Two weeks ago, I traveled from my home in north Florida to visit my parents who live in the center part of the state. For the northern portion of my trip (the Tallahassee to Ocala leg), I have two main routes to choose from. The southern portion of my trip from Ocala to my parents' home near Lake Wales is the same no matter which northern route I choose.
However, for the northern portion, my choices are either to go east on Interstate 10 and then pick up Interstate 75 near Lake City to go south, or to take U.S. 27 to Chiefland and then pick up Alternate 27 to Ocala. The Interstate route is slightly faster for this part of my journey. But if I go that route, I find the Interstate 10 portion of the trip is terminally boring and the Interstate 75 leg between Gainesville and Ocala is extremely congested and downright frightening.
So normally I choose to drive the U.S. 27/Alt. 27 route. The last 50 miles along Alt. 27 portion of this route runs between Chiefland and Ocala and is very picturesque. Ocala is a major center for horse farms of all kinds, but particularly for thoroughbreds. Until recently, that portion of the drive was a two lane road and often very slow if you were stuck behind a horse trailer. But recently, it was widened to a four lane divided highway which surprisingly has not diminished its scenic quality.
What has changed vastly is the section of my route from Ocala south. This portion is about a 90 mile trip, and has been under a major development boom. Ocala and the surrounding area have grown tremendously in recent years with retiree oriented developments, such as the Villages.
Twenty six miles south of Ocala, I hop onto the Florida turnpike for about 14 miles and get off just north of Minneola. Minneola and Clermont, just to the south, were once the heart of the citrus industry two decades ago. This portion of Florida is along the spine of the state and is very hilly with numerous lakes in between the hills. There is a high hill in Clermont where the Florida Citrus Tower was built for tourists to take an elevator to the top and view the miles and miles of groves that once were in all directions. I used to look forward to this portion of my drive.
No more. The groves are now all gone. What once was a beautiful sea of deep dark green groves is now being rapidly replaced with generic subdivisions. I can remember when I would forward to seeing the shearing of the trees in the fall and watch for the budding out the next spring. Now I see uninspired housing developments.
Each time I make this drive, the push for development has moved further and further south. And because of this, as I drive south on U.S. 27, the trip becomes more and more arduous. Concrete trucks are everywhere. Landmarks that I once knew to help me identify my location along my way are no longer there. Suddenly the entire corridor has become non-descript and I have no way of identifying where I am along it. The traffic has become unbearable and the roads are torn up from the construction equipment.
The lush dark green citrus groves of central Florida have disappeared and have been replaced with anywhere USA. It is the future of all of Florida. It is progress and it is sad.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Sunday, January 14, 2007
A love story
Today is my father's 84th birthday. My mother turned 84 last fall. For my Daddy's birthday, I went to visit them this weekend.
My father has become very fragile in the last two years or so and I worry how much longer I will have with both of them. Thank goodness my mother is in excellent health. She takes care of Daddy with his failing health and they are very devoted to each other.
My parents grew up together in the same town during the depression. They never dated even in high school, but were always close. When my father went into the Marine Corps during World War II, they corresponded. My father was severely wounded in combat in Okinawa and during his long recuperation, they stayed in touch regularly. During that time my mother worked to earn money to attend college because her family could not afford to help her. After my father recovered from his war wounds and my mother graduated from college, they got married.
In their older years, my parents have loved to travel. Over the Christmas holidays they booked a trip and my mother said it would probably be their last major trip because the travel was getting to be too much for both of them and for my father especially.
As the were flying on a late night flight to their destination, the captain of the plane suddenly came on the radio. Most of the passengers were asleep, but my parents were still awake. The captain asked that all passengers and crew fasten their seatbelts and not get up for any reason. Then he said he had some serious thinking to do.
My mother said that neither she nor my father felt any panic or fear, but they both commented that the plane must be in terrible trouble and they might be going down. Then my mother turned to my father and said, "If we crash, what a better way to go than together. I am so lucky. Our life together has been one great ride."
My parents are so fortunate. I have never seen them argue or say anything negative about each other. They laugh a lot and share good times together. Their relationship always the most important thing to them, even more important than us kids. Theirs is a true love story.
My father has become very fragile in the last two years or so and I worry how much longer I will have with both of them. Thank goodness my mother is in excellent health. She takes care of Daddy with his failing health and they are very devoted to each other.
My parents grew up together in the same town during the depression. They never dated even in high school, but were always close. When my father went into the Marine Corps during World War II, they corresponded. My father was severely wounded in combat in Okinawa and during his long recuperation, they stayed in touch regularly. During that time my mother worked to earn money to attend college because her family could not afford to help her. After my father recovered from his war wounds and my mother graduated from college, they got married.
In their older years, my parents have loved to travel. Over the Christmas holidays they booked a trip and my mother said it would probably be their last major trip because the travel was getting to be too much for both of them and for my father especially.
As the were flying on a late night flight to their destination, the captain of the plane suddenly came on the radio. Most of the passengers were asleep, but my parents were still awake. The captain asked that all passengers and crew fasten their seatbelts and not get up for any reason. Then he said he had some serious thinking to do.
My mother said that neither she nor my father felt any panic or fear, but they both commented that the plane must be in terrible trouble and they might be going down. Then my mother turned to my father and said, "If we crash, what a better way to go than together. I am so lucky. Our life together has been one great ride."
My parents are so fortunate. I have never seen them argue or say anything negative about each other. They laugh a lot and share good times together. Their relationship always the most important thing to them, even more important than us kids. Theirs is a true love story.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Too close for comfort
Sometimes the harsh reality of life comes way too close for comfort. So it was in the case of murder on two separate occasions for my husband's family.
Until the Ted Bundy/Chi Omega murders in 1978, the most famous murder case in Tallahassee was the Sims murders which happened in 1966. The Sims family lived down the street from my husband's family. Before the Sims family was murdered, Tallahassee was small town, USA. But that night, everything changed. It was the first sensational crime to ever hit this town. Like many of her neighbors, my mother in law still lives in the same house forty years later.
Recently a story about the Sims murders appeared in our newspaper. One evening shortly after the newspaper story, we were over at my mother in law's house and the subject of the Sims murders came up. It was the first time that I can remember us talking about them.
The big rumor around town at that time was that the minister of then largest church in town was somehow involved. But my mother in law that was definitely not the truth. Then she said something that completely surprised all of us. She said that she and everyone else in the neighborhood knew who did it, but no one had proof.
Apparently, the neighbors all suspected the same suspects as the sheriff. They were a teenage boy and girl who lived in the neighborhood at the time. That would explain why there was no sign of forced entry into the Sims home. Sad that after 40 years, the suspects are still alive and free because there was never enough evidence to arrest them.
The second murder case that touched my in laws family was much more famous than the Sims murders. It was the Ted Bundy/Chi Omega murders in 1978. My sister in law was a member of the Chi Omega sorority and lived in the house at that time. Late on Saturday night, Ted Bundy broke in and murdered two of the girls as they slept in their beds. Two other girls were savagely beaten, but managed to survive. One of the girls who was murdered had spent Thanksgiving with my in laws family the prior November.
My sister in law was also asleep in her room when the murders occurred but never heard anything. She was awakened by her roommate who came in late and was the only person to see Bundy as he was leaving the house. As a result, both my sister in law and her roommate were put under a 24 hour guard by the local police department for a couple of weeks after the murders.
My sister in law has never talked in detail about the case to anyone outside the immediate family since I have known her. For her, it was a case of there but for the grace of God, since it could have easily been her instead of one of the others who was murdered. Sometimes reality gets too close for comfort. On January 16, 1978, it was for Lisa Levy and Margaret Bowman whom Ted Bundy savagely murdered.
Until the Ted Bundy/Chi Omega murders in 1978, the most famous murder case in Tallahassee was the Sims murders which happened in 1966. The Sims family lived down the street from my husband's family. Before the Sims family was murdered, Tallahassee was small town, USA. But that night, everything changed. It was the first sensational crime to ever hit this town. Like many of her neighbors, my mother in law still lives in the same house forty years later.
