready to shut the living room curtains, I saw A POWER TRUCK in front of our house, getting ready to get our power back on.

I explained to the workers about the underground cable. After checking the transformer out back, they acknowledge that it was, indeed, the cable that was a problem.

"The bad news is we don't have that kind of cable on our truck," one of the men told me. "The good news is that we do have it at the staging area, 30 minutes away."

"So, you will be able to get it tonight?" I asked.

Yes, half an hour to get to where the cable was, half an hour back, no problem. The cable was replaced (above ground, as it was dark out), and we had power by 11:43 P.M. Saturday night: seventeen minutes to spare before the midnight deadline.

Last year, Hurricane Idalia danced around, threatening the area, but leaving us alone.

I hope we don't have to deal with a hurricane that starts with an I. The darn things just don't play fair.

And no, I don't figure on moving any time soon. No matter where ya live, it's always something...

Going to the Florida Antiquarian Book Fair

No Longer M.I.A.

I know, I know...I've been Missing in Action for a while. I meant to post on and off last year (and, actually, since In Praise of Libraries, posted in August of 2022). But somehow, time sort-of slipped away, and it was another week, another month...Yeah, like that never happens, right?

So, last year here was crazy, ending with a family member's trip to the E.R. on Christmas Eve afternoon, which was a Sunday. We got there at 3:00 PM, I had to go searching for a 24-hour pharmacy around 6:30 (since most pharmacies close here at six on Sunday, and would not reopen until Tuesday), he came home after 8:00 PM. Yeah, that was fun. Suffice it to say, quite of bit of last year was along the same fun roller coaster ride.

So, fast forward to now. This past Saturday, my son M. and I went to the Florida Antiquarian Book Fair. We try to go every year, usually on Saturday. It's held from Friday through Sunday; Friday's hours are mostly late afternoon and early evening, and Sundays just don't work for us. So Saturdays are it.

Coliseum

As far as I know, it's always been held at the St. Petersburg, Florida's Coliseum. If you've ever been there, especially inside, you probably know that it's kind-of cool in an off-beat sort-of way. It also made it into the movie Cocoon (the scene where the old couples are dancing). If you've never been there, the strands of lights hanging from the ceiling (which are seen in the movie) are there year 'round.

This year's book fair, showing the lights and some of the crowd

Coliseum, from the 2015 Antiquarian Book Fair, showing the lights

This year, after paying for our tickets just inside and going into the main room, we drifted toward the left. Two bookstores that show there every year are among our favorites: Glover's Bookery from Lexington, Kentucky, and Lighthouse Books, now located in Dade City, Florida (formerly from St. Petersburg).

It seems that every year, M. finds several old editions of different sci fi magazines at Glover's, and tries to decide which ones to get; this year, he snagged two Astounding Magazines, one from 1936, the other from 1938. (Yeah, he goes for that sort of stuff.) I helped him find the boxes of pulp magazines and read off a few covers until he found what he wanted.

Next, we drifted towards Lighthouse Books. We used to stop by the store periodically when it was still located in St. Pete. The pictures of the new Dade City store looks like it was a good move for Michael, the owner. M. and I both got a chance to talk with Michael for a few minutes, and he acknowledged that he and the store are doing well in their new location. (Hint: If you're ever in Dade City, Florida, check out Lighthouse Books. Good people, good vibes, etc.

Glover's Bookery's stall. The crates with the pulp magazines where M. found the Astounding Magazines are directly under the picture of Ernest Hemingway.

The entrance to Lighthouse Books' stall, taken from Glover's Bookery. Lighthouse Books' owner, Michael, can be partially seen through the crate slats holding Hemingway up.

M. and I wandered around on our own for a while before meeting back up at the food court. After a snack, and hitting up the restroom (an art deco-ish room), we wandered a little more before our ride showed up.

While I didn't buy any books this year, I have in the past. But all told, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Back in Time Books

Other shots

Life Goes On, Somewhat Crazily

I realize I've been M.I.A. since last August. Even then, I didn't post much last year; from the looks of things, there were four (!) posts all of last year.

Of course, getting started here again has been interesting, to say the least. Anyone who's a writer (or artist of any sort) can related that too much time off makes it a little difficult to get motivated to head off in a forward direction.

But what the heck, I'm back.

Several weeks ago, I came so close to cutting my hair short (at least, short for me). The last time I had a major hair cut was for a job I'd landed, back in 1980. I can already hear at least one or two people thinking, Yikes! No need to tell me that was a long dang time ago.

