We just survived hurricane Wilma's fury. Over and over again, nature has battered our poor state of Florida. We mop up, pick up debris and face the next day. Sunshine and clear skies always follow Mother Nature. Today, was no different. Our tennis match went on as if nothing happened. It was a bit more breezy as the outer bands moved through. The billowing white clouds was our backdrop for our rival tennis match across town.
Linda and I were talking strategy as we walked to the battlefield - court No. 4. We are competitive players...nice to be around, but we both have killer instincts. It must be because we come from large families, and we had to make our mark early in life, before the siblings swallowed up all the attention. Linda found her limelight with words used with great pageantry. I used yoyos, tennis and any kind of competition. We smile and joke, but we both hate to lose.
We decided to start the game aggressively to throw them off. I met the enemy and watched as Linda hugged one of the players. How can this be? I am thinking about destroying them with a slice serve, and she is hugging. I never asked her if it was some new strategy we hadn't discussed. It certainly was a new approach. Hug them then hit the ball at them. I've never seen Agassi hug, or even Nadal, until after the last point. There are a few I'd like to hug. I could hug Nadal before and after the set. The same with Roger Federer. I'm sure all the guys would want to hug Maria Sharapova.
We didn't win today. We were both a bit off. Hugging. I need to practice that more. Until then - no more hugging the enemy unless we both agree beforehand.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Leaf Peepers and Snowbirds
You can feel it in the air and see it starting to change. Fall. When the weather finally cools off, and the sweaters come out. I can always tell when my favorite time of year is slowly arriving.
I notice it first in the number of out-of-state license plates. Then the traffic on the main roads start to fill up, and more time is needed to get across town. I notice it in the lines at restaurants. Up north, they are called "leaf peepers". Down here in Florida, we call them "snowbirds". The annual migration of the "northerners" to our warm climate.
My kids and I play our annual game of "how many states will we see". We see lots of New York plates and you can always hear them in restaurants. There is no denying that accent. Most of them are vertically challenged. Maybe that is why they speak with such big voices...so they aren't overlooked. Michigan is well represented, and so are most of the northeastern states. We see a few Californians every year, but not many. They have their own coast. I grew up there. Florida has better weather overall. We don't have fog in the weather sense of the word. We have "foggy" snowbirds though. They make u turns, or stop in the middle of the road, no matter if its safe or not. They will slow down to look at road signs. I've seen them drive on sidewalks, and do some of the craziest things. They like to drive really fast on the freeway. Pileups on freeways caused by fog is a very serious situation in California. Pileup from snowbirds in Florida are also tragic. Sometimes, I have forewarning when a potential accident is about to happen. Snowbirds, bless their short little hearts, can hardly see over the steering wheel. When driving behind them, the car looks like its driving itself. My mother is short, and she uses a pillow to sit on. Kinda like a senior booster seat. She lives in California and when its foggy, she stays home.
The best license plates to see are from far away. Canada and Mexico are fun to spot. The grand prize goes to Hawaii, with a close second Alaska. I can understand why someone would want to come here for the winter if they lived in Alaska. But Hawaii? Paradise? It must be because all the snowbirds that don't come to Florida, go to Hawaii. Or maybe they can blend in better there.
The peepers see leaves of change - orange, red, and brown. It is breathtaking. We see changes of grey, with very large cars. That also takes our breath away. Change is always a good thing, I think. Keeps all of us on our toes.
I notice it first in the number of out-of-state license plates. Then the traffic on the main roads start to fill up, and more time is needed to get across town. I notice it in the lines at restaurants. Up north, they are called "leaf peepers". Down here in Florida, we call them "snowbirds". The annual migration of the "northerners" to our warm climate.
My kids and I play our annual game of "how many states will we see". We see lots of New York plates and you can always hear them in restaurants. There is no denying that accent. Most of them are vertically challenged. Maybe that is why they speak with such big voices...so they aren't overlooked. Michigan is well represented, and so are most of the northeastern states. We see a few Californians every year, but not many. They have their own coast. I grew up there. Florida has better weather overall. We don't have fog in the weather sense of the word. We have "foggy" snowbirds though. They make u turns, or stop in the middle of the road, no matter if its safe or not. They will slow down to look at road signs. I've seen them drive on sidewalks, and do some of the craziest things. They like to drive really fast on the freeway. Pileups on freeways caused by fog is a very serious situation in California. Pileup from snowbirds in Florida are also tragic. Sometimes, I have forewarning when a potential accident is about to happen. Snowbirds, bless their short little hearts, can hardly see over the steering wheel. When driving behind them, the car looks like its driving itself. My mother is short, and she uses a pillow to sit on. Kinda like a senior booster seat. She lives in California and when its foggy, she stays home.