Recently a story about the Sims murders appeared in our newspaper. One evening shortly after the newspaper story, we were over at my mother in law's house and the subject of the Sims murders came up. It was the first time that I can remember us talking about them.
The big rumor around town at that time was that the minister of then largest church in town was somehow involved. But my mother in law that was definitely not the truth. Then she said something that completely surprised all of us. She said that she and everyone else in the neighborhood knew who did it, but no one had proof.
Apparently, the neighbors all suspected the same suspects as the sheriff. They were a teenage boy and girl who lived in the neighborhood at the time. That would explain why there was no sign of forced entry into the Sims home. Sad that after 40 years, the suspects are still alive and free because there was never enough evidence to arrest them.
The second murder case that touched my in laws family was much more famous than the Sims murders. It was the Ted Bundy/Chi Omega murders in 1978. My sister in law was a member of the Chi Omega sorority and lived in the house at that time. Late on Saturday night, Ted Bundy broke in and murdered two of the girls as they slept in their beds. Two other girls were savagely beaten, but managed to survive. One of the girls who was murdered had spent Thanksgiving with my in laws family the prior November.
My sister in law was also asleep in her room when the murders occurred but never heard anything. She was awakened by her roommate who came in late and was the only person to see Bundy as he was leaving the house. As a result, both my sister in law and her roommate were put under a 24 hour guard by the local police department for a couple of weeks after the murders.
My sister in law has never talked in detail about the case to anyone outside the immediate family since I have known her. For her, it was a case of there but for the grace of God, since it could have easily been her instead of one of the others who was murdered. Sometimes reality gets too close for comfort. On January 16, 1978, it was for Lisa Levy and Margaret Bowman whom Ted Bundy savagely murdered.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Scotch and soda...
Scotch and soda, mud in your eye.
Baby, do I feel high, oh, me, oh, my.
Do I feel high.
Dry martini, jigger of gin.
Oh, what a spell you've got me in, oh, my.
Do I feel high.
Dave Guard ...Kingston Trio.
Actually this post has nothing to do with scotch and soda or being high, but it does have to do with spirits. Besides, I liked that old Kingston Trio song.
Our little five pound poodle, Missy, was willed to us by my husband's aunt, "B," three and a half years ago. B was one of my deceased father in law's sisters and she lived in Denver, Colorado. She had been housebound for five years as a result of emphysema caused by a life long smoking habit. B's husband had died from lung cancer several years earlier. They had no children and Missy was B's only companion since her husband's death.
Missy was the last in a long line of toy poodles that B had, but she often said that Missy was her favorite. About four and a half years ago, we were in the Denver area and went to visit B who was on oxygen at the time. As we sat in her living room, Missy immediately jumped into my lap and I held her. During the course of our conversation, B said that she was very worried about what would happen to Missy when she died. Without thinking, I blurted out, "Don't worry B, we'll take Missy." My husband agreed. B was so happy that as soon as we left, she called her two surviving sisters and my mother in law to ensure that they all were aware that Missy was to be given to us when B died.
One year to the day after we made our promise to B, she died. Her youngest sister drove from Atlanta to Denver to dispose of B's belongings and to pick up Missy. Among the things she found was a letter from B with all of Missy's veterinary records, her papers, and instructions to have Missy groomed before she was to be given to me. B had written that letter only two weeks before she died.
Despite the fact that she was nearly eight years old at the time, Missy made the trip and transition from Colorado to our home in Florida without missing a beat. She is a very adaptable little dog. She loves everyone and is not at all shy around strangers. We also came to find out that Missy is a five pound control freak.
This summer, my husband's sister, her eight year old daughter, and my mother in law came to visit us for a couple of days. Our family loves our liquor, but I only drink beer and wine, and my husband usually stays with beer or wine too. So when they came to visit, my mother in law and sister in law brought their own "snakebite" medicine. Bourbon for my mother in law and vodka and tonic for my sister in law. Vodka and tonic is what both B and my father in law would drink.
As we sat down with our drinks, Missy went crazy jumping in my sister in law's lap and trying to get to her vodka and tonic. She did not do that to any one else. The next night, the same thing happened when we sat down to have a drink. Finally we decided that Missy KNEW the smell of vodka and tonic and probably also knew the taste of it too. I am willing to bet that B shared hers with Missy every evening when she had her vodka and tonic. And so the B's spirit lives in the spirits.
Baby, do I feel high, oh, me, oh, my.
Do I feel high.
Dry martini, jigger of gin.
Oh, what a spell you've got me in, oh, my.
Do I feel high.
Dave Guard ...Kingston Trio.
Actually this post has nothing to do with scotch and soda or being high, but it does have to do with spirits. Besides, I liked that old Kingston Trio song.
Our little five pound poodle, Missy, was willed to us by my husband's aunt, "B," three and a half years ago. B was one of my deceased father in law's sisters and she lived in Denver, Colorado. She had been housebound for five years as a result of emphysema caused by a life long smoking habit. B's husband had died from lung cancer several years earlier. They had no children and Missy was B's only companion since her husband's death.
Missy was the last in a long line of toy poodles that B had, but she often said that Missy was her favorite. About four and a half years ago, we were in the Denver area and went to visit B who was on oxygen at the time. As we sat in her living room, Missy immediately jumped into my lap and I held her. During the course of our conversation, B said that she was very worried about what would happen to Missy when she died. Without thinking, I blurted out, "Don't worry B, we'll take Missy." My husband agreed. B was so happy that as soon as we left, she called her two surviving sisters and my mother in law to ensure that they all were aware that Missy was to be given to us when B died.
One year to the day after we made our promise to B, she died. Her youngest sister drove from Atlanta to Denver to dispose of B's belongings and to pick up Missy. Among the things she found was a letter from B with all of Missy's veterinary records, her papers, and instructions to have Missy groomed before she was to be given to me. B had written that letter only two weeks before she died.
Despite the fact that she was nearly eight years old at the time, Missy made the trip and transition from Colorado to our home in Florida without missing a beat. She is a very adaptable little dog. She loves everyone and is not at all shy around strangers. We also came to find out that Missy is a five pound control freak.
This summer, my husband's sister, her eight year old daughter, and my mother in law came to visit us for a couple of days. Our family loves our liquor, but I only drink beer and wine, and my husband usually stays with beer or wine too. So when they came to visit, my mother in law and sister in law brought their own "snakebite" medicine. Bourbon for my mother in law and vodka and tonic for my sister in law. Vodka and tonic is what both B and my father in law would drink.
As we sat down with our drinks, Missy went crazy jumping in my sister in law's lap and trying to get to her vodka and tonic. She did not do that to any one else. The next night, the same thing happened when we sat down to have a drink. Finally we decided that Missy KNEW the smell of vodka and tonic and probably also knew the taste of it too. I am willing to bet that B shared hers with Missy every evening when she had her vodka and tonic. And so the B's spirit lives in the spirits.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Back to the Salt Mines
And loving it!
Last week I started back to work again. This is my third go round at my old job.
For more than 30 years I worked long hours and felt very unappreciated. In fact, my last full week before I retired, I worked 50 hours which was not unusual. So when the city offered an early retirement, I jumped on it. My benefits took a huge hit, but finally I was able to relax and to sleep. The first three months that I was retired, I slept ten or more hours a night. I was simply exhausted.
Then after a while, I realized that I missed being a part of a team. Like an old war horse, I could not completely give up the battle.
About a year and a half after I first retired, my old office called me back to fill in for five weeks while a former supervisor of mine was out on medical leave. I was very nervous that first day, but suddenly realized how much I missed the place and all of its people.
I was fortunate that they had money to keep me on and they kept me for 15 months until the money ran out. I really did not want to leave even then.
