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.

New old poem

I posted a new poem at annasadhorse tonight, Epitaph. This makes 27 to date that I've posted there. As with the others, this one is not new, just new to the site. I wrote it 25 years ago. I've never submitted it anywhere but I read it on the radio and at poetry readings. I was living in Ashland, Oregon at the time, a theater town and good place for poets. It's where I founded SkyRiver Press, but that's another story and it's late.

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.

Hello and good-bye

The family visit went ALL TOO FAST! Misters Leo and Frank and parents are leaving today.

Leo munching a tasty
peanut butter sandwich at the beach

We had the best time. And damn it went fast! There were many firsts; swimming in the warm Gulf, taking the ferry, seeing a baby alligator, eating positively delicious mangoes from Mango Jacks...

Frank says NO to hats! He won.

...hearing grown-up alligators talk to each other during the heat of the day. I even got to see Mr. Frank brush his own teeth for the first time.

News at 8:01 AM

The gods mock me.
My bday fortune from
the Chinese buffet

Yikes! It's August 2nd already. My birthday. Don't even ask. Anyway....extra peanuts for all...and seeds. There are now a fair number of tiny little Doves visiting Frida's Palm Cafe on a regular basis and several bright red Cardinals, many Red Wing Blackbirds and maybe even a Northern Mockingbird now and then. That's the official state bird of Florida although, clearly, the state bird of Florida should be the Giant Wood Stork. Come on, Florida. Live a little.

I'm way behind in the news here. Haven't even mentioned that I read poetry at the Sarasota Writer's Group in July. Now the tiny town of Nokomis goes on the World Tour list. Nice people. Some good writers. Each reader is allotted a whopping 10 minutes to do with as they will. Most were novelists reading from works in progress or their books newly minted via Amazon's CreateSpace. They all seem to go for the glossy photo covers, which I don't care for, otherwise Amazon does a great print job. Doing a book of poems that way is on my short list.

Snooty the Manatee celebrated his 65th Birthday
with a tower of fruit last week
as the Ancients sang Happy Birthday.

The Big News around here is that tomorrow Misters Leo (age 4) and Frank (age 1) arrive with, as Kristiana and M. Lee say, their handlers. So here's to a week of fun at the beach plus a few extras like a visit to Snooty the resident Manatee at the South Florida Museum. Snooty was born at the Miami Aquarium when his mother was there recuperating. Eventually she returned to the wild but, for whatever reason, Snooty remained behind and has spent his entire life in captivity, a sad fate. I hate seeing any animal confined to a zoo, circus, aquarium or whatever but they do serve to teach us humans the enormously important fact that other life forms live on this planet and deserve our respect and protection. And Leo is going to love this guy!

Misters Leo and Frank

So Venice Florida, collectively having the oldest population in America, has the grandkid thing all sorted out. Tomorrow I pick up the baby gear at A to Z Rentals. They have it all, high chairs and potty chairs to strollers, kid's bikes and even the family beach cabana so we will be set then the family arrives in the evening. More to come.

Sunday bull session

Billy the Kid
via wikipedia

It's a lovely day here on Alligator Creek, breezy and hot, about 90° on the screen porch. I have the fan on. I'm drenched but I don't care. I guess I'm acclimated. Across the street, Sonny Boy is holding forth on his screen porch in that booming, gravely voice of his. I catch snippets.

"You gotta have heart. That's what I put on the internet too. You gotta have heart."

"......my daughter, her own cousin says, what a beautiful Italian woman."

He's talking to his dad, who occasionally injects a nearly inaudible but definitely gravely grunt or comment of his own. I can't see them. Palm fronds block the view, as does their screen and the perpetual shadow, as their porch faces north. But I can hear bits of what he's saying over the whir of my fan, the wind in the palms, little seaplanes buzzing up and down the coast, cars whooshing on the nearby road that skirts the ICW... bits and pieces....

"I read the whole biography of Billy the Kid the other day... Died on July 14th, 1881. 21 years-old. Blue-eyed. Weighed 120 lbs... The first time he went to jail he escaped... Went to Arizona on a horse, alone.... Went to New York on a horse, alone.... Mexico, on a horse.... alone.... before he was 21.... He was in the desert by himself.... He had to go to to the Indians.

He has (Yes. He said "has") some brains.... Five hundred miles of desert.... You know his mother was an immigrant... Came over on a boat from Ireland... His mother died when he was 15.... 15... so he started runnin around... got in trouble, whatever... his step-father didn't want nothin to do with him so he went out west... He looked at Florida and said "what the hell?"

Later he switched to personal reflections.

Kewpie doll
via wikipedia

"They had a kwepie doll, know what I mean?... I lost everything I had....bowls, furniture, my gun, everything.... Left me in a little bit of shit.... But anyways, I was packing up to leave, the house was full of crabs and fleas. I had no vehicle, no money, my social security check was cut off..."

Then Mom returned from the ravioli run.

"What the hell is this? Who wrecked this chair? What the hell happened here?"

 Sonny Boy,

 "I put tape over it."

 And thus ended the Sunday bull session.

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And, besides doing this post and going to the beach for while today, I redesigned my poetry site, annasadhorse, and added a new piece titled Music Theory.

Doing lunch with the big birds

Florida. Gotta love it.

Can I has a take out please?

Well, helloooo there!

Mmmmm, what have we here?

Yes, I can has fried 'tatoes.

Nom nom nom

Morning quiz

Morning and it's already raining. This could get interesting. The highest elevation in Florida is 345 feet. That's up in the panhandle. Around here it's about an inch. Well, I exaggerate but not by much. We went on a bike ride yesterday. The labyrinth of canals, creeks, ponds and ditches that hem in the human habitat here is full to the brim.