The job I'd landed was working for a local fire department. The department had hired eight of us (if I remember correctly), including two women. (This is where your's truly fits in.) There was only one other department in our county, here on the west coast of Florida, that had a female firefighter; she'd been on the job less than a year.

I had already started off, near the end of 1979, as a volunteer with Pinellas Park Fire Department, shortly after the department had hired a new chief, so I had a somewhat vague idea of what to look forward to.

The department Jane and I were hired on at seemed okay with the length of my hair. I'd start off my shift with my hair in a braid. If we had a fire, and needed to wear our bunker gear, it was no big deal to grab the end of the braid, put said braid on top of my head, put my helmet on, and immediately, no hair showed.

However, when we started at the local fire academy, the then-head of the academy made it clear that I had to have my hair cut above my shirt collar. After all, that was how short the men had to have their hair. While our chief went to bat for me, I still had to get it cut short. Problem was, having it that short, I couldn't braid it and keep all the hair from sticking out from under the helmet.

At that point, I vowed never to cut my hair again, until I was good and ready.

So why was I thinking of cutting it recently? Well...Six weeks ago, I slipped and fell, landing hard on my back. Instant excruciating pain.

Silly me. Once I was able to move, and actually talk (I'd spent several minutes babbling, leaving my sons thinking I'd had a stroke), I got up and decided to take a shower. I was sure I'd simply pulled a few muscles in my back.

An hour or two later, though, when the pain showed no sign of subsiding, I agreed to go to a local free-standing ER to get it checked out. As it turned out, I'd fractured one of my vertibrae! No wonder it hurt!

Several hours later, after a room opened up in the main hospital (several miles away, with an in-house ER), I was transferred by ambulance and taken straight up to the assigned room, where I spent the weekend. While there, I ended up with an MRI lasting about half-an-hour (never a fun thing for someone who's claustrophobic). Fortunately, it turned out okay, still a fracture, but without further complications.

Two days later, I got to come home. But for six weeks, I've been stuck wearing a dang back brace. The first coupld of days, my hair kept getting caught in the brace; it was then that I seriously thought about cutting my hair shoulder-length. I didn't, though, and I'm now glad I didn't.

It's only a few more days until I get another X-ray to see if the back has healed enough to do without the back brace. Siiiiigh...

Also, to throw in some more fun, our two cats are now 15 years old, and starting to really show their age. Karma is showing it a little harder than is sister, Drexie, is. But either way, Karma and Drexie are getting up there.

At one time, Karma had topped off at 12-pounds and change; he's now down to 5.8 pounds, and has the beginnings of kidney issues, while Drexi, who used to be 6-pounds, is a little closer to 7 pounds now. They both seem to sleep more these days. Karma is also showing some signs of slowing down, and not able to jump as well as he used to.

Anyone who has had cats (or dogs, or any other pets) and who've gotten seriously attached to the pets knows how bitter-sweet it can be, watching the decline, knowing it's simply a matter of time when the pets are no longer around. That's what we're looking at with Karma and Drexie. I know we'll all be basket-cases when their time comes. But in the meantime, they'll get all the love, cuddles, and treats we can give them.

One last word: love your family, even the pets.

Karma Kitty

Drexie Calabash

Have a Nice Day!

There was a time, from maybe 1989 through the early '90s, when I did stand-up comedy. While I never made it big, I did enjoy doing it during those four years and change.

I'd worked at a local hospital, doing a temporary, part-time job, working weekend nights, where a couple of my coworkers mentioned I should do stand-up comedy. When a local coffee house opened up, after I'd left the job, I decided to give it a try. Every Saturday night, for 15 minutes, sometimes a little longer (if the next act wasn't quite ready), I honed my craft. The first few times, I only got an occasional polite laugh; it took a while before I was comfortable enough to actually be able to be elicit real laughs.

While it might've been tempting to simply come up with a string of jokes ("What did one traffic light say to the other traffic light?" "Stop looking! I'm changing!"), I opted to go with real life stuff. And why not? I was going through a divorce (okay, it was early in the divorce) and raising four kids. Anyone who's ever been married and/or had kids knows that there are times when things can be downright funny, in a weird way.

After I'd been doing stand-up at CAMS (the name of the coffee house in Pinellas Park, Fla.) for a while, I branched out to a couple of other places, though not too often. But no matter the venue, it felt good getting laughs while telling about the craziness of life.

