I am off to Haiti in less than two days! I am really excited about it. I just love traveling so much, the mere thought of packing sends shivers down my spine. It's been awhile since I've visited a developing country and I find that I enjoy spending time in those the most. Probably because what attracts me is the amount of diversity and there is more of that in these countries. Although, Japan is definitely a developed country, but it's so drastically different from other western countries, it's in a whole different league. Anyway, back to Haiti. And me in it.
I had to buy some scrubs from goodwill to wear down there because apparently that's the only time women can wear pants and not be considered to have a damaged reputation if you catch my drift. I also had to find some long dresses with sleeves to wear when I'm not wearing scrubs. Have you ever tried to find a long dress with sleeves in Florida in the summer time? Near impossible. But a thrift store in Port St. Joe for the Humane Society was obliging and I found two dresses of a lesser degree of hideousness that I could wear. And now I think I'm all set for clothes to wear! I just hope I don't sweat to death. Of all the possible misfortunes to befall a person in Haiti, I'm oddly concerned with sweating to death.
I'm reading this amazing book about this 18 year old girl who is sailing around the world, all by herself. She is woefully inadequate for the task, but of course, that is what makes her story so appealing. What would be the fun of reading the accounts of a briny ole mariner with twenty odd years of experience under his crusty belt? None at all! So, needless to say, reading of her adventures has about got me in a lather of excitement about the prospect of embarking on my own adventure! Unfortunately, I'm not talking about Haiti here since it's only a week and I'm going with about 14 other people (I think). I'm trying to keep the trip exciting by knowing as little as possible about the details. If nothing else, that should make for an interesting interview at customs.
Well, it's gotten late and my brain has turned off for the night. Actually, I'd much rather get up and start packing for Haiti than sit here typing out some bric-a-brac letter clusters that barely make sense. I know it's time to move on when my grammar and spelling take a nose-dive and my typing gets dyslexic. 'p's for 'b's and all sorts of other nonsense.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Never was a truer word...
I never thought I'd find accordance with something a republican said, especially one of such excess like Regan. But wouldn't you know, surprises come in all shapes and sizes.
"People don't start wars, governments do."
--Ronald Reagan
Monday, June 9, 2008
Gifts of scat
We have a very giving raccoon who has designated our back porch and more specifically, the mats in front of the doors, it's own personal latrine. Not once but twice I've found raccoon poo on the mats at our sliding glass doors.
I did a little investigative investigating and found that yep, it actually is doo-doo from a raccoon and that this is a way for the raccoon to stake out its territory AND it will use the same "latrine" repeatedly. This is not cool. I do not want to find raccoon scat on my door step! At least it's not on fire, but still. NOT COOL.
Well, at least now I know what Rosie's always barking at... those sneaking, pilfering night rats.
You know I hope someone is not depositing these little droppings and doing some voodoo chants... 'cause it's pretty suspicious when it's only in front of the doors, eh... unless the little bugger is taunting Rosie. I wouldn't put it past 'em.
I did a little investigative investigating and found that yep, it actually is doo-doo from a raccoon and that this is a way for the raccoon to stake out its territory AND it will use the same "latrine" repeatedly. This is not cool. I do not want to find raccoon scat on my door step! At least it's not on fire, but still. NOT COOL.
Well, at least now I know what Rosie's always barking at... those sneaking, pilfering night rats.
You know I hope someone is not depositing these little droppings and doing some voodoo chants... 'cause it's pretty suspicious when it's only in front of the doors, eh... unless the little bugger is taunting Rosie. I wouldn't put it past 'em.
Cycling with kill or maim you.
With all these obscene rises in gas prices, I lament the sorry state of public transportation in Tallahassee. I lament how spread out Tallahassee is and the fact that I can't just walk down the street to the grocery store like I could in New Zealand. I was living in the nation's capital, a few hundred thousand more inhabitants than Tallahassee, yet much more compact and each suburb/neighborhood had their own mini center with some restaurants, businesses and at least a convenience store if not a grocery store. I loved the fact I could walk to the post office, cafe, grocery store, antique shop, Indian restaurant, multiple bus stops, and more in under five minutes. How spoiled I was. I even hoofed from my mini town, Kilbirnie, over the hill (very big hill) to the neighboring suburb known as Newtown where I attended classes at the hospital. I get to tell my children that I walked to school and it was uphill both ways. No snow though, and a bummer at that.