Well recently I got a reprieve from retirement. My old office called me back again to fill in as a temporary part timer. Three days a week is great. I love it and they love me. I am a cheap hire because they only pay me by the hour for hours worked. No benefits, no leave. I love it because once again I feel productive and appreciated. That is all I could ask for.
Last week I started back to work again. This is my third go round at my old job.
For more than 30 years I worked long hours and felt very unappreciated. In fact, my last full week before I retired, I worked 50 hours which was not unusual. So when the city offered an early retirement, I jumped on it. My benefits took a huge hit, but finally I was able to relax and to sleep. The first three months that I was retired, I slept ten or more hours a night. I was simply exhausted.
Then after a while, I realized that I missed being a part of a team. Like an old war horse, I could not completely give up the battle.
About a year and a half after I first retired, my old office called me back to fill in for five weeks while a former supervisor of mine was out on medical leave. I was very nervous that first day, but suddenly realized how much I missed the place and all of its people.
I was fortunate that they had money to keep me on and they kept me for 15 months until the money ran out. I really did not want to leave even then.
Well recently I got a reprieve from retirement. My old office called me back again to fill in as a temporary part timer. Three days a week is great. I love it and they love me. I am a cheap hire because they only pay me by the hour for hours worked. No benefits, no leave. I love it because once again I feel productive and appreciated. That is all I could ask for.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
I survived Black Friday
Yesterday, the day after Thanksgiving has become known as Black Friday because it is the biggest shopping day of the year.The term Black Friday was coined because the profits of this day help the stores end the year in the black.
I have noticed that every year the shopping begins earlier and earlier. This year most of the big chain stores opened at 5 am. However, some shoppers camped out overnight so as to be the first in the door at some stores. I read in the paper that many shoppers come with a game plan.
Well, I had a game plan for Black Friday too. I stayed home. My husband and I learned our lesson several years ago when we went to Best Buy on Black Friday because they had a great deal on a computer that we needed badly since our other one had died shortly before. At that time, the shopping day began at 7 am and we were there for the opening of the store along with several hundred other shoppers, all of whom seemed to want the same computer deal. Three hours later, we managed to escape the store with our purchase in hand, but our sanity left behind.
Now every store opens at 5 am except for one shoe chain that opened at 4:44 am! Wow, just what I always wanted to do ...... try on shoes at 4:44 am! But I bet some fools do. The latest I read in the paper today is that Black Friday is now being called one of the most popular sporting events in the United States. Well, I decided that sitting on the side lines is more fun than participating.
I have noticed that every year the shopping begins earlier and earlier. This year most of the big chain stores opened at 5 am. However, some shoppers camped out overnight so as to be the first in the door at some stores. I read in the paper that many shoppers come with a game plan.
Well, I had a game plan for Black Friday too. I stayed home. My husband and I learned our lesson several years ago when we went to Best Buy on Black Friday because they had a great deal on a computer that we needed badly since our other one had died shortly before. At that time, the shopping day began at 7 am and we were there for the opening of the store along with several hundred other shoppers, all of whom seemed to want the same computer deal. Three hours later, we managed to escape the store with our purchase in hand, but our sanity left behind.
Now every store opens at 5 am except for one shoe chain that opened at 4:44 am! Wow, just what I always wanted to do ...... try on shoes at 4:44 am! But I bet some fools do. The latest I read in the paper today is that Black Friday is now being called one of the most popular sporting events in the United States. Well, I decided that sitting on the side lines is more fun than participating.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Measure once, cut twice???
My husband's hobby is home improvement projects. Right now we are remodelling our house. Actually we are always in a constant state of demolition, deconstruction, and construction. I literally live in a construction zone where the furnishings often consist of ladders, sawhorses, a reciprocating saw, wet tile saw, and a pneumatic nailer, along with a huge blue shop vac on wheels that I call Robo-Vac. Dust and debris are my constant companions.
In his defense, my husband does really quality work. It just takes forever for him to complete. Amazingly, he is the creative one. But often his ideas come in the midst of construction. His method of construction is what I call build/design. This can be very frustrating at times.
Recently, he had one of those days...you know, the kind where nothing seemed to go right. No fewer than four times did he mis-measure the sheetrock we were hanging. I kept telling him that he needed to measure twice and cut once. Somehow the instructions must have gotten turned around in his mind cause he kept mis-measuring and having to recut his pieces. At the end of the day, he complained about how little he got done....
Sweetheart, listen to your wife. It is measure twice, cut once. NOT measure once, cut twice!
In his defense, my husband does really quality work. It just takes forever for him to complete. Amazingly, he is the creative one. But often his ideas come in the midst of construction. His method of construction is what I call build/design. This can be very frustrating at times.
Recently, he had one of those days...you know, the kind where nothing seemed to go right. No fewer than four times did he mis-measure the sheetrock we were hanging. I kept telling him that he needed to measure twice and cut once. Somehow the instructions must have gotten turned around in his mind cause he kept mis-measuring and having to recut his pieces. At the end of the day, he complained about how little he got done....
Sweetheart, listen to your wife. It is measure twice, cut once. NOT measure once, cut twice!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Hurricanes and Resilience, Part 3
I often marvel at how resilient human beings are in the face of adversity. When we are hit unexpectedly by an act of nature, we discover just how good our coping skills are. Sometimes we learn just the opposite. Such was the case for me in July 2005. We got hit smack dab in the face with reality. My husband handled it very well, but I did not. It still affects me today. And just when I should have been writing in this blog as an outlet, I quit.
A number of years ago we purchased a small cottage on St. George Island of the North Florida Gulf coast near the town of Apalachicola. Apalachicola has been described as what Key West was before anyone discovered it. Like many barrier islands, St. George Island (SGI) is about 27 miles long, but very narrow and is located about 90 miles from Tallahassee. Given the narrow, winding, two lane roads, it becomes an approximate two hour drive. Some close friends of ours had the house for years, using it as a weekend retreat. When all their kids were out of their house in Tallahassee, they decided to move to this very small house. After one year there, they decided to become permanent residents there and build a larger home on the Bay side of the island.
At the time we purchased our little house about 11 years ago, SGI was mostly undeveloped and populated by a combination of old time residents and weekenders plus a growing number of rental houses, most of which were along the Gulf or across the road from the Gulf. This little house was three blocks inland and on a dirt road with no cable available. Most of the permanent residents lived on these inland roads and the area was so undesirable for investment and rental purposes, that our house and area in which it was located were valued similar to mainland property.
We decided that our goal would be to spend two weekends a month down there. What happened was that we ended up spending nearly every weekend down there plus our vacation time. There were only two houses nearby, both of which were occupied by full time residents. Nearly all the vacant lots around us were also owned by one of the permanent residents. We came to love the quiet and solitude of our little place and would leave immediately from work on Friday afternoon and not return until Monday morning. I would bring my work clothes into the office on Friday and we would leave SGI at about 5:15 am so that I would arrive to my office by 7 am which was my usual time of work.
After I retired in 2001, I began spending more and more time there and eventually we made it our permanent residence. About this time, prices began to rise and more and more huge rental houses were being constructed. Still we felt secure because the lots around us were owned by our neighbor. We had told him that if he ever wanted to sell any of the lots adjacent to us, to let us know. Well, that did not happen and our neighbor sold a block of 12 lots to a developer which included lots in front of us and on both sides. It was only when a "sold" sign went up that we were aware of the sale.
Within one year, the lot to the west of us which had been lower than ours was filled in to a height of more than five feet above our property. Later that year, a huge rental house with a swimming pool was constructed on that lot. Not only did we lose our privacy, but we gained the noise associated with a rental home and parties out by the pool at night. Still the worst was yet to come.