The best license plates to see are from far away. Canada and Mexico are fun to spot. The grand prize goes to Hawaii, with a close second Alaska. I can understand why someone would want to come here for the winter if they lived in Alaska. But Hawaii? Paradise? It must be because all the snowbirds that don't come to Florida, go to Hawaii. Or maybe they can blend in better there.
The peepers see leaves of change - orange, red, and brown. It is breathtaking. We see changes of grey, with very large cars. That also takes our breath away. Change is always a good thing, I think. Keeps all of us on our toes.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Trick or Treat
Every Halloween, I think of Linda. It's been almost 20 years since I said goodby to her. I remember thinking then "Please don't die on Halloween!" What I really was saying was "Please don't die!" She died the day before the goblins and the ghosts knocked on the door. She laid in the bedroom, slowly leaving earth while making her way to heaven.
I hope that everyone could meet someone like Linda. Her eyes sparkled, and her laugh was healing. She and her family took me in for a little over a year, while I tried to figure out my life. Many, many nights we would sit on the kitchen counter and talk. While the family slept, our late night pajama parties gave me a place to learn how to be. Batting my eyelids, was her favorite lesson. She had picked out a handsome guy for me, and was convinced if I flirted with him I would soon be his wife. I was able to keep up with him on the tennis court, but batting my eyes did not come naturally. It looked more like "a bug in my eye" than love's invitation. He found someone else. I still have not learned that lesson. My teenage daughter has learned it well. She is beautiful, and voluptuous, and can bat an eye. Even my son can do it....how I found a husband without batting is amazing. I caught his eye by being assertive and asking why women were not invited on a backpacking trip. That, and the navy blue shorts I was wearing worked wonders for me.
I never, ever heard Linda complain. Ever. She accepted what life brought her, with a faith that God would always be there. When she found out that the cancer in her brain was not going to go away, she started making plans. She planned her funeral, her gravestone, the pallbearers, the songs. She went thru her private correspondence and tossed everything that might hurt someone, someday. She was leaving earth with no regrets. She told me once, that she asked God to let her live long enough to see her kids grown. I think she knew that her life here was not going to be a long one. Her kids are grown now with kids of their own. I see Linda in their faces. I see Linda in her daughter. I see Linda in her son. I see Linda in my life, in the way I treat others. I feel guilty when I complain.
I will never forget sitting at her feet, by her favorite chair with a blanket over her lap. I knew by looking at her, it wouldn't be long. She was tired. Her words had become jumbled and didn't make sense. In perfect English she said "I want to share with you something I've never told anyone." I looked in her eyes, trying not to cry, and for ten minutes listened to her pour out her heart. She was relieved when she finished. I did not look away for an instant. I was given such a huge, priceless gift. "Thank you for sharing that with me Linda". I did not understand one jumbled word.
I miss you Linda. I still do.
I hope that everyone could meet someone like Linda. Her eyes sparkled, and her laugh was healing. She and her family took me in for a little over a year, while I tried to figure out my life. Many, many nights we would sit on the kitchen counter and talk. While the family slept, our late night pajama parties gave me a place to learn how to be. Batting my eyelids, was her favorite lesson. She had picked out a handsome guy for me, and was convinced if I flirted with him I would soon be his wife. I was able to keep up with him on the tennis court, but batting my eyes did not come naturally. It looked more like "a bug in my eye" than love's invitation. He found someone else. I still have not learned that lesson. My teenage daughter has learned it well. She is beautiful, and voluptuous, and can bat an eye. Even my son can do it....how I found a husband without batting is amazing. I caught his eye by being assertive and asking why women were not invited on a backpacking trip. That, and the navy blue shorts I was wearing worked wonders for me.
I never, ever heard Linda complain. Ever. She accepted what life brought her, with a faith that God would always be there. When she found out that the cancer in her brain was not going to go away, she started making plans. She planned her funeral, her gravestone, the pallbearers, the songs. She went thru her private correspondence and tossed everything that might hurt someone, someday. She was leaving earth with no regrets. She told me once, that she asked God to let her live long enough to see her kids grown. I think she knew that her life here was not going to be a long one. Her kids are grown now with kids of their own. I see Linda in their faces. I see Linda in her daughter. I see Linda in her son. I see Linda in my life, in the way I treat others. I feel guilty when I complain.
I will never forget sitting at her feet, by her favorite chair with a blanket over her lap. I knew by looking at her, it wouldn't be long. She was tired. Her words had become jumbled and didn't make sense. In perfect English she said "I want to share with you something I've never told anyone." I looked in her eyes, trying not to cry, and for ten minutes listened to her pour out her heart. She was relieved when she finished. I did not look away for an instant. I was given such a huge, priceless gift. "Thank you for sharing that with me Linda". I did not understand one jumbled word.
I miss you Linda. I still do.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Pass the Ketchup, Please.