But back to Tallahassee and how cycling will kill or maim you. I have a job relatively close to my home. Theoretically, I could ride my bike to work and save on gas and get a nice workout. If I was in New Zealand, I would do it in a heart beat, or even take the bus. But here in Tallahassee, that's not exactly an option. I've been scarred as a child on the roads of Tallahassee. My dad and I used to go for all sorts of bike rides, down the St. Mark's trail, our old neighborhood - Indian Head Acres, and around FSU. I will never forget riding my bike down Pensacola and people honking their horns at us, and shouting obscenities out the window. Lord knows I was on the edge of the road, hugging that white line and wishing I was somewhere else without all these big, heavy, fast cars whizzing past.
For that reason and the general state of Tallahassee's roads and drivers, I am too scared to bike to work or anywhere else for that matter. I won't even bike around my own neighborhood since Lakeshore Drive cuts through it and people drive that road like it's a rollercoaster ride. Not to mention today's Democrat has an article in the Local section about the 'Ghost riders'. It's basically a rundown of car-bike accidents that leave the bikers seriously injured, flying through the air or dead. And not just any run of the mill bikers, no sir. These are people who work with bikes for a living or have been commuting to work on bikes for ages. Not exactly people out for a Sunday stroll. So I'm thinking my chances of safety are pretty poor. I'd much rather ride on the sidewalk that is reserved for pedestrians, but there are places where the sidewalk ends and without warning switches to the other side of the road or just ceases to exist.
I've never supported bikers sharing the road because in order to pass them safely, you've often got to spend some time in the on-coming traffic lane. If it's rush hour, that's out of the question and then you have two choices. Back up traffic behind a bike going who knows how slow or pass the biker within an inch of their life. Sharing the roads is not fair to cyclists or drivers. Every major thorough fare should have a sidewalk, bike lane and car lane. Essentially, neighborhoods don't need bike lanes because you shouldn't be going above 30-25 mph anyway.
I just know that you won't find me out on my bike on Tallahassee thorough fares anytime soon. Not only is it dangerous, but it is hot outside. I'd wheeze my way up to work in a cloud of perspiration and sun stroke only to discover I've got a spray of dirt up my back from a puddle I must have sped through on my way over. I'm tempted to try the bus system, but my impression is that you don't use it if you have to be somewhere on time. Geez louise, what a mess. Maybe I'll talk with my boss about my experimentation with the bus so she'll know I'm at least en route, if not an hour early for no apparent reason.
But back to Tallahassee and how cycling will kill or maim you. I have a job relatively close to my home. Theoretically, I could ride my bike to work and save on gas and get a nice workout. If I was in New Zealand, I would do it in a heart beat, or even take the bus. But here in Tallahassee, that's not exactly an option. I've been scarred as a child on the roads of Tallahassee. My dad and I used to go for all sorts of bike rides, down the St. Mark's trail, our old neighborhood - Indian Head Acres, and around FSU. I will never forget riding my bike down Pensacola and people honking their horns at us, and shouting obscenities out the window. Lord knows I was on the edge of the road, hugging that white line and wishing I was somewhere else without all these big, heavy, fast cars whizzing past.
For that reason and the general state of Tallahassee's roads and drivers, I am too scared to bike to work or anywhere else for that matter. I won't even bike around my own neighborhood since Lakeshore Drive cuts through it and people drive that road like it's a rollercoaster ride. Not to mention today's Democrat has an article in the Local section about the 'Ghost riders'. It's basically a rundown of car-bike accidents that leave the bikers seriously injured, flying through the air or dead. And not just any run of the mill bikers, no sir. These are people who work with bikes for a living or have been commuting to work on bikes for ages. Not exactly people out for a Sunday stroll. So I'm thinking my chances of safety are pretty poor. I'd much rather ride on the sidewalk that is reserved for pedestrians, but there are places where the sidewalk ends and without warning switches to the other side of the road or just ceases to exist.