In July 2005, hurricane Dennis threatened the north Florida Gulf coast. Dennis was a relatively weak hurricane (Cat.1 or 2) and its track took it to about 125 miles west of SGI. Apalachee Bay, where SGI is located, is very shallow and therefore vulnerable to storm surges. Forecasters had predicted a storm surge for our area of Apalachee Bay of between 5-8 feet. Most residents of the island remained, but several friends who lived in lower areas went to a rental located in higher area in the center of the island. They brought their boat and a trailer to our house for safe keeping since the base elevation of our lot was 9 feet. And because our house was three blocks inland, it was relatively safe from the predicted surge.
The storm surge from Dennis hit on a Saturday night. The next morning we received a call from our friends telling us to get down to the island right away because our property had sustained major storm surge damage. My husband went down there immediately.
Most of our end of the island from the Gulf to the main road was under water. Our property is another block inland from the main road, but my husband could not get to it because the storm surge had washed away our driveway and left an eight foot deep gully where it once was and along the side of our house next to the big rental house. The front of the property toward the Gulf was fine because the water ran naturally over the land and under the house like it should. However due to the filling in of the lot next door, the water funneled along the side with such a force that it destroyed a natural dune and our bulkhead walls, and created the gulch where our driveway once was. Since the water had to cross the main road which is approximately at an elevation of 12 feet, my estimate is that the storm surge was somewhere between 13 and 15 feet.
I have tried but it is hard to express in words what I felt when I saw this and how deeply it affected me to this day. Everything changed.
A number of years ago we purchased a small cottage on St. George Island of the North Florida Gulf coast near the town of Apalachicola. Apalachicola has been described as what Key West was before anyone discovered it. Like many barrier islands, St. George Island (SGI) is about 27 miles long, but very narrow and is located about 90 miles from Tallahassee. Given the narrow, winding, two lane roads, it becomes an approximate two hour drive. Some close friends of ours had the house for years, using it as a weekend retreat. When all their kids were out of their house in Tallahassee, they decided to move to this very small house. After one year there, they decided to become permanent residents there and build a larger home on the Bay side of the island.
At the time we purchased our little house about 11 years ago, SGI was mostly undeveloped and populated by a combination of old time residents and weekenders plus a growing number of rental houses, most of which were along the Gulf or across the road from the Gulf. This little house was three blocks inland and on a dirt road with no cable available. Most of the permanent residents lived on these inland roads and the area was so undesirable for investment and rental purposes, that our house and area in which it was located were valued similar to mainland property.
We decided that our goal would be to spend two weekends a month down there. What happened was that we ended up spending nearly every weekend down there plus our vacation time. There were only two houses nearby, both of which were occupied by full time residents. Nearly all the vacant lots around us were also owned by one of the permanent residents. We came to love the quiet and solitude of our little place and would leave immediately from work on Friday afternoon and not return until Monday morning. I would bring my work clothes into the office on Friday and we would leave SGI at about 5:15 am so that I would arrive to my office by 7 am which was my usual time of work.
After I retired in 2001, I began spending more and more time there and eventually we made it our permanent residence. About this time, prices began to rise and more and more huge rental houses were being constructed. Still we felt secure because the lots around us were owned by our neighbor. We had told him that if he ever wanted to sell any of the lots adjacent to us, to let us know. Well, that did not happen and our neighbor sold a block of 12 lots to a developer which included lots in front of us and on both sides. It was only when a "sold" sign went up that we were aware of the sale.
Within one year, the lot to the west of us which had been lower than ours was filled in to a height of more than five feet above our property. Later that year, a huge rental house with a swimming pool was constructed on that lot. Not only did we lose our privacy, but we gained the noise associated with a rental home and parties out by the pool at night. Still the worst was yet to come.
In July 2005, hurricane Dennis threatened the north Florida Gulf coast. Dennis was a relatively weak hurricane (Cat.1 or 2) and its track took it to about 125 miles west of SGI. Apalachee Bay, where SGI is located, is very shallow and therefore vulnerable to storm surges. Forecasters had predicted a storm surge for our area of Apalachee Bay of between 5-8 feet. Most residents of the island remained, but several friends who lived in lower areas went to a rental located in higher area in the center of the island. They brought their boat and a trailer to our house for safe keeping since the base elevation of our lot was 9 feet. And because our house was three blocks inland, it was relatively safe from the predicted surge.
The storm surge from Dennis hit on a Saturday night. The next morning we received a call from our friends telling us to get down to the island right away because our property had sustained major storm surge damage. My husband went down there immediately.
Most of our end of the island from the Gulf to the main road was under water. Our property is another block inland from the main road, but my husband could not get to it because the storm surge had washed away our driveway and left an eight foot deep gully where it once was and along the side of our house next to the big rental house. The front of the property toward the Gulf was fine because the water ran naturally over the land and under the house like it should. However due to the filling in of the lot next door, the water funneled along the side with such a force that it destroyed a natural dune and our bulkhead walls, and created the gulch where our driveway once was. Since the water had to cross the main road which is approximately at an elevation of 12 feet, my estimate is that the storm surge was somewhere between 13 and 15 feet.
I have tried but it is hard to express in words what I felt when I saw this and how deeply it affected me to this day. Everything changed.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Hurricanes and Resilience, Part 2
In January 2005, I wrote a piece titled Hurricanes and Resilience, http://bloggingo.blogspot.com/2005/01/hurricanes-and-resilience.html in which I described how well my 80 something year old parents coped with three hurricanes in a less than three month period during 2004. The community in which they live in Central Florida had the dubious distinction of being ground zero for the eye of three separate hurricanes in 2004. When first hurricane left them without power for eight days, I was amazed at their resilience throughtout their ordeal and their steadfast determination to make the best of a very trying situation.
The last couple of years have been among the worst for hurricanes in the Southeast but Tallahassee, in the Big Bend of Florida, has been largely spared from direct hurricane damage. The last really damaging hurricane to affect Tallahassee was Hurricane Kate in 1985 when nearly the entire electrical system for the city was wiped out by fallen trees. The destruction of the city electrical system was so extensive that the day after Kate hit, only one gas station in town was able to pump. Because my neighborhood was in the unincorporated area, it was eight days before our power was restored. Some homes in my neighborhood went as long as eleven days.
Thankfully Kate hit in November, so the lack of air conditioning was not a problem. However, being mostly in the darkness during the entire time we were home was mind numbing. We were more fortunate than most. We had a gas hot water heater which meant we had hot showers. We also had camping equipment to cook with, a lantern for some light, and and a tiny portable tv that we could plug into the car cigarette lighter to watch the news each night. But each morning we would get up in the dark and get ready to go into work in the dark. By the time we got home in the evening, it would be dark again. Luckily we both worked downtown where the power was first restored. Going into work was the highlight of my day.
In the intervening years, the coastal areas had impacts from hurricanes and other storms, most notably Hurricane Opal in 1995 which hit much further west near Destin, but caused major damage to coastal areas in the Big Bend. But because Tallahassee sits about 25 miles inland from the nearest coastal area, it was usually spared. That was until 1994 when tropical storm Alberto moved into North Florida and South Georgia and stalled while dumping massive amounts of rain over the region.
As a result, 14 homes and several vacant lots in my neighborhood flooded with anywhere from one to three feet of water which came in the middle of the night. One of my friends in the flooded area ais that the water rose so fast that they went from a completely dry backyard to nearly two feet of water in less than an hour and a half. Most of the affected residents barely had time to escape their homes and by the next morning, some of them had three feet of water standing in their homes. Since the area was not in a FEMA flood hazard zone, none of the lenders had required flood insurance, and not a single home of the fourteen had flood insurance.
My entire neighborhood pulled together to help these families clean up and repair their homes. Eventually all the homes were repaired, but the cost to the families was much more than financial. Two couples ended up divorcing, several families sought stress counseling for themselves and their children, and several families moved away. Despite the hardships they endured, most of these families recovered from this disaster to resume productive lives.
