Ahhh, feel that? Recognize the sensation? Feeling returning to your fingers and toes. We forgot that, poor Floridians that we are. Unaccustomed to brutal winter weather. Polar vortexes? That sounds like something we order from an ice cream truck. Cool. Refreshing. Summer. Not something that fries our yards. Freezes our pipes. Forces us to bundle up in whatever is available — “Will anyone look at me funny if I wear this Christmas tree skirt around my neck?”
Searching for a New Year’s resolution with the Magic 8 Ball
“What do you think, Magic 8 Ball? Should I let you decide everything for me in the New Year?” I shook the little hunk of plastic. Turned it over and waited for the ghostly message to appear in the window. What would it say? Would it accept such a massive responsibility? I trembled with excitement. My whole life was about to change. I was getting back on the New Year’s resolution train. I never do resolutions, but this year I felt called to make one. But not just any resolution. Something big! And that’s when I came up with this: Let the Magic 8 Ball make all of my decisions for me. BUT … only if it agreed to take on the challenge.
St. Augustine: Land of the quirk
My wife came around the corner of the house carrying two chickens, one under each arm. They were backwards — tail feathers out for all to see. Hen heinies saluting the world. Let’s face it, you look ridiculous walking around with chickens under your arms. Like you’re carrying basketballs. And it’s worse when their hindquarters do all the greeting. It must have been a sight to see downtown. And she didn’t expect anyone to see it. Which is why the mailman walking up was such a surprise. “I must have looked like a crazy person,” she said. She expected a strange look. Maybe a question: “Mam, you do realize there are fowl growing out of your armpits?”
The 12 days, and 17 boxes, of Christmas
Once upon a time there were three boxes. Three. One was for outside decorations. Two were for in. They held lights. Ornaments. An assortment of Christmas knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Decorating was manageable. I could be in and out of the attic in a couple minutes. All was right with the world. Ho ho ho … Fast forward to the present. The modern day Christmas … with a child in the house … and I have just completed a marathon. A military operation. Our living room looks like a shipping port strewn with containers. There are lights everywhere. Homemade decorations filling every conceivable space. Each step risks impaling my foot on some lethal decoration. Bah humbug … I must have carted 16 boxes of Christmas “stuff” out of the attic this year. It’s a death-defying experience. Actually, it’s more death-inviting. I try to do it alone. Why? Because men are missing a key chromosome for common sense.
A (big kid) Christmas list for Santa
Dear Santa, How are you? I am fine. How is the weather up there in the North Pole? Did you get a vacation this year? I hope so. I hope you went somewhere nice and sunny. Did you get a suntan? You look really pale in your photos. Sunlight is very important for vitamin D. Anyway, my daughter sends you lists every year. She makes out pretty well. Sure, she didn’t get the full-size Barbie Jumbo 747 with the Ken pilot last year, but only because you couldn’t land it on our street. We’re expecting the Public Works permit any day now, so gas that sucker up! Anyhoo, I thought I would give it a shot this year, too. I’ve been good. I’ve been nice. I ate all my broccoli. So here is what’s on my Christmas list: • Answers – To big questions. Like why is it when you’re running late for school and work, your child just sits at the table singing and drinking her orange juice one molecule at a time? And do children hear any of the 1,300 times we say, “Hurry up! We’re going to be late! Are you listening to me?!?” A simple “yes” or “no” in my stocking will suffice.
Coming to terms with a bed-eating dog
“Cool dog,” said the college student. I was walking my beast, Lily, down the street. I thought I misheard him. Because what he said didn’t quite connect. I’ve had this animal for two years now — exactly two years — and I’m still not used to the compliments or comments I get as we walk. Usually they fall into one of two categories: Her looks, or her unusual looks. No kidding, people have actually said, “Damn, that is a GOR-GEOUS dog!” “This thing!” my family will say pointing at the animal in question. She has a stump — no tail. Her markings are unique at best. As if pre-schoolers had a couple mocha lattes and went to town during painting time. It appears that someone spilled white paint down her snout and off the side of her nose.
Recipe for a relaxed Thanksgiving
Every year on Thanksgiving it’s the same thing. I cook. Lots of family come over. My nerves get frayed. The stress builds up. I yell at my mother because she wants to take a family photo just as the food comes out. I black out. Wake up a week later. Wonder why a turkey giblet’s lodged in my ear canal. But not this year. Even though I have roughly 1,700 family members coming over — and my house only seats two! — I’ve developed a Thanksgiving recipe for a calm, Zen-like day that will alleviate stress and make it enjoyable for all. Here are a few steps you might want to try, too: ? Put on cooking apron before scalding hot turkey grease spills down new dress shirt. In fact, why cook in dress clothes at all? Maybe this year I’ll go au naturel in the kitchen. Relaxing, quicker cleanup and much cooler.
Friday nights and the death of Blockbuster
I didn’t realize Blockbuster Video was still around until I read a story about its demise. Well, it’s final demise. Because rental videos died a long time ago. So did video tape. Remember VHS? That ancient device called a VCR? It had wires and you jammed clunky plastic things inside it. What was that all about? There’s been much written about Blockbuster going the way of the dinoVCR. CNN posted a story on 10 things they wouldn’t miss about the stores. Others said “good riddance” and “that’s what you get for late fees!” But the video store’s closing has actually made me quite sad. For me, Blockbuster is more than just an obsolete video store. It was once part of a Friday night experience. A cultural event. When I think about Blockbuster, I think about weekends with my dad. My parents were divorced, and no Friday night at his place could begin without a trip to the blue and yellow video store. My brother and I frantically searched the stacks in hopes that the latest release of this or that was still clinging to the wall. Fat chance. Blockbusters on a Friday night were like a grocery store before a hurricane. Shelves picked clean. Mad scrambles for second tier selections. Blood-curdling screams from disappointed families: “We’re doomed! ‘The Goonies’ are all checked out!” That always started a stampede for the exit. We combed the store in search of something worthwhile … and preferably with mild nudity! A couple movies, a […]
Apparently Christmas is already here!
“I’m putting out the tree, and I don’t care,” said my co-worker. He was referring to his little office Christmas tree. He reached up into a cabinet and extracted the ornament. Bam! It was Christmas. At the St. Johns Town Center in Jacksonville, Christmas music was already playing from the speakers. The sky was sunny, people wore shorts and there was Andy Williams telling us, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” I don’t need to tell you there have been singing Christmas trees, lights and snowmen sledding out on store shelves since, I don’t know, July? Stores always get in on the act early. Forget Halloween. Forget Thanksgiving — “Turkeys? Who needs stinkin’ Turkeys?” We’re moving on. It’s Christmas time, baby!
Fear and grilling in the backyard
The sense of fear, dread, terror — of taking my life into my own grill mitts — is gone. No longer do I consider wearing silver, asbestos-lined fire suits or welders’ goggles. No longer do I kiss my wife and child before marching out to the backyard with a plate of frozen burgers: “If I never see either of you again, remember I love you. Write epic poems about me. Tell the world I went down in a blaze of glory … literally.” My old grill — that flaming death trap — is gone, and to honest with you, I kind of miss it. It was my first “real” grill. One that didn’t need charcoal and a blast mask. Nothing like the eruption of lighter fluid on those old-style briquette grills. A mushroom cloud of roaring flame that could be seen three blocks over. Children would dive for cover. Men would take off their hats, bow their heads and somberly say, “A man just died grilling a burger. Amen!”