I've never supported bikers sharing the road because in order to pass them safely, you've often got to spend some time in the on-coming traffic lane. If it's rush hour, that's out of the question and then you have two choices. Back up traffic behind a bike going who knows how slow or pass the biker within an inch of their life. Sharing the roads is not fair to cyclists or drivers. Every major thorough fare should have a sidewalk, bike lane and car lane. Essentially, neighborhoods don't need bike lanes because you shouldn't be going above 30-25 mph anyway.
I just know that you won't find me out on my bike on Tallahassee thorough fares anytime soon. Not only is it dangerous, but it is hot outside. I'd wheeze my way up to work in a cloud of perspiration and sun stroke only to discover I've got a spray of dirt up my back from a puddle I must have sped through on my way over. I'm tempted to try the bus system, but my impression is that you don't use it if you have to be somewhere on time. Geez louise, what a mess. Maybe I'll talk with my boss about my experimentation with the bus so she'll know I'm at least en route, if not an hour early for no apparent reason.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Cockroach Longevity
My parents and I just recently returned from visiting family and attending a funeral down south. This close association with death prompted a little discussion in the car about how we want the end times to go down. Cremation was the order of the day since burial seems to be a luxury of the well-insured these days. Anyway, we got to talking about grandpa and his insistence to be buried and not cremated like his wife and son. He does, however want his wife and son's ashes in the casket with him. Because of his tour in the Pacific arena during World War II, he gets to be buried in the Florida Veterans National Cemetery down in ... um... central Florida.
For real, this cemetery is in the middle of nowhere, next to nothing and across from desolate. But once you enter the perfectly manicured grounds, you suddenly realize where the rest of the military's budget goes. Every blade of grass stands at attention, the bushes that line the sidewalk remind you were you can step and where you cannot, and at every bend in the road, a patch of land has been cleared of shrubby forest and white rounded tombstones watch you as you ride by. This is where my grandpa will be buried with the ashes of his wife (well, we're actually not sure if they ever did get married or just lived together for fifty-odd years) and his son (tragic car accident).
Despite the talk of my grandpa's funeral arrangements, there is no doubt in our mind that he'll be around for a good long while. He may be creeping up his mid-80s, and he doesn't get around too well, but I'll be darned if he doesn't have that cockroach longevity. My parents muse that he'll be around even after they're gone. And it's funny because he hasn't exactly led a life of exemplary health. But neither has he thrown his health to the dogs. He doesn't eat red meat (only fish & maybe chicken. I don't know, I can never keep up with his finicky ways), eats beans (good for the heart, I hear), hates carrots (but we can trick him into eating carrot cake), and drinks that non-alcoholic beer (but thinks it's the real thing).
My grandpa is a case study in wonderment. He's illiterate, but served in WWII (I don't know how he got through the service without reading something....but whatever. I don't think they were real picky back then....or now). Because he can't read, he's VERY picky on what he buys at the grocery store. It has to be the right brand or he doesn't know what he's got. Drove me crazy one day when I went to pick up some medicine for him once. I got the wrong brand. Then I got the wrong form (liquid vs. pill). Then I got the wrong size. I threw my hands in the air and said forget it. Did I mention that the man doesn't drive? Not since I've known him (which is, you know, my whole life). I do know that he had a motorcycle once and he had a big crash that knocked out a bunch of teeth and messed his face a bit. But that was long before my time. And he can pretend to be mean as a snake, but really, the man must have a heart of gold. I say this because when he lived down south (he currently lives in an apartment attached to our house), he had all kinds of animals all over the property. Ferrets, a variety of birds, dogs, probably some feral cats, and who knows what else. Now it is my opinion that people who care for animals have a touch of the sainthood in them. The rest of them might be rubbish, but there's a piece of the divine in them for them to care for another living beast.
And I almost forgot to mention that grandpa used to de-ball skunks. In the back yard. Which was conveniently backed up to the high school that my mother attended. Here she is, trying to survive adolescence, and her dad is taking the stink sacks out of skunks in the yard of the high school. There are no secrets in a small town, but you don't have to give them visual aids. Lord have mercy.