The last couple of years have been among the worst for hurricanes in the Southeast but Tallahassee, in the Big Bend of Florida, has been largely spared from direct hurricane damage. The last really damaging hurricane to affect Tallahassee was Hurricane Kate in 1985 when nearly the entire electrical system for the city was wiped out by fallen trees. The destruction of the city electrical system was so extensive that the day after Kate hit, only one gas station in town was able to pump. Because my neighborhood was in the unincorporated area, it was eight days before our power was restored. Some homes in my neighborhood went as long as eleven days.
Thankfully Kate hit in November, so the lack of air conditioning was not a problem. However, being mostly in the darkness during the entire time we were home was mind numbing. We were more fortunate than most. We had a gas hot water heater which meant we had hot showers. We also had camping equipment to cook with, a lantern for some light, and and a tiny portable tv that we could plug into the car cigarette lighter to watch the news each night. But each morning we would get up in the dark and get ready to go into work in the dark. By the time we got home in the evening, it would be dark again. Luckily we both worked downtown where the power was first restored. Going into work was the highlight of my day.
In the intervening years, the coastal areas had impacts from hurricanes and other storms, most notably Hurricane Opal in 1995 which hit much further west near Destin, but caused major damage to coastal areas in the Big Bend. But because Tallahassee sits about 25 miles inland from the nearest coastal area, it was usually spared. That was until 1994 when tropical storm Alberto moved into North Florida and South Georgia and stalled while dumping massive amounts of rain over the region.
As a result, 14 homes and several vacant lots in my neighborhood flooded with anywhere from one to three feet of water which came in the middle of the night. One of my friends in the flooded area ais that the water rose so fast that they went from a completely dry backyard to nearly two feet of water in less than an hour and a half. Most of the affected residents barely had time to escape their homes and by the next morning, some of them had three feet of water standing in their homes. Since the area was not in a FEMA flood hazard zone, none of the lenders had required flood insurance, and not a single home of the fourteen had flood insurance.
My entire neighborhood pulled together to help these families clean up and repair their homes. Eventually all the homes were repaired, but the cost to the families was much more than financial. Two couples ended up divorcing, several families sought stress counseling for themselves and their children, and several families moved away. Despite the hardships they endured, most of these families recovered from this disaster to resume productive lives.
Monday, May 23, 2005
The Weight
My husband and I have been working on a kitchen remodelling project for nearly two months and we are still in the demolition stage. Against my wishes, we have been doing all the work ourselves and it has taken an emotional toll on me. Dealing with clutter, debris, dust, and inconvenience has made me miserable. The frustration of living out of boxes and camping out in my own house has worn thin.
Intellectually, I know that when this is done, we will be so glad that we remodelled and that it will add value to our home. But it seems like it is taking so long to even get started, that I wonder if I will ever see it completed. The stress of this project has been weighing very heavy on me and has made me short tempered and negative.
An very insightful friend recently told me something about myself that hit close to home. My friend's observation upset me very much because it was so close to the truth. It also made me think about how sometimes what appears to be a very good thing can have a very negative effect on people, like this project has to me and I don't like feeling that way.
Often during times like now, a song will run through my head for no apparent reason. Later when I look back on it, that song is very significant to what I am feeling at the time. The song that has been running through my head a lot lately is "The Weight" by The Band, which was on one of my favorite albums of all time, Music From Big Pink.
Intellectually, I know that when this is done, we will be so glad that we remodelled and that it will add value to our home. But it seems like it is taking so long to even get started, that I wonder if I will ever see it completed. The stress of this project has been weighing very heavy on me and has made me short tempered and negative.
An very insightful friend recently told me something about myself that hit close to home. My friend's observation upset me very much because it was so close to the truth. It also made me think about how sometimes what appears to be a very good thing can have a very negative effect on people, like this project has to me and I don't like feeling that way.
Often during times like now, a song will run through my head for no apparent reason. Later when I look back on it, that song is very significant to what I am feeling at the time. The song that has been running through my head a lot lately is "The Weight" by The Band, which was on one of my favorite albums of all time, Music From Big Pink.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Yesterday
Yesterday marked thirteen years since my father in law died from a heart attack. He had suffered a heart attack twenty years earlier and had undergone quadruple by pass surgery two years before. We all knew he was living on borrowed time, but it did not make the shock of losing him any less.
My father in law was one of the most outgoing, upbeat, people oriented, and fun loving people I have ever met. He sure could tell stories, many of which we heard over and over. He did not have an enemy in the world. I miss him very much still.
My father in law was one of the most outgoing, upbeat, people oriented, and fun loving people I have ever met. He sure could tell stories, many of which we heard over and over. He did not have an enemy in the world. I miss him very much still.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Why Is It?
Yesterday it rained heavily here. Our house is on a dirt road that turns to muck every time it rains. I had to make a trip to the post office which meant driving down the muddy road. As I was carefully negotiating around the mushier parts of the road and the puddles, it suddenly occurred to me that how odd my driving was. My car is eleven and a half years old with its left rear quarter panel damaged from an accident and it was definitely not clean to begin with. So why was I taking such great care to avoid the muck and puddles?
We all have certain conditioned behaviors that are not necessarily bad, but really do not make much sense. Avoiding mud and puddles in an already dirty car is apparently one of mine. I laugh when I think about it. I also laugh at a certain other behaviors that fall into that same "why is it" category.
One of the oddest and one that I cannot explain to myself involves the Suwannee River which is a major river here in Florida. The Suwannee River is a very picturesque river that inspired Stephen Foster to write a song about it, even though it is said that he never saw it. Every year, there is a major music festival held in White Springs at the Stephen Foster Folk Center on the Suwannee River.
The Suwannee runs north and south from the Georgia line to the Gulf of Mexico, just north of Cedar Key on Florida's west coast, thus bisecting Florida. I live in the northern part of the state and west of the river, so every time I travel south, I must cross the Suwannee River. There is no getting around it regardless of the route I choose.
While I love the Suwannee River, for some unexplained reason, I am always feel compelled to lift my feet off the floor whenever I cross it. I have been doing this as long as I can remember and I haven't a clue as to why. Like trying to keep the mud off an already dirty car, this is one of those "why is it" things. Harmless, yet curious.
We all have certain conditioned behaviors that are not necessarily bad, but really do not make much sense. Avoiding mud and puddles in an already dirty car is apparently one of mine. I laugh when I think about it. I also laugh at a certain other behaviors that fall into that same "why is it" category.
One of the oddest and one that I cannot explain to myself involves the Suwannee River which is a major river here in Florida. The Suwannee River is a very picturesque river that inspired Stephen Foster to write a song about it, even though it is said that he never saw it. Every year, there is a major music festival held in White Springs at the Stephen Foster Folk Center on the Suwannee River.
The Suwannee runs north and south from the Georgia line to the Gulf of Mexico, just north of Cedar Key on Florida's west coast, thus bisecting Florida. I live in the northern part of the state and west of the river, so every time I travel south, I must cross the Suwannee River. There is no getting around it regardless of the route I choose.
While I love the Suwannee River, for some unexplained reason, I am always feel compelled to lift my feet off the floor whenever I cross it. I have been doing this as long as I can remember and I haven't a clue as to why. Like trying to keep the mud off an already dirty car, this is one of those "why is it" things. Harmless, yet curious.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Growing Old and Growing Up, Again
It has been over a month since I last posted an entry here. Time flies even when you are not having fun.
Since my last entry, I celebrated another birthday in late April. Every year as my birthday approaches, I struggle with my emotions over this event. Logic tells me that I should be happy that I am alive and healthy. However, the event reminds me how much society stereotypes us even by a number.
A person's age automatically defines who they are to others. My number is up there and yet I do not look, act, or feel as old as my age is seen by our society. My tastes are much more those of someone in their 20's or 30's. My driver's license photo looks like a person 20 years younger than my age. Thank goodness for small favors in life. My outlook is that of today, not of the past.