So, for old times' sake, here's one of the segments I did, both at CAMS and a couple of other places. I'm updating it a little, but not much, and deleting a little.

So, I'm thinking about getting a dog to replace our old dog who died...15 years ago. Osha wasn't quite the dog I'd planned to get. I'd had my heart set on getting a DOG, one that was big enough that if anyone was stupid enough to break into our house, would use a massive paw to push that person onto a chair, use another massive paw to push the phone over to that person, then demand that he or she call 9-1-1 to get the police to pick up his sorry butt. And if that call wasn't made fast enough, that dog would then stand up and insist, "I mean now."

Instead, we ended up with Osha, a silly Cocker Spaniel pup, the runt of the litter.

I should've known we were getting her when a friend whose dog had had pups called up. "How about bringing the kids over? We can hang out for a couple of hours." It was only after we got there that I discovered there was one pup who hadn't been claimed.

That evening, when my other-half came home from work, I told him I was planning to get a dog for the kids. His immediate response was, "You bring that dog home, I'll pack up and move out within 24 hours!"

The dog was in the house the next day. Took the man two years to get the hint.

But that's beside the point. I discovered things about dogs, one of which is that they hate when you blow in their face. But take 'em for a car ride, and immediately, their head is out the window, getting wind in their face.

Kind-of reminds me of my friend, Sue. When we'd go out, I had to drive, as she'd always have her head out the window, especially at the beach. "Look at that guy! Looklooklook! Ooooh...wooow!" But blow in her face, she'd go nuts!

Of course, we all have things that work our last nerves. One of my pet peeves is the phrase Have a nice day!

Picture this: You're at work, near the end of your shift. You're going out that evening with your better-half for your 20th anniversary...until he calls to inform you he's leaving your for his very young, very rich, very good-looking, very male secretary (and you think you know someone!).

So you head home, and there, in your front yard, are several news crews from the major networks, and different news shows - 20/20, 48 hours, 60 minutes, Dateline - and you're sure Geraldo Rivera is skulking around somewhere. Something about your son being the U.S. connection for some major drug cartel.

You manage to get inside to find the phone ringing, only to find equally interesting news from your daughter.

So you sneak out the back door to avoid the news crews, head to the store, and pick up some basic comfort food: a container of hot mac and cheese from the deli, a double batch of brownies from the bakery, two gallons-worth of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia, and a friendly bottle of alcohol...only to have the cashier tell you to have a nice day. Yeah, you have a nice day, see how you like it!

Another thing that bugs me is asking to borrow my car. There's a reason behind this.

Now, keep in mind that I don't have any medical problem that'll cause my demise in any two-hour period of time.

So, my oldest son borrowed my car so he and his girlfriend (we'll call her Denise) could go to a friend's birthday party.

Two hours later, son called up. The conversation went as follows:

SON: Hi, Mom, how are you?

ME: Fine. How are you?

SON: I'm fine.

ME: How's Denise?

SON: She's fine.

ME: How's my car?

SON: Denise and I are fine.

ME: How bad's the car?

SON: The cop says it's totaled...(At this point, there's a metal-on-metal noise from hell in the background). And the wrecker is hooking up to the car...(and then there was a slight pause, before he added) But, Mom, I want you to know that the palm tree is doing just fine...

Turns out, a car full of tourists was in the center lane. The driver did one of those infamous "Oooh, look at that house, Ethel," where he points at said house...and the car drifts the way his arm is pointing, running my son, his girlfriend, and our full-size station wagon into said tree. That driver later told me (after the cop brought him back to the scene and I'd caught a ride there), "I'm sorry, I just didn't see the car."

I had no idea Ford was building Stealth cars...

Well, the man's insurance did pay for me to get another car. Sure, it was a used car, but it's nice enough. Four doors, six cylinders, comfortable-enough ride.

So, I headed over to show Sue, who, to my chagrin, just got a brand new Corvette. Bright blue. V8 engine.

But my car's all paid for.

She has a Corvette.

But mine has decent gas mileage...

Did I mention the 'Vette?

Suddenly, it hit me...I could've had a V8!

About a block from Sue's place my car sputtered to a stop. Sure, the gas gauge was on 'E', but in my defense, my previous two cars had none-functioning gas gauges that always read E. We just had to make sure to top 'em off periodically.

I walked the last block to her house, and her husband offered to take me to get gas for my car.

