Dear Little Joe, First off, I’m sorry for calling you a “Jerk Face.” You’re not a Jerk Face. That was wrong of me. You might be acting like one. Like when you ate three lizards and then … there’s no pleasant way to say this … hacked them up on the back steps. You have to admit, that was a little Jerk Face-y. But you’re just my mother’s cat. You’ve had a lot to deal with. She’s been in rehab recovering from a broken hip and a fractured knee. I need to be cognizant of that. You’re not a “Jerk Face” and I’m sorry. But I’m writing you this letter because we have to come to some kind of understanding. You and me. Mano a gato. Because, Little Joe, do you have to be so difficult? I mean, we’re all dealing with a lot here. It’s not easy. But we’re a family. We’re in this together. For instance, like when I call you for dinner and you just meow back from the other side of the fence. What’s that all about? “Little Joe,” I call. “Meow?” you reply. “Little Joe, come on. It’s dinner,” I say again. “Me-ow!” you cry. It kind of sounds like you want me to come around the fence and pick you up. Like you want to be carried to dinner on a golden chariot. But I’m not some Roman kitty chauffeur! When I told your mother this, she said you’re “just scared.” That I should […]
Be safe, people. It’s only fall
It seems unusual this early in fall to be basking in such glorious weather. Kind of chilly in the morning. Low 80s in the middle of the day. What is this New England? It’s what we Floridians dream about! A mild, early fall that makes us consider putting away flip-flops and trying on loafers. But remember, people. We’re Floridians. Be careful. We’re not used to this kind of weather. An early fall should also come with a few warnings on how to successfully navigate it so you not only enjoy it, but also exercise • Be careful not to walk into traffic while admiring the glorious weather. It’s been known to happen. Low 80s and even upper 70s degree weather makes Floridians a bit delirious. Giddy with delight. We walk around stupefied saying really absurd things like, “Doesn’t the air feel like cashmere!” And then, oblivious, we walk right into a moving taxi cab. • Remember: It could be a fall mirage. Enjoy it, yes. But 90-degree weather could be lurking around the corner. Don’t put away your summer clothes just yet. Wait a little while before digging out your winter garments.
Old world technology meet new world technology
It sits there on my desk — like a beached whale. The world’s biggest business checkbook. Must be at least 8 feet long, and its faux-leather hides the fact that it is really a stone tablet. To lift it, I need a forklift. To use it, I need a lobotomy. My new world brain struggles with old world accounting. “Can’t we just pay bills online like normal people?” I ask my mother. No … I plead. I sound like a 5-year-old who wants a piece of candy. “PLEASE!!!” “No,” I’m told. “There’s something not quite right about paying bills that way.” And I get the idea she can’t quite figure out what is not right, but that it must involve a banking conspiracy, or the mafia, or a possible alien invasion.
Those moments when you realize you’re not the king
The full force of my mother’s lie sank in as I walked to see the King and Queen of Spain at Government House. She had always told me, “You can be anything you want in life?” “Oh yeah,” I thought as I waited to see them. “What about royalty?” She bamboozled me! Your life is never quite the same after a brush with royals. (My “brush” was from so far away, and so obscured, that I might have been looking at a light post, and not the King at all.)
Early Christmas shopping already?
May my daughter not see this. It is mid-September. By my count, at least three months from the holidays. Yet, there is a study out from CreditCards.com that says 14 percent of consumers have already started Christmas shopping. Yes, that means nearly 32 million Americans are buying gifts … in SEPTEMBER!!! I’m aghast. For a couple of reasons. First, it’s still technically summer. And I haven’t finished Christmas shopping … from last year. Then there’s my real concern: the damage it could do to my household. Once upon a time, my daughter was only exposed to toys that advertisers could sneak into commercials she didn’t skip on DVR. Or maybe a catalog that arrived in the mail. Or a toy she saw at a friend’s house. It was limited. Controlled. Filtered. Restrained. But now she’s almost 10, wired into the world and incredibly capable of searching online for toys like some kind of high tech bloodhound. With that power at her fingertips, I can’t afford (financially or from a mental sanity standpoint) the wave of requests that could begin this far out.