But I have spent most of my life marching to a slightly out of step and different drummer. Because my path has been different from the expectations that society imposes on us, I often feel as if I don't fit in anywhere. So it is with my age. I am still a twenty something year old stuck in a middle age body. It seems as though society expects us to conform to the preconcieved notions of what a person of my age should be. I'm not buying it. If that is the case, I never want to grow up.
Since my last entry, I celebrated another birthday in late April. Every year as my birthday approaches, I struggle with my emotions over this event. Logic tells me that I should be happy that I am alive and healthy. However, the event reminds me how much society stereotypes us even by a number.
A person's age automatically defines who they are to others. My number is up there and yet I do not look, act, or feel as old as my age is seen by our society. My tastes are much more those of someone in their 20's or 30's. My driver's license photo looks like a person 20 years younger than my age. Thank goodness for small favors in life. My outlook is that of today, not of the past.
But I have spent most of my life marching to a slightly out of step and different drummer. Because my path has been different from the expectations that society imposes on us, I often feel as if I don't fit in anywhere. So it is with my age. I am still a twenty something year old stuck in a middle age body. It seems as though society expects us to conform to the preconcieved notions of what a person of my age should be. I'm not buying it. If that is the case, I never want to grow up.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
I Did Not Write This
I did not write the following, but the person who did could have written it about herself. What she did was write this because she knew that I was feeling unappreciated. Sometimes a few kind words can really make a person's day. The following did just that for me. Thank you, Jena, for understanding and empathizing. You are the one who taught me about being a friend. You are truly the one who ROKs!
"Earlier this morning, while chatting with one of my internet friends, I was once again reminded of how wonderful it is to have her friendship.
NEVER ONCE during our brief friendship, has she ever failed to lend an ear if I needed someone to talk too.
Her friendship is something that I will always treasure! I just hope that I give her the same sort of strength that she gives to me.
I know this is one of those mushy posts, but it's something that I wanted to share.
If at some point today, you talk to one of your internet friends. Take the time to tell them how much you value their friendship.
Don't just need a friend, be a friend...........your life will be blessed because of it!
This post is dedicated to one of the nicest ladies that I've NEVER had the pleasure to meet!
BINGO, you ROK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You've lifted my spirits more often than you realize!"
"Earlier this morning, while chatting with one of my internet friends, I was once again reminded of how wonderful it is to have her friendship.
NEVER ONCE during our brief friendship, has she ever failed to lend an ear if I needed someone to talk too.
Her friendship is something that I will always treasure! I just hope that I give her the same sort of strength that she gives to me.
I know this is one of those mushy posts, but it's something that I wanted to share.
If at some point today, you talk to one of your internet friends. Take the time to tell them how much you value their friendship.
Don't just need a friend, be a friend...........your life will be blessed because of it!
This post is dedicated to one of the nicest ladies that I've NEVER had the pleasure to meet!
BINGO, you ROK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You've lifted my spirits more often than you realize!"
Friday, March 18, 2005
Is That My Color?
Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day and we attended a covered dish dinner held by a civic organization to which we belong. This organization was created as a vehicle through which a nearby small community could raise funds for its local volunteer fire department and emergency first responders. Since it is a rural community, the dress for its events is usually very casual. For this event, the flyer suggested that everyone wear something green in keeping with the spirit of the day.
I have always said that green is my favorite color. However, when I searched through my newly reorganized closets and very extensive wardrobe, I suddenly realized how few green things I owned. A quick glance at my closet shows mostly black with red and blue pieces mixed in. Over the years, I thought I had remembered wearing a lot of green. Perhaps it was that I remembered wearing green because those happened to be my favorite things at the time. I am not sure, but looking around my house, I realized that there was not that much green in the decor either, although I did recover the seats of some bar stools in a dark green several years ago.
So what makes a color one's favorite color? Is it the color that we enjoy wearing the most or living with, or is our favorite color because of what it symbolizes to each of us? I know that I always liked green because it is tranquil and reminds me of nature, and yet I see very little green in my clothing or home right now.
Recently, my mother told me that she was thinking of repainting the walls in their house a pale yellow because yellow is her favorite color. I knew that my mother wore a lot of bright yellow as well as other bright colors, but was surprised to learn that yellow was her favorite color. Similarly, one of my sisters in law once told me that yellow was also her favorite color. That was a complete surprise because I have never seen her in yellow nor it is used in her home either. Often when I think of people, I do think of them in terms of certain colors. For example, while the concept of yellow being my mother's favorite color is not foreign, I think of her as a bright lime green. My sister in law is definitely a rose or pink person. Those colors look great on her, and she has used a lot of mauve in her home.
Last Christmas my mother in law gave my two sisters in law and me each a decorative bracelet watch. Each watch was distinctly different and obviously chosen with our individual tastes and personalities in mind. My watch was a bold black and white enamel that was very funky and contemporary, while the ones chosen for my sisters in law were both more traditional and subtle. I loved the one that my mother in law had chosen for me and would have chosen that one for myself. When I think of the clothing that my mother in law has given me in the past, nearly everything has been black or red or a combination of those two colors. And I have always loved the things that my mother in law chooses for me.
So whatever happened to my favorite color? Or was it really my favorite color? Or is my favortie color simply the victim of the color professionals who declare the "in" color palette each year? Or is it simply a color whose symbolic qualities I admire but do not really use in my personal choices of clothing and home decor? I am not sure. However, I am beginning to think that my mother in law is right about my colors, and my colors are actually black and red.
I have always said that green is my favorite color. However, when I searched through my newly reorganized closets and very extensive wardrobe, I suddenly realized how few green things I owned. A quick glance at my closet shows mostly black with red and blue pieces mixed in. Over the years, I thought I had remembered wearing a lot of green. Perhaps it was that I remembered wearing green because those happened to be my favorite things at the time. I am not sure, but looking around my house, I realized that there was not that much green in the decor either, although I did recover the seats of some bar stools in a dark green several years ago.
So what makes a color one's favorite color? Is it the color that we enjoy wearing the most or living with, or is our favorite color because of what it symbolizes to each of us? I know that I always liked green because it is tranquil and reminds me of nature, and yet I see very little green in my clothing or home right now.
Recently, my mother told me that she was thinking of repainting the walls in their house a pale yellow because yellow is her favorite color. I knew that my mother wore a lot of bright yellow as well as other bright colors, but was surprised to learn that yellow was her favorite color. Similarly, one of my sisters in law once told me that yellow was also her favorite color. That was a complete surprise because I have never seen her in yellow nor it is used in her home either. Often when I think of people, I do think of them in terms of certain colors. For example, while the concept of yellow being my mother's favorite color is not foreign, I think of her as a bright lime green. My sister in law is definitely a rose or pink person. Those colors look great on her, and she has used a lot of mauve in her home.
Last Christmas my mother in law gave my two sisters in law and me each a decorative bracelet watch. Each watch was distinctly different and obviously chosen with our individual tastes and personalities in mind. My watch was a bold black and white enamel that was very funky and contemporary, while the ones chosen for my sisters in law were both more traditional and subtle. I loved the one that my mother in law had chosen for me and would have chosen that one for myself. When I think of the clothing that my mother in law has given me in the past, nearly everything has been black or red or a combination of those two colors. And I have always loved the things that my mother in law chooses for me.
So whatever happened to my favorite color? Or was it really my favorite color? Or is my favortie color simply the victim of the color professionals who declare the "in" color palette each year? Or is it simply a color whose symbolic qualities I admire but do not really use in my personal choices of clothing and home decor? I am not sure. However, I am beginning to think that my mother in law is right about my colors, and my colors are actually black and red.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Clearing the Clutter
Yesterday I spent most of my day cleaning out closets. They really need it and I have been remiss in doing it for some time. It seems the longer you let things go, the more difficult it is to keep them up. A lot of things in my life has been neglected, particularly around my house.
As we prepare to begin remodelling our kitchen and bathroom, the sheer enormity of clearing out the clutter has begun to overwhelm me. Each time I start on one area and make progress, something seems to happen that sets me back. And so it goes in a ever increasingly cluttered circle.