Which brings us to the morning quiz. "Why did the ICW cross the road?"

Ok. Here's question two. Where the hell is Sonny Boy?

I'll answer that one. He's inside watching TV or something.

Question three. So why is his ancient Dad out sweeping up the rain?

Beach walk

Gulf sunset

There's a ray of light when the setting sun hits a certain declination on the horizon. It only lasts a moment. Some say there's a green flash. I've never seen it. But just now, light from the sun setting out over the Gulf suddenly, for a moment, flared orange through the tops of the trees along Alligator Creek casting the world and the screen porch under its spell.

We took the South Venice ferry to Manasota Key this afternoon. It's a short ride across the Intracoastal Waterway but the only direct access to Sunset beach. Otherwise, its a long walk on the shore to get there so it's a pretty quiet spot. The ferry pass comes with the house we're renting. It's a cool little boat. We took it a lot when we were here a couple of summers ago but today was only our second trip this time, even though we've already been here a month. It has been unseasonably rainy, torrential and unpredictable, so we've been driving to other beaches. However, today we thought we could beat the rain. We figured wrong.

Sea turtle nests and blooming century plants

From the ferry landing, a wooden walkway goes through the mangrove and palm forest to the Gulf side of the Key, From there we walked north and were so engrossed looking for shark's teeth (both of us) and heart rocks (me), being amazed at all the sea turtle nests staked and marked by the Turtle Patrol, what storm surges have done to the shore, commenting on birds, admiring the giant pelican drying her wings in the wind in the top of a tree, admiring the jungle of native foliage and trying to not stare at the gay men in teeny thongs who make this otherwise deserted stretch their rendezvous that we failed to notice the giant, black storm clouds gathering behind us. When we did, we were a couple of miles away from the ferry.

We started back and the wind came up, and with it stinging sand, so we bent our heads down and pushed into it, pulling our hats further and then further over our eyes. Next came the rain, in tropical torrents. By the time we got back to Sunset beach it was deserted. We made for the walkway and hurried across the Key back to the ferry landing. No boat, no phone, nowhere to go, so we sat on the walkway in the rain.

This may all sound very bad but actually it wasn't. I went back to the Gulf to see once more the beach shrouded by the squall. For this moment, this storm, there was nothing and no one (well, except me) in the gray and rain marring the solitude. Empty. And baby turtles gestating in their eggs deep within the sand by the sea. The way it always was. The beach and I were wild again. I stood watching sheets of rain whipping westward over the Gulf, blown by offshore winds, then I went back up the stairs and across the Key to the east, to wait with M. Lee for the ferry, which did come back for us after all.

Senor Raindrop

Some little fellow whose love song sounds like the drip of crazy giant-size raindrops on an amplified tin can has been wandering around the mangroves singing his heart out tonight. It's kind of sad but fits right into the night chorus of buzzing, trilling and croaking that goes on here at the end of the road.

As usual, I'm sitting on the screen porch in the dark. When I'm home, I practically live out here. I love it. I have my corner, table, chair and laptop. Dd the squirrel sometimes drops by in the afternoon for a visit. The screen's between us, but probably best that way. I hate going indoors. Basically, I only go in to bathe and sleep. Well, I go in for our nightly mango party, my favorite. And we do eat a meal together now and then, that's indoors. Mostly we eat over our keyboards. We're feral.

Earlier in the evening, Senor Raindrop (it's late. whatdayawant?) held his song to a monotonous drip ...drip ...drip tempo but, finally, after about three hours of that, he changed it up. He added a rapid dripdripdripdripdrip followed by a slow ........drip ........drip ........drip ........ followed by silence ........ (I assume he's listening) ........ then he begins again with the original mid-tempo and repeats. He's also moving around a lot and, as the night deepens, getting further and further away. Right now he's quiet. It's a big, lonely world out there.

Mango Party!

Alligator Creek in pending rain at sunset

After stocking up on mangoes last Saturday, we had high hopes for the week but things got off to a rough start. Maggots. Our little plan to "follow the mango" sounds great, is great, but like everything else, you can't walk the walk without paying some dues. You want to go to the tree and gather in your own hands it's sweet, ripe fruit? Then you're going to pay some dues.

Mango Party!

Every night we have a mango party here on Alligator Creek. M. Lee halves two mangoes and it's a go. We start by gnawing the pits clean then move on to the custardy goodness of the mango itself. Only last Tuesday, one of the mangoes had a soft spot. Still, being newbies in the world of mangoes, we ignored it until M. Lee noticed that there were little squiggly things in the lovely orange flesh of the half mango cupped in his hands. Maaaaaaaggots! Okay. It was traumatic! Horrifying! Stupefying! Revolting! And for a brief moment, I feared that the dark shadow of trauma would taint my love of mangoes forever but come on! You can't let a few maggots get you down. They're going to win anyway. You know. In the end. It's not the mango's fault. It was a hard moment though. Our faith in Jack wavered, but only briefly. I'm sure he had a maggot or two in a mango now and then by the time he reached his feisty old age. Here's the deal. We've gotten lots of mangoes from the Mango Factory and they are, hands down, the sweetest, tastiest, most delicious mangoes around. So this one was overripe. No big deal. And besides, I wouldn't want a mango that a maggot wouldn't eat. I just want to get to it first.

Nightly no frills mango party

So, as the week rolled on, we got back into the spirit of things, slowly at first but we're back to full steam, though I do look now, something I never did in the past. I'm sure Jack looked too. It comes with the territory.