Viva St. Augustine!
There are moments when you realize you are part of history. A piece of something very special and rewarding. Even awe-inspiring. That there will only be one 450th anniversary of St. Augustine, and that it is an incredible honor to play a small role in it, like rowing Pedro Menendez ashore aboard a 16th century chalupa — a Spanish longboat. I love that feeling. There are also moments — not as special or rewarding — when you realize that your authentic 16th century pants are … um … well … on backwards. That the rest of your crew is having a mighty good laugh at your expense.
To the magical hurricane blocker
We have two things to celebrate this weekend: The 450th anniversary of the founding of St. Augustine — hooray! — and the fact that we weren’t struck by a hurricane, or a tropical storm, or any other force of nature. Because for a while last week it sure seemed like that might be in our future, didn’t it? Tropical Storm Erika picked up steam in the Caribbean and got us all in a tizzy. Five-day cones started pointing straight at us. Batteries and bottles of water disappeared off of store shelves. People started rioting in the streets when they realized they might have to eat canned meat. A locust sighting caused panic and cries that it was the end of the world. (Lucky, for us they weren’t locusts at all.) But even the tropical doubters — the ones who think there’s a magical force field over the city that bounces storms to the Carolinas — had to think twice and steady their resolve.
The reluctant reenactor
My daughter laughed. Not “hee-hee” laughed. Not snicker, snicker, “how funny” laughed. It was an all-out, snort-inducing, “I can’t believe how ridiculous you look” laugh. The kind that makes parents scream, “BREATHE, child. You can’t go that long without oxygen!” She was looking at a picture of me in a re-enactor’s outfit. Dressed up like an Old World Spanish oarsman. Puffy white shirt with chest exposed. Pants about the size of a circus tent. Good thing I wasn’t wearing the hat that looked like a pastry puff or the rope sandals. It was quite a getup, I have to admit. I will be wearing it as St. Augustine celebrates its 450th anniversary. I’m one of the lucky few helping to re-enact the landing of Pedro Menéndez at the Fountain of Youth on Sept. 5 and then at the big founder’s day celebration on Sept. 8 at the Mission of Nombre de Dios.
The sick dog medicine puzzle
Oh, the joys of dog ownership. Being a K9 parent. Getting to deal with the unpleasantries of an ill animal. My dog got sick last weekend. Real sick. How do I say this in polite company? Stuff was emerging out of places in ways that stuff should never emerge out of places. Let’s just call it the mother of all upset stomachs. It was bad enough that it landed us in the emergency hospital on a Sunday morning where she needed an IV while my bank account flat-lined. It was not good. And then, just like that, she was fine and able to go home. Dogs bounce back like super balls, and we’re left broke with a bag of drugs and special food to dispense. And that’s when the fun really begins. When you find that stuff emerging out of places was the easy part. Paper towels, cleaning spray and cotton stuffed up your nostrils will solve that.
Ways to keep that summertime vibe all year long
And BAM! just like that, summer is over. Every one in the household has either gone back to school, gone back to work or just gone crazy. Even the dog has started carrying a briefcase. The mood is somber. Business-like. Flip flops have been stowed. Tans have started to fade. The lazy starts to the morning have been replaced by something resembling a panicked mob fleeing Godzilla. Oh, summertime vibe, where have you gone? Determined to hold onto some semblance of that relaxed, cherished time — when the living was easy — I’ve instituted new rules in a desperate attempt to hold onto the fleeting feeling. Here is the law I have laid down in my house: • Everyone must wear bug spray or suntan lotion, even if they’re staying in doors. This is to mimic that wonderful smell of summer. Anyone caught not wearing some will be required to don 1980s zinc oxide sunblock on their nose and cheeks.