As he looked for his keys, Sue informed me, "That's just like you to run out of gas! By the way, wanna see...?" (Yeah, you guessed it...the 'Vette.)

By now, her husband was ready to bring me on the gas run, so I turned to Sue, blew in her face, and told her to have a nice day.

And Then it Got Real...: The New Normal

Life has a way of changing on so many levels: something comes along and the scenery changes, the way we do things change, and that, in turn, changes the way we see things, perceive them, even as we change with the ongoing evolution of whatever instigated these changes.

Since the beginning of the year, we've heard about the coronavirus. Medscape has an interesting slideshow/article about COVID-19. Apparently the coronavirus has been around longer than many of us realize, according to the Medscape article. But this version, what we're going through now, was pinpointed in January of this year, starting in Wuhan, China. (The wikipedia site mentioned December 2019 as the start, with a World Health Organization link pinpointing it to December 31, 2019.)

At first, most people I know seemed to feel that it was a problem for others, people someplace else. After all, this is the United States; certainly, this wouldn't affect us.

Until it did. Reports started coming in about the virus going worldwide. It affected people across Asia, Europe, the U.K., and, yes, the Americas - Canada, Mexico, and the good ol' U.S. That's when shit started to get real for many of us.

Soon, though, we started getting a little complacent. It can't/won't get worse, we figured. As long as we live right, we'll be okay.

Then, Tom Hanks and his wife, Rita Wilson, came down with COVID-19. While many of us have our own favorite actors and movies and TV shows, Hanks has been a popular person, due, in part, for seeming like one of us, not egotistical. The fact that he and his wife got COVID-19 made it real.

But then, it looked like the pair was going to get better (they did get well), and we could breathe a sigh of relief. See? It's survivable, especially for regular people.

But then the virus spread, and people were getting sick and, in too many cases, dying. Many of us knew someone who'd contracted it, and suddenly, it got real...

In March, gatherings were being canceled. At first, it was advised to avoid gatherings where more than 250 were expected, then gatherings greater than 50, then 10.

This, of course, affected most of us, to one degree or another. The city of Pinellas Park (Florida) canceled their 30th annual Country in the Park celebration ("Strange Times We're Living In..."). City council meetings are now virtual affairs, rather than open-to-the-public meetings. (In fact, the city hall is officially closed to the public for the duration.) Schools nation-wide are closed, with students learning online. (Yes, this includes colleges and universities.) Grocery stores, at least where I live, have colored tape on the floors to indicate how far to stand apart at the check-out lines. Publix, probably the most popular grocery chain in Florida, now has colored tape on floors indicating which way to walk through each aisle, so that the aisles are now one-way. More than once, I've heard people - both customers and workers - point out to others, "Excuse me, but you're going the wrong way!" Yikes!

Yes, it got real.

Life changed in other ways. Businesses are furloughing employees, while the number of people out of work due to COVID-19 has grown to crazy numbers. (My son, M., has been furloughed, and having loads of fun - note the touch of sarcasm - trying to work through Florida's unemployment website.) Easter services were virtual, including the Easter service from the Vatican City, with Pope Francis holding the service via TV. Beaches were closed, though some beaches in northern Florida are starting to open. (The photos from these beaches show people getting too close; so much for social distancing!)

Then, several weeks ago, the Tampa Bay Times (formerly the St. Petersburg Times) announced that they'd be publishing only twice a week (Sunday and Wednesday) for the duration. Since many non-essential businesses have had to close for the duration of the pandemic, these businesses are no longer buying ads until they're able to get back to work. This, of course, affected the paper's income. It is still available online; subscribers can log in and see what the paper would look like the rest of the week.

This stuff got real...

This seems to be the new normal, wondering how long we'll be quarantined, when people can get back to work, when people can actually get back to the old normal. At this point, having life back to the way it was, or something similar, would be welcome.

In the meantime, here's hoping we all stay well and safe.

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

Yard Sales

I hate yard sales.

Let me clarify that a little. I love going to yard sales, especially ones that are non-specific; by that I mean yard sales that are not simply selling all of one thing - children's clothes and old toys; all car parts; personal-care stuff in bulk, picked up at store clearance end-caps and sold en masse in a yard sale. What I hate is having yard sales.

Okay, maybe hate is a strong word when associated with yard sales, but anyone who's ever had a yard sale can probably understand.