When more than one person is involved in the creation of the clutter, it takes all parties to remove it. For some of us, it is difficult to physically and emotionally part with things that may have once been dear or valuable, but no longer have purpose. So it was when I started in the kitchen cabinets last week. Who needs three fondue pots that have not been used in 20 years? Or a broken vegetable steamer? While I debated with myself over the merit of owning three fondue pots, I promptly tossed the broken steamer in the garbage, only to see my husband fish it out later in the day. De-cluttering is a frustrating battle in our household.
So I moved on to my closet and clothing. There, I have control and I am making great progress in my effort to simplify and clean out. First I removed everything that was on hangers and sorted it into piles on the bed. I placed all the pants in one pile, jeans in another, sweaters in a third, skirts in a fourth, and finally a small pile of dresses which I draped over a chair. I began with the pants and jeans and tried everything on. The reality of the extra five pounds put on a Christmas struck me harshly, as several pairs of pants were uncomfortably snug. So I made a mental note of seriously watching what I eat and forcing myself to get more exercise. Five pounds on a relatively small person like myself is significant.
As I made my way through the stacks, I began to think about a book I had bought a while back after a friend had recommended it to me. It is called "Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui." My friend bought it after she and her boyfriend of over eight years had broken up. It made such an impact on her, that she took a week off from work and completely cleaned out her house of the physical clutter. She also began cleaning her mind of the emotional and mental clutter. When she finished, she cut her very long hair and decided to search for a more satisfying job in her hometown. Within months, she found a wonderful job in her hometown, sold her house in less than a week, bought a home five minutes from her new job, and never looked back. She is so much happier now than she has been in years.
Cleaning out the clutter is not just a physical act There is an enormous amount of emotional clutter we all carry around. Lately, I have been thinking about some of the clutter in my life. Non-rewarding relationships, unresolved personal issues, and my hair, my hair, my hair have all been dragging me down. One of the most frustrating things for me lately is the amount of emotional investment I have put into people and things without getting any return. Maybe it is time for me to read the book again. Then I need to get a plan, clean out the physical clutter in my house, and try to change how I deal with the negative people and emotions that have been cluttering my life and hindering me from moving forward.
As we prepare to begin remodelling our kitchen and bathroom, the sheer enormity of clearing out the clutter has begun to overwhelm me. Each time I start on one area and make progress, something seems to happen that sets me back. And so it goes in a ever increasingly cluttered circle.
When more than one person is involved in the creation of the clutter, it takes all parties to remove it. For some of us, it is difficult to physically and emotionally part with things that may have once been dear or valuable, but no longer have purpose. So it was when I started in the kitchen cabinets last week. Who needs three fondue pots that have not been used in 20 years? Or a broken vegetable steamer? While I debated with myself over the merit of owning three fondue pots, I promptly tossed the broken steamer in the garbage, only to see my husband fish it out later in the day. De-cluttering is a frustrating battle in our household.
So I moved on to my closet and clothing. There, I have control and I am making great progress in my effort to simplify and clean out. First I removed everything that was on hangers and sorted it into piles on the bed. I placed all the pants in one pile, jeans in another, sweaters in a third, skirts in a fourth, and finally a small pile of dresses which I draped over a chair. I began with the pants and jeans and tried everything on. The reality of the extra five pounds put on a Christmas struck me harshly, as several pairs of pants were uncomfortably snug. So I made a mental note of seriously watching what I eat and forcing myself to get more exercise. Five pounds on a relatively small person like myself is significant.
As I made my way through the stacks, I began to think about a book I had bought a while back after a friend had recommended it to me. It is called "Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui." My friend bought it after she and her boyfriend of over eight years had broken up. It made such an impact on her, that she took a week off from work and completely cleaned out her house of the physical clutter. She also began cleaning her mind of the emotional and mental clutter. When she finished, she cut her very long hair and decided to search for a more satisfying job in her hometown. Within months, she found a wonderful job in her hometown, sold her house in less than a week, bought a home five minutes from her new job, and never looked back. She is so much happier now than she has been in years.
Cleaning out the clutter is not just a physical act There is an enormous amount of emotional clutter we all carry around. Lately, I have been thinking about some of the clutter in my life. Non-rewarding relationships, unresolved personal issues, and my hair, my hair, my hair have all been dragging me down. One of the most frustrating things for me lately is the amount of emotional investment I have put into people and things without getting any return. Maybe it is time for me to read the book again. Then I need to get a plan, clean out the physical clutter in my house, and try to change how I deal with the negative people and emotions that have been cluttering my life and hindering me from moving forward.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
A Live Human Being
My husband and I are getting ready to do a major kitchen renovation. Our home is thirty years old and we have lived in it for 22 years. From the beginning, I never liked my kitchen counters and cabinets. The original counters were orange which was a very popular color back in the mid 70's when our house was built. About two years after we bought our house, I tiled over them with an off white tile. The cabinets are a country style, as was much of the rest of the house. Over the years, I have tried to do everything possible to de-countrify our house, including removal of shutters on the outside which gave it a more contemporary look. However, the cabinets with their vertical grooves remained.
My sister in law who is a residential realtor told us that we really needed to update our home if we ever decided to move. Finally, I convinced my husband that we really needed to remodel our kitchen and hall bath. He told me to come up with a budget and plans and then we might do it. I have spent nearly a year doing research and formulating what I wanted. Since we were going to have to replace everything in our kitchen, I figured that I might just go for the layout I really wanted. After several drafts, I came up with a floor plan that opened the kitchen up to our family room and had a counter bar for seating. My husband liked the plan, and when I budgeted it out, it was doable.
My husband's taste reflects that of his mother which is dark wood traditional and somewhat formal. I prefer a cleaner and more casual contemporary look. The clash of different tastes has been a problem for us for years, but I usually have given in. Most of our furniture looks like his mother's house. So the idea of us agreeing on cabinets and decor was a little scary. He told me to pick out a couple of cabinet styles that I liked and then he would look at them. I had one cabinet that I really liked and surprisingly, so did he. It was almost too easy for two people who have such different tastes.
We ordered our cabinets through a home improvement center who placed the order with a national cabinet manufacturer. The cabinets are manufactured only after the order is received. A little over twenty four hours later, a representative of the cabinet company called to set up a delivery date of less than one month. In addition, the representative gave me her name and telephone extension number in case a problem cropped up. I could not believe it. In this day and age of impersonal customer service, I talked to a real human being who gave me her name and phone number. Every so often, just as I become jaded about big business, my faith in customer service gets renewed. It did that day.
My sister in law who is a residential realtor told us that we really needed to update our home if we ever decided to move. Finally, I convinced my husband that we really needed to remodel our kitchen and hall bath. He told me to come up with a budget and plans and then we might do it. I have spent nearly a year doing research and formulating what I wanted. Since we were going to have to replace everything in our kitchen, I figured that I might just go for the layout I really wanted. After several drafts, I came up with a floor plan that opened the kitchen up to our family room and had a counter bar for seating. My husband liked the plan, and when I budgeted it out, it was doable.
My husband's taste reflects that of his mother which is dark wood traditional and somewhat formal. I prefer a cleaner and more casual contemporary look. The clash of different tastes has been a problem for us for years, but I usually have given in. Most of our furniture looks like his mother's house. So the idea of us agreeing on cabinets and decor was a little scary. He told me to pick out a couple of cabinet styles that I liked and then he would look at them. I had one cabinet that I really liked and surprisingly, so did he. It was almost too easy for two people who have such different tastes.
We ordered our cabinets through a home improvement center who placed the order with a national cabinet manufacturer. The cabinets are manufactured only after the order is received. A little over twenty four hours later, a representative of the cabinet company called to set up a delivery date of less than one month. In addition, the representative gave me her name and telephone extension number in case a problem cropped up. I could not believe it. In this day and age of impersonal customer service, I talked to a real human being who gave me her name and phone number. Every so often, just as I become jaded about big business, my faith in customer service gets renewed. It did that day.