When my kids were infants I used to wonder what in the world they were thinking about. As their language started to form, and words were uttered I was delighted in their new found connection with the world. Tantrums and crying were just another way of expressing their frustrations and needs. The terrible two's made way for the three's and four's. Now I am in the teen's with my kids. It's basically the same tantrums and frustrations, it's just that we now look eyeball to eyeball, not in opinion always, but in physical standoffs. These last years, I have figured out the terrible two's. My dad is 88 now, and acting like a two year old. He has Alzheimer's. I am watching the clock go back, as he is loosing it all, sometime in little bits and sometimes in big chunks.
I remember hearing my kids make silly and absurd comments and laughing at them. "how cute and clever" I said often. When my frail dad looks at me and says "who in the hell are you" its not so cute or funny. The flashcards I used to show the kids to help them learn what things are called, are useful now. At breakfast the other day, he couldn't figure out what was missing on his plate. It was flat, and brown. We used the menu like a flashcard, and discovered the word he always knew, was lost. Bacon. The hardest "lost word" was ketchup. Ketchup and my dad, have always gone hand in hand. Its really how my mom and dad met, many years ago. Over a bottle of ketchup. In a mess hall of 1500 men eating a holiday dinner of ham and the trimmings, only one guy asked for ketchup. The staff, led by my mom, paraded down the aisle with a huge commercial tin of ketchup, held high on a tray. She put it down in front of my dad. Five kids later... every night, at 5:15pm exactly, my dad was home from work. At 5:30pm he was surrounded by two boys and three girls, waiting to eat dinner. We all had our favorite seats. My place was next to him. In fun, we would always dip our meat in his ketchup. He would go on and on, about who stole his favorite food, to the giggles of his mischievous kids. He just looks at the bottle now. That brings tears to my eyes.
I used to help my kids get dressed in their silly, not matching outfits. It was what they wanted, and I wasn't going to go to fashion war over it. My dad forgets what a shirt is, and how to put it on. Sometimes its backwards. It doesn't really matter. It certainly isn't cause for a fight. I've had to let go of the dad I once knew, and am getting to know the dad he is becoming. Its hard though, as he changes minute by minute.
My childhood home was a neighborhood urban legend growing up. It was where friends would stop by, just to see what my family was "in to". We had welding tanks, and pottery kilns. We had workbenches with balsa wood airplanes, and train boards. We had racing pigeons, and a mean duck that never quacked. My mom got Chester to eat the slugs, when all Chester wanted was our barefoot toes. Now, friends want to see the booby trap my dad set up to keep robbers away from his tools. Its a brick that sits up high, and when the drawer is open it falls and crushes anything in its way. He is quite sure that his grandson is the robber.
We ate lunch recently at Frosty Freeze, a special old hangout of my family. My dad was convinced that the gathering lunch crowd of day laborers thought we were movie stars. It was a moment of pretend that made him feel important. In my rush to grow and mature, I've forgotten how to pretend. He just reminded me again of the magic of being anyone you want to be.
My dad is in the terrible two's now. He has tantrums and throws food. He refuses to eat, doesn't want to use the toilet, or take care of himself. For any parent, we remember that stage. I just never expected to see it again. His life is rewinding, back and back, as I watch it all in reverse.
Now...would you please pass the ketchup?......I need it for my ham!
I remember hearing my kids make silly and absurd comments and laughing at them. "how cute and clever" I said often. When my frail dad looks at me and says "who in the hell are you" its not so cute or funny. The flashcards I used to show the kids to help them learn what things are called, are useful now. At breakfast the other day, he couldn't figure out what was missing on his plate. It was flat, and brown. We used the menu like a flashcard, and discovered the word he always knew, was lost. Bacon. The hardest "lost word" was ketchup. Ketchup and my dad, have always gone hand in hand. Its really how my mom and dad met, many years ago. Over a bottle of ketchup. In a mess hall of 1500 men eating a holiday dinner of ham and the trimmings, only one guy asked for ketchup. The staff, led by my mom, paraded down the aisle with a huge commercial tin of ketchup, held high on a tray. She put it down in front of my dad. Five kids later... every night, at 5:15pm exactly, my dad was home from work. At 5:30pm he was surrounded by two boys and three girls, waiting to eat dinner. We all had our favorite seats. My place was next to him. In fun, we would always dip our meat in his ketchup. He would go on and on, about who stole his favorite food, to the giggles of his mischievous kids. He just looks at the bottle now. That brings tears to my eyes.
I used to help my kids get dressed in their silly, not matching outfits. It was what they wanted, and I wasn't going to go to fashion war over it. My dad forgets what a shirt is, and how to put it on. Sometimes its backwards. It doesn't really matter. It certainly isn't cause for a fight. I've had to let go of the dad I once knew, and am getting to know the dad he is becoming. Its hard though, as he changes minute by minute.
My childhood home was a neighborhood urban legend growing up. It was where friends would stop by, just to see what my family was "in to". We had welding tanks, and pottery kilns. We had workbenches with balsa wