Squirrel with a nut!

Squirrel with a nut!

And now I am off to do my five minutes. That is all.

Rainy morning update

For the last two mornings I've been practicing doing my "five minutes" of writing, writing writing, not blog writing which M. Lee claims is not writing at all. I differ with that opinion but I know what he's getting at. Anyway, two days ago I (once again) rose to his challenge and made myself "work". In other words, I stared down the blank page, fought off the Brutal Editor and scratched out a few words. So much easier to do this. Or, easier yet, photographs.

But, then again, griping about writer's block, is a device. I just need something to replace the current top post. I'm tired of that vulture staring at me whenever I drop by to grab a link or see if anyone on my blogroll has done a new post. By the way. Where's the Deconstructionist? It's been almost a year now! I know. Busy. But, back to that vulture for a minute. It feels like my blog is the roadkill laying in the street, and beyond that, the rest of my writing, what little there is of it, or might ever be, and that gets old.

It's bad enough that I'm already feeling pretty uninspired lately. I like Florida but I'm also really isolated here. Okay, I feel like that everywhere. On the upside, we have a healthy routine. We bike, swim and go to the gym on a regular basis. I'm grateful for that. But, once again, no friends, no history and not much chance of either. How would I make it different? At this point, I'm not sure I can. We'll be gone in a couple of months and do it all over again somewhere else. It's the curse of the road. Love it or leave it, right? My family is my anchor but they have their own lives. And so do I. I don't want to "live through them". That sounds so sadly vampirish and just plain sad. Even being a grandma is a relationship, certainly a wonderful one, a precious gift, but it's not my identity. And, I'm not "retired". I cannot even begin to wrap my head around that word. It doesn't make sense to me at all. I always have a project, a goal, a dream and my own personal nightmares.

I know. So get on with it. Blah blah. I've written about this before. Boo-hoo. The feelings will pass, even if the situation does not. I'll get to the Florida Writer's Association meeting next time they meet. That will help. They're nice folks and dedicated writers. Excuse me but it does help to sort it out here. So okay. Thanks for listening. I've got my feet back under me now.

In other news, the fight for domination of Frida's pineapple palm tree is all but won by none other than Diego Rivera, champion of the Battle Royale. The twins and Leon Trotsky gave it their best but Diego is a fearsome foe. You might ask, how can I know it's him? After all, we are talking about squirrels, are we not? Well, Diego has a distinctive tail. Of course, he's fatter and fuller than he was back in Frida's day, and that funny little ratty tip of his tail has filled in some, but the kink is still visible and the tip is still a bit on the ratty side. Plus, that's who he is, whoever he is. Easy.

Roadkill Cafe

A vulture enjoying a tasty lunch at the Roadkill Cafe., 

Taken from my car window, this fellow did not even consider moving when I stopped to photograph her. And why should she? Who better to the task of cleaning up the dead?

posted from Bloggeroid

Notes from the porch

Life here along Alligator Creek can be deceptively simple. Days have a rhythm unlike other places we stay. It's an end of the road thing, days marked by sunrise and sunset, rather than the human impositions that generally mark time. And so, a week plus in, and I have hardly done a thing. Again, I am sitting in the screen porch, birds are chirping, Swami and Minerva are here also enjoying the light as it works its daily way through the fronds of Frida Kahlo pineapple palm. And, new to the troop, Molly McGee is also here enjoying the morning.

I haven't talked about Molly before although she appears in a couple of the photos I posted of our cross-country drive, not here but on instagram. But more about her later. I'm still sorting that one out myself. So. The day is far too begun. M. Lee is on a bike ride and I need to get out of here before he gets back. Otherwise, I will really feel like a slob.

Sonny morning

Sonny was in fine form today though, at this point, his morning screen porch screed has burned down to a mumbling amid the trilling, twittering and whistling of the birds. Pops is out working in the yard. He is skinnier than ever and probably more fit. I think he's the one who put our mailbox door back in the box yesterday. It's been broken forever. I tried taping it last time we were here but it didn't stick. Maybe this year, I will actually spring for a new box, if they don't cost too much.

It's day three here along Alligator Creek, or at least I think it is. I've lost count. The only thing that's missing now is the squirrels. Frida's daughter did show up but hasn't checked today. She needs her own name, perhaps that of a Mexican poet. It will be a chance for me get acquainted with writers I don't know because, of course, this will require extensive research.