Friday, March 11, 2005
A Killer Lives Here
As I have written in my profile, my husband and I have no children, but we do have four dogs. We are fond of saying that our dogs own us, not us them. Three of our dogs are older, between the ages of eight and ten. Willie Bear is our youngest dog at age two and a half. I call him Baby Dog because it seems as though he will never grow up.
Willie Bear is a pomeranian on steroids. At 20 pounds, he is four times the size of a show quality pom. We knew when we got him that he was going to be a larger dog because the parents were 10 and 14 pounds each. Pomeranians are the smallest of the northern spitz dogs. Before the breeders got ahold of them and bred them down to tinker toys, pomeranians were about 30 pound dogs that were used to pull small sleds in the northern countries. Willie Bear is a throw back to what the breed originally was. He has the original, beautiful wolf eyes instead of the bug eyes that the show dogs have. He is all muscle and no fat. Our vet has said that he is the athlete of our dogs.
Nothing about Willie Bear is subtle. Not his size, not the way he struts, not the way he goes out the door or comes back in. When we let him out in the yard, he leaps out the door and he dashes to come back in. Out in the yard, he literally flies about, chasing squirrels and birds and rabbits. He is like a quarter horse in speed compared to the thoroughbred greyhounds. I have never seen a faster dog in a short dash in my life.
On Tuesday afternoon, I let the springers (the Orcas) and Willie Bear out in the back yard. The Orcas don't like to be out there alone for long, so they came right back in. But Willie Bear stayed out like he often does, laying out in the yard for much longer periods, and enjoying the warm spring weather and watching the birds.
When I checked on him later, he was waiting on the back patio, grinning from ear to ear. He had proudly dragged home the remains of a full grown rabbit that he had caught and killed in our back yard. It was fresh and there was very little left of it. Our Baby Dog had caught and tasted what every dog dreams of.......rabbit! Willie Bear may be a rabbit killer, but he is still our Baby Dog.
Willie Bear is a pomeranian on steroids. At 20 pounds, he is four times the size of a show quality pom. We knew when we got him that he was going to be a larger dog because the parents were 10 and 14 pounds each. Pomeranians are the smallest of the northern spitz dogs. Before the breeders got ahold of them and bred them down to tinker toys, pomeranians were about 30 pound dogs that were used to pull small sleds in the northern countries. Willie Bear is a throw back to what the breed originally was. He has the original, beautiful wolf eyes instead of the bug eyes that the show dogs have. He is all muscle and no fat. Our vet has said that he is the athlete of our dogs.
Nothing about Willie Bear is subtle. Not his size, not the way he struts, not the way he goes out the door or comes back in. When we let him out in the yard, he leaps out the door and he dashes to come back in. Out in the yard, he literally flies about, chasing squirrels and birds and rabbits. He is like a quarter horse in speed compared to the thoroughbred greyhounds. I have never seen a faster dog in a short dash in my life.
On Tuesday afternoon, I let the springers (the Orcas) and Willie Bear out in the back yard. The Orcas don't like to be out there alone for long, so they came right back in. But Willie Bear stayed out like he often does, laying out in the yard for much longer periods, and enjoying the warm spring weather and watching the birds.
When I checked on him later, he was waiting on the back patio, grinning from ear to ear. He had proudly dragged home the remains of a full grown rabbit that he had caught and killed in our back yard. It was fresh and there was very little left of it. Our Baby Dog had caught and tasted what every dog dreams of.......rabbit! Willie Bear may be a rabbit killer, but he is still our Baby Dog.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Why Blog?
I haven't posted in a while and I am not entirely sure why. When I made the last two posts about my garden, I had a third in that series in mind. What happened after the second of those posts was completely baffling to me. After never receiving any comments about my blog, suddenly I got several, some made to me personally and others posted on this site. One of those comments, which was innocently made by a good friend, really took me back and made me wonder about why I choose to write the way I do.
What is the purpose of this blog? Originally, this blog was intended to be an introspective look at how every day occurances in my life affect me. It was initially something that I would write only for myself. However, I decided to share this blog with some of my friends and acquaintances. Perhaps that was a mistake because I was not prepared to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise.
Some times things we say or do are not always percieved in the same light that we intended them to be. Is it just miscommunication or it is because we are human, that we often delude ourselves into thinking that others see us the way we wish to see ourselves?
What is the purpose of this blog? Originally, this blog was intended to be an introspective look at how every day occurances in my life affect me. It was initially something that I would write only for myself. However, I decided to share this blog with some of my friends and acquaintances. Perhaps that was a mistake because I was not prepared to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise.
Some times things we say or do are not always percieved in the same light that we intended them to be. Is it just miscommunication or it is because we are human, that we often delude ourselves into thinking that others see us the way we wish to see ourselves?
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Weeding out the Debris
My husband and I are not the neatest people in the world. We have lived in the same house for over twenty years and it is filled with stuff we have collected over the years, but now do not use. Still, we continue to accumulate stuff. I always joked that I did not know whether first we would implode from all the junk in the attic or explode from all the stuff in our closets. Lately, all this extraneous debris has been dragging me down. I have begun to feel very burdened by my possessions.
Yesterday was another beautiful, false spring day, so I went back out to work in my flower beds. The previous day I had started by cleaning up the weeds that had sprung up in the beds because I had failed to maintain them. After having weeded the beds, I realized that they needed some neatening. The largest bed is separated from the rest of the yard by a row of border grass that my husband had planted years ago. I am not a big fan of border grass, but he loves the stuff because it makes it easier fo him to mow our rather large back yard.
With all the weeds gone and the dead tops of the plants cleared out, I noticed that the border grass had substantially invaded my flower beds. Areas that had held irises and daffodils were intertwined with runners and shoots of border grass. The only way to remedy the situation was to dig everything up and weed out the debris. I spent several hours digging up a large part of the border grass and discarding it. Then I had to dig up the other plants to rid the area of where the border grass had sent its runners and was choking out my irises and daffodils. It was a lot of work, but I was giddy with having rid my flower beds of useless debris.
Coming back into my house, the excess physical debris in my life suddenly appeared magnified. All the extraneous junk we have lying around seemed to be begging me to get rid of it. We all carry excess debris in our lives, both in the form of possessions we no longer need and emotional baggage we should have never allowed to burden us. Cleaning out the border grass from my flower beds will allow my plants to be healthier and produce more flowers for our enjoyment. Perhaps, I need to look at weeding the debris out of my life too.
Yesterday was another beautiful, false spring day, so I went back out to work in my flower beds. The previous day I had started by cleaning up the weeds that had sprung up in the beds because I had failed to maintain them. After having weeded the beds, I realized that they needed some neatening. The largest bed is separated from the rest of the yard by a row of border grass that my husband had planted years ago. I am not a big fan of border grass, but he loves the stuff because it makes it easier fo him to mow our rather large back yard.
With all the weeds gone and the dead tops of the plants cleared out, I noticed that the border grass had substantially invaded my flower beds. Areas that had held irises and daffodils were intertwined with runners and shoots of border grass. The only way to remedy the situation was to dig everything up and weed out the debris. I spent several hours digging up a large part of the border grass and discarding it. Then I had to dig up the other plants to rid the area of where the border grass had sent its runners and was choking out my irises and daffodils. It was a lot of work, but I was giddy with having rid my flower beds of useless debris.
Coming back into my house, the excess physical debris in my life suddenly appeared magnified. All the extraneous junk we have lying around seemed to be begging me to get rid of it. We all carry excess debris in our lives, both in the form of possessions we no longer need and emotional baggage we should have never allowed to burden us. Cleaning out the border grass from my flower beds will allow my plants to be healthier and produce more flowers for our enjoyment. Perhaps, I need to look at weeding the debris out of my life too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