Don't let me forget to tell you that the man has guns. Not just one or two, but a bunch. And not just some sissy BB gun. No sir. My grandpa's got some cannons. Which never struck me as a safe idea. Especially when he was threatening to use my dog as target practice when she rummaged through the recycling bin at night and woke him up. And it's not like he's had these guns since he was a young buck..... nooooo, he's got recent acquirements as well. Just when he was in his late seventies, for reasons unknown, grandpa decided he needed another handgun. And got one. I feel like, if you're over a certain age or mental capacity, you should hand over your drivers license and any firearms you might be hoarding. It just ceases to be a good idea for certain citizens to have either of those after a certain threshold in age and mental stability has passed.
Currently my grandpa has been reduced from a menagerie of animals/pets to one dog. One very neurotic dog. This little beast can see everything coming and going from the driveway and yaps about it for a solid five minutes. Doesn't matter that it's YOU. YOU who have lived there since the beginning. Nope, doesn't change a thing. And yet, the little beast won't yap at the legions of squirrels and the occasional bird that my grandpa feeds right in the driveway. I don't know why grandpa feels it necessary to feed the squirrels. I believe they do enough pillaging as it is. But glance out the window and you're guaranteed to see four or five squirrels munching away on bird food that grandpa lays out on a TRAY in the driveway for them. Needless to say, my dog Rosie loves this set-up as it allows her to come barreling around the side of the house and send the squirrels fleeing to the nearest oak or pine tree for safety. She gives a good chase and I've seen her nearly snag one. Grandpa, of course, hates this and threatens to (once again) use my dog as target practice for abusing his squirrels.
Oh, there are so many more stories that I could tell about grandpa, his neurotic dog, his charming demeanor (and really, I mean his sarcasm), and the bizarre stories he tells of his time with the navy in Japan. Or I could tell about he could make just about anything with wood, including replica weapons like rifles and shotguns. So good, you'd have to hold it in your hands to realize the weight wasn't right. Or how he had gargantuan poinsettias growing as tall as his house in central Florida. And how he and Sally (my grandma) had a table and chairs made out of barrels. Or how he's got a lamp with a pair of hot legs holding up the lamp shade and bulb.
But don't let me forget to tell you about the tattoo taking up the better portion of his forearm. He got this naked lady tattooed on his arm for all the world to see while on a drunken leave from the ship during the war. His commanding officer said "no can do. go back and put some clothes on her." So he went back and had a serpent wrapped around her naughty bits. Or course, by the time I came around and could see it, it was a blurry mess and I had to ask him what it was. Then I could see it. And I thought he was pretty badass too. I mean, how many people have a grandpa with a few remaining teeth left over from a motorcycle accident and a naked lady with a snake wrapped around her on his forearm? You've got to admit, that is one badass grandpa. True to the image, he lives up to it everyday when he defies natural law and continues to go about living like a cockroach after a nuclear holocaust. The man will outlive us all.
For real, this cemetery is in the middle of nowhere, next to nothing and across from desolate. But once you enter the perfectly manicured grounds, you suddenly realize where the rest of the military's budget goes. Every blade of grass stands at attention, the bushes that line the sidewalk remind you were you can step and where you cannot, and at every bend in the road, a patch of land has been cleared of shrubby forest and white rounded tombstones watch you as you ride by. This is where my grandpa will be buried with the ashes of his wife (well, we're actually not sure if they ever did get married or just lived together for fifty-odd years) and his son (tragic car accident).
Despite the talk of my grandpa's funeral arrangements, there is no doubt in our mind that he'll be around for a good long while. He may be creeping up his mid-80s, and he doesn't get around too well, but I'll be darned if he doesn't have that cockroach longevity. My parents muse that he'll be around even after they're gone. And it's funny because he hasn't exactly led a life of exemplary health. But neither has he thrown his health to the dogs. He doesn't eat red meat (only fish & maybe chicken. I don't know, I can never keep up with his finicky ways), eats beans (good for the heart, I hear), hates carrots (but we can trick him into eating carrot cake), and drinks that non-alcoholic beer (but thinks it's the real thing).