Literary road dogs and Alligator Creek

Sunday - last day - Georgia to Florida

Forget Kerouac and Cassady. Perhaps, they were never really all that anyway. For this five day drive from Portland, Oregon to Florida's gulf coast, Rilke, Odysseus Elytis, Roy DeG., Galway Kinnell and Billy Collins have been our literary traveling companions. I should say Billy McCollins because, for all his admittedly delightful surprise poetic twist endings, and being a former Poet Laureate of the United States, Billy really is the Rod McKuen of the hour. Sorry Billy, but you know it's true. Anyway, their company has been, in turns, painful (Billy's same-ie sameness), lofty (Odysseus's romantic Greek modernism), electrifying (Rilke), heartbreaking (Galway) and delightful (Roy DeG.).

M. Lee, Roy DeG. & me in K.C.

When we got to Florida we turned off I-75 to gas up and found ourselves in an alternate Elmore Leonard universe and stopping at the Sarasota Trader Joe's we entered the alternate universe of "ageless" women sporting every implant known to modern and primitive man plus some double, perhaps triple, implants and lifts known only to aliens and Jersey surgeons before which we could only stand in jaw-dropped awe.

Monday - home - Alligator Creek

The old place looks good. Since we were here last, Frida Kahlo's pineapple palm was (finally) pruned. There was even a young squirrel in it this morning eating a nut! Surely, she is one of Frida's descendants. And, wonder upon wonder, Sonny Boy still lives with his parents across the street. He's been out in the screen porch all morning expounding to his mother about the fat epidemic, environment disasters, jail, death, work (which he does not) and a variety of other subjects as flocks of white ibises fly over the twittering, splashing mangroves on their way to the beach. In the last year, we've spent more time on Alligator Creek than "home" in Nevada. It's comforting to see that something of the world as it was still lives there.

Launch minus 10

I thought we were leaving today (Tuesday) but, being so uprooted these days, it's easy to lose track. Yesterday we were in Portland. It was a splendid visit. We got to do a little bit of everything, the Children's Museum with Thea (five next Sunday) and Leo (four in August), swim class with Frank (two in August), toss balls for the goofus dogs, Nevada and Owen, watch baby birds in the old apple tree, have time out of time sunny afternoon chats vetting names for the new baby coming in the fall as the kids played in the yard, do a birthday shopping spree with Thea Bella, watch this year's crop of sunflowers rise up out of the ground and enjoy a big noisy family Sunday barbecue on our last night in town. Already I miss everyone terribly but tomorrow we begin our trek across the country. This will be the third time we've driven to Florida. We'll be on the road five 650 mi/10 hour days, the high point being a meet-up on Friday with Roy in Kansas City. That will be fun. We have never met in person but go back to the good ol' misc.writing days on the usenet and M. Lee and I both really enjoy his blog.

posted from Bloggeroid

One picture is worth

Ok. Time to roll this page forward.

I'm very distracted at the moment. We leave for China in just over a week and everyday I'm running around doing errands so tonight I have little tolerance for words although I have spent an absurd amount of time fussing over these few. It must end. Here are some photos instead. 

Mr. Leo discovers Florida
and an egret in the Century Plant
Summer 2013

Those are Frankie's feet in the lower right hand corner.

Bird on the Century Plant

Leo in the fronds

Meeting the mammoth of long ago

Father, son and the sea

It begins

A journey of 2800 miles begins with the first step.

The last of it

Rainy day on Alligator Creek.

There was an all night frog symphony last night on Alligator Creek. It was stupendous but forget about sleep. That giant sprawling tropical plant to the right of our poor little flood-locked mailbox is the frog palace/opera house. It's been raining like hell since yesterday. The drops are so big they're blops. And yes, thunder is rattling the house and the lightning is way too close. It's very unnerving since I learned that lightning can strike twice. I even heard about one guy around here whose house was hit three separate times. Once is enough! Everyone is laying low, even the lizards. I guess it's better that way. We leave in the morning. No more good-byes. I would like to say good-bye to the Gulf but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. I'm not done packing but this is the last of it. The hard part. The details. Then I'll clear out the screen porch where I spent all the lovely, buzzy evenings of summer, the sweetest with family, and that will be that. Done.