First of all, you have to pick a day (or, if you're going to do it for the whole weekend, or, at least, several days, a weekend), and make sure ahead of time that the weather is good. Then, the morning of the yard sale (or the first morning, if it's a multiple-day event), you've got to get up very early and start dragging out stuff (yes, that's the technical term): tables (even if this includes closet doors propped up on chairs), boxes of sales-stuff, stuff that won't fit into boxes (that old lawn mower that you've meant to get rid of), place everything onto tables (well, except for that lawn mower), and make sure that it's spread out in some kind of order - books with books, DVDs together, etc. Then, you've got to make sure your yard sale signs are where people can see them and be directed to your yard sale. This can be dicey, especially if you're silly enough to try doing this by yourself; put the signs out at main streets before putting stuff on the tables, and you're liable to have people driving by while you're opening that first box of stuff to put out. But put the stuff out after you've set up, and there's a good chance people will come by while no one is watching the sale. Yup, best to have at least one other person helping out. Either way, though, figure it's going to take a good hour (or two) to completely set up. I can almost guarantee that half-way through the morning, you'll remember that one or two items that you really wanted to set out in the sale; this happens almost every time I've had a yard sale.

Of course, the weather isn't necessarily a problem if you've got a garage with a secure-able garage door. You can set up in the garage a little at a time during the week before the sale, knowing that if it rains, you can still have the sale. And if the weather is nice, you can drag one or two tables out on the day of the sale so that people driving down the street can spot the sale easier.

Then there's the wait. If you're lucky and lots of people wander by, you won't have much of a wait. And, of course, at the end of the sale, there's the clean-up, where you put everything away...

My last yard sale was held on a weekend where there was a thirty percent chance of rain. Yes, 30%! That might sound crazy, but hear me out. This is Florida and summer is the rainy season. Thirty percent was the lowest chance of rain we'd had for a few weeks, and what looked like the lowest percent in the near future. Besides, the rain was predicted to show up mid-afternoon, giving me (and my daughter, M.H., who'd wanted to have the yard sale) all morning and a couple of afternoon hours to sell stuff. Besides, the previous Saturday, when M.H. had really wanted to have the yard sale, we'd had a fifty percent chance of rain, which, of course, meant putting the sale off by a week. And then, on the 50%-chance-of-rain-day, it didn't rain until after 5:00 that afternoon. Dang, I thought. We could have had the yard sale and had it over and done with! Thirty percent chance of afternoon rain sounded good.

Saturday morning, I put out the tables, then hung out the signs before rushing back to finish setting up. As some point, I texted M.H. to let her know what was up; she texted back that she'd be over in a little while to help out.

Over the next hour or so, there was a steady stream of people coming by. Quite a few stopped, some bought stuff, while others slowed down, glanced over, then kept going. M.H. came by with her daughter, G.H., and the two of us kept fairly busy.

At some point, the clouds started rolling in, slowly, at first, then rapidly.

"I hope it doesn't rain," M.H. said. I agreed, then mentioned that it wasn't supposed to rain until mid-afternoon.

But within a few minutes it started sprinkling. We started grabbing some of the stuff that would be ruined by the rain - books, the closet doors being used as tables, that sort-of thing.

But suddenly, the rain poured down in earnest. It was like standing in the shower, fully dressed, while we scrambled around dragging stuff in, shouting "Grab that box over there!" and "Help me drag this box in now; it's falling apart!"

Once we got everything in, I lent M.H. clothes so she could put her soaking wet clothes into the last load of laundry she was doing at our place that week.

Neither of us was happy. The week before, when there was a 50% chance of rain, causing us to delay our yard sale plans, it hadn't rained until after 5:00. Now, when the rain chance hovered at 30% of afternoon showers, making it look good for a sale (or, at least, a better day for a sale), it had rained before noon. Yes, we groused. We were definitely not happy.

But finally, we got our acts together and started going through the yard sale boxes that we'd dragged inside, picking stuff to save for a future sale, stuff for Ebay, stuff for M.H. to donate to Goodwill on her way home, stuff to throw out. It took an hour or two.

"At least we made some money," M.H. said.

Finally, stuff set into groups - future yard sale/Ebay stuff, donate bag, other stuff thrown out - M.H. and G.H. got ready to leave. "I'm so over yard sales," M.H. said as they headed out. I had to agree. It had been a fiasco.

Yes, it rained the rest of the day. So much for 30 %. And yes, when it looks like I'll be having another yard sale sometime in the sort-of near future.

Not that I'm in any hurry.

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?

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!