My grandpa is a case study in wonderment. He's illiterate, but served in WWII (I don't know how he got through the service without reading something....but whatever. I don't think they were real picky back then....or now). Because he can't read, he's VERY picky on what he buys at the grocery store. It has to be the right brand or he doesn't know what he's got. Drove me crazy one day when I went to pick up some medicine for him once. I got the wrong brand. Then I got the wrong form (liquid vs. pill). Then I got the wrong size. I threw my hands in the air and said forget it. Did I mention that the man doesn't drive? Not since I've known him (which is, you know, my whole life). I do know that he had a motorcycle once and he had a big crash that knocked out a bunch of teeth and messed his face a bit. But that was long before my time. And he can pretend to be mean as a snake, but really, the man must have a heart of gold. I say this because when he lived down south (he currently lives in an apartment attached to our house), he had all kinds of animals all over the property. Ferrets, a variety of birds, dogs, probably some feral cats, and who knows what else. Now it is my opinion that people who care for animals have a touch of the sainthood in them. The rest of them might be rubbish, but there's a piece of the divine in them for them to care for another living beast.
And I almost forgot to mention that grandpa used to de-ball skunks. In the back yard. Which was conveniently backed up to the high school that my mother attended. Here she is, trying to survive adolescence, and her dad is taking the stink sacks out of skunks in the yard of the high school. There are no secrets in a small town, but you don't have to give them visual aids. Lord have mercy.
Don't let me forget to tell you that the man has guns. Not just one or two, but a bunch. And not just some sissy BB gun. No sir. My grandpa's got some cannons. Which never struck me as a safe idea. Especially when he was threatening to use my dog as target practice when she rummaged through the recycling bin at night and woke him up. And it's not like he's had these guns since he was a young buck..... nooooo, he's got recent acquirements as well. Just when he was in his late seventies, for reasons unknown, grandpa decided he needed another handgun. And got one. I feel like, if you're over a certain age or mental capacity, you should hand over your drivers license and any firearms you might be hoarding. It just ceases to be a good idea for certain citizens to have either of those after a certain threshold in age and mental stability has passed.
Currently my grandpa has been reduced from a menagerie of animals/pets to one dog. One very neurotic dog. This little beast can see everything coming and going from the driveway and yaps about it for a solid five minutes. Doesn't matter that it's YOU. YOU who have lived there since the beginning. Nope, doesn't change a thing. And yet, the little beast won't yap at the legions of squirrels and the occasional bird that my grandpa feeds right in the driveway. I don't know why grandpa feels it necessary to feed the squirrels. I believe they do enough pillaging as it is. But glance out the window and you're guaranteed to see four or five squirrels munching away on bird food that grandpa lays out on a TRAY in the driveway for them. Needless to say, my dog Rosie loves this set-up as it allows her to come barreling around the side of the house and send the squirrels fleeing to the nearest oak or pine tree for safety. She gives a good chase and I've seen her nearly snag one. Grandpa, of course, hates this and threatens to (once again) use my dog as target practice for abusing his squirrels.
Oh, there are so many more stories that I could tell about grandpa, his neurotic dog, his charming demeanor (and really, I mean his sarcasm), and the bizarre stories he tells of his time with the navy in Japan. Or I could tell about he could make just about anything with wood, including replica weapons like rifles and shotguns. So good, you'd have to hold it in your hands to realize the weight wasn't right. Or how he had gargantuan poinsettias growing as tall as his house in central Florida. And how he and Sally (my grandma) had a table and chairs made out of barrels. Or how he's got a lamp with a pair of hot legs holding up the lamp shade and bulb.
But don't let me forget to tell you about the tattoo taking up the better portion of his forearm. He got this naked lady tattooed on his arm for all the world to see while on a drunken leave from the ship during the war. His commanding officer said "no can do. go back and put some clothes on her." So he went back and had a serpent wrapped around her naughty bits. Or course, by the time I came around and could see it, it was a blurry mess and I had to ask him what it was. Then I could see it. And I thought he was pretty badass too. I mean, how many people have a grandpa with a few remaining teeth left over from a motorcycle accident and a naked lady with a snake wrapped around her on his forearm? You've got to admit, that is one badass grandpa. True to the image, he lives up to it everyday when he defies natural law and continues to go about living like a cockroach after a nuclear holocaust. The man will outlive us all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)