The last of it.

It wasn't much of a squirrel party this year but, hey, nobody died. I stuck to putting out peanuts and bird seed only in the morning and evening instead of randomly all day. A hawk did drop by now and then but the yard never became the big hunting ground like before. And, things being quieter, I had a chance to try out a little squirrel whispering on Dd. If you remember, she was the first one to show up after we arrived. I know. It sounds absurd, but actually it's not. Horses, squirrels, even people...the same principles work for everyone. Too bad I'm out of time. It was just beginning to get interesting.

One last screen porch wildlife rescue.

Mockingbird Arias for Autumn

It's a warm, sunny morning here on Alligator Creek and just this moment a mockingbird, perched on a frond in Frida Kahlo's pineapple palm, is singing her wild heart out. She's doing it all, from "Pretty Bird" to never-to-be-written Arias, one replacing the other with equal speed. Today is the Autumn Equinox, that brief moment when light and dark are equal. Now the days grow shorter and the night long.

Snoring bird

A bird is snoring somewhere out along Alligator Creek tonight. It's a soft chittering sound. Maybe birds don't snore. I don't know. I don't care. In my mind's eye I see a bird napping in the mangroves, head resting on its chest, beak nestled in its feathers, snoring away under the remnant of this year's Harvest Moon. Even two nights later, it was about the biggest, orangest moonrise I've ever seen. I wonder if birds dream about the moon.

Voices in the night

Tin can voice bug is quiet tonight for the first time in a couple of months. I miss him. However the frogs are chatting away about the nearly full moon and the wet cool night. They don't croak like other frogs I've heard. Still their rubbery-voiced, wet bellows conversation in squeaks, trills and purrs is delightful. This is the second to the last Wednesday before we leave so, starting tomorrow, everyday for the next week will be our last.

Life at the beach

Holy cow! I'm so in the rears with this thing. Life is streaming by. Something must be said of the days past. They were good. We walked on the beach early the other morning and came upon the Turtle Patrol checking on a loggerhead nest. In this particular nest most of the babies had already hatched but this morning three were struggling to the surface.

The sun was fully risen. The birds were out. A very dangerous time. Thea, Kristiana and I joined a small group of beach goers helping the volunteers protect the hatch-lings on their long journey to the nearby sea. Two of the babies were still a bit misshapen from their time in the egg. One had a lagging flipper, the other a slight hourglass shape to its shell. We, the human shield, guarded them as they struggled over clumps of sea grass left by the night's high tide. They labored up, down and across valleys of footprints in the sand. The first one sprinted across the wet shore and disappeared under the waves accompanied by cheers and camera flashes. The seagulls were far down the beach but, as just to be safe, one of the men in our group followed it into the water to ward off any possible death from above. It didn't matter. Baby One swam out and, as if from a secret fold in the universe, seagulls appeared and snatched it up and away in spite of our mad waving and shouting.

Just then Baby Two reached the sea and swam out into the waves. This time we were ready and determined to ward off the ravenous gulls. We waved and shouted at the sky. The guy in the water jumped and splashed. Baby Two was snatched up anyway. An aerial battle ensued, seagull on seagull, dive bombing, screeching, dipping, twisting. Baby Two dropped back into the water to more cheers and sudden hopes. It didn't matter. A seagull swooped down and claimed our darling and the battle resumed, rolling down the beach like a storm.

Baby Three continued its perilous journey toward the waves. Generally loggerhead hatchlings emerge from their nests in the sand at night when it's cool and the birds are asleep so, at this point, the Turtle Patrol intervened. They scooped it up into protective custody with a promise to all they'd return in the dark and release it to its fate in the sea.

Alligators!!!

Being west coasters, alligators are to us mythical as fire-breathing dragons. Seeing one is a top priority. Apparently around here, the two best places for sightings is in ponds at golf courses and Myakka State Park. So, when my son and his family were here two weeks ago, we went to the park.

Unfortunately, that day we only saw one, a baby who hangs out in the lily pads at the beginning of the boardwalk. He was very cool but not The Sighting we'd hoped for. Not the ominous, cold-blooded monster gliding through the reflections of clouds on the water. But the little guy was cool. Leo was intrigued but Frank, being a year, wasn't too taken one way or the other.

It must be a guy thing. They were both much more impressed with the power of the jungle vine and prospects of swinging through the trees on it.

We took Thea and her parents to the park yesterday. We didn't make it to the vine but we had much better luck with the alligators. Altogether we saw 10! The baby was still hanging out by the boardwalk and we saw nine others, big ones cruising the river in classic alligator fashion, indomitable Masters of the Domain.



But the baby was the best of all.

Aftermath and arrivals

Thanks to Laura, our very cool landlord who OKed everything, and M. Lee's quick action, there were three repair guys out here today and they fixed nearly all the damage from the lightning strike the other night. I'm really grateful. Internet, A/C, TV and the garage door are working again and she approved a new stove. That will take a few days to arrange, but basically we're ready for Thea and her parents to arrive. And just in time. If their plane is on schedule, they are minutes away from landing at Tampa International. We wanted to be at the gate to greet them but simplicity prevailed. We rented them a car, which they'll pick up at the airport, then they'll drive themselves here with the GPS. They should get in sometime after 02:00. Like Leo and Frank a couple of weeks ago, this is Thea's first really different environment and first warm ocean!

Awestruck

From the screen porch it looks like a candle casting flickering light on the ceiling. From another room it looks like a glowing blue faerie imprisoned in a lantern covered by a cloth. It's the fried modem blinking on top of the dead TV, both left awestruck by the visitation of last night's lightning and it's mind-numbing EMP. It doesn't matter about the TV but we need the cable for internet. That does matter. And it would be nice to have A/C when Thea Bella and her parents arrive tomorrow. M. Lee opened the screen porch sliding door today and all the windows to cool off the house. They will be open until the A/C gets fixed. It's nice. Welcome to Real Florida, chillins.

Blasted

19:30 GMT
Just now Swami, Minerva and I had to come in from the screen porch. Rain is getting my laptop wet. This is only the second evening since getting to Florida that we've been inside. I don't like it a bit I can't afford to ruin another computer.

21:59 GMT
I'm posting this from my phone. It's very quiet around the house now. M. Lee is getting up early to do a Metric Century so he's already sleeping. Swami, Minerva and I are still inside. The storm fried the router and the modem so no internet. It was fast and furious.

A low pressure center settled over Cancun, squished the topical storm brewing there and spewed it out over the Gulf, or so says Weather Underground. A wisp of that must have made it up to Alligator Creek. Something did anyway. And it dropped two, count them.....ONE.....TWO..... bolts of lightning right on our little cracker shack. Holy FUCKING GOD!

The house is on stilts and the lightning dropped below the upper level. I swear I saw it possess my computer screen for a moment. I know that's impossible but my new theory about lightning is that, like rainbows, it has an aura surrounding it as well as being the "thing" we see with our primate vision. Anyway...TWO...

BAM!!! BAM!!!

My teeth could have exploded right out of my head and it wouldn't have shocked me more. There was only enough time after the first blast to babble and huddle together before the second bomb exploded somewhere between us and Frieda's Pineapple Palm (which touches the house). Did I say Holy Fucking God?

And then it was over but for the rumbling and the rain. Now frogs are happily croaking outside in the lagoon otherwise known as the lawn.

Aftermath

Great thunder tonight. One round cracked so hard the chair my legs are resting on vibrated. Now it's rolling by high above like a long jumbled tumbling afterthought. I love it. The downpour has turned to light rain and the mist that was blowing over me as I sit here on the screen porch has stopped. Occasionally a seabird squawks by. I can't bring myself to go in. Lightning is still making a black silhouette of the trees along the creek. It's much cooler tonight. The little critter out in the mangroves who sounds like he's playing a tin can with a stick has started up again and there are fewer, smaller tiny winged creatures crawling around my computer screen.

Onshore wind

The onshore wind, laden with the chemical fragrances of all the creams, blocks, sprays, lotions, deodorants and perfumes wafting from the beach goers, burns in the back of my throat as I sit in the shade at the edge of the beach waiting for the bridge over the ICW to go back down. Not the worst of problems but, while posting this, they let some traffic through then stopped it again so I still can't get off the island. Now a repair truck has arrived and guys are working on the traffic light. At this point, cars line the ramp and the road leading up to it. OK. Seems it's fixed. Bridge going down. I'm on my bike. Gotta make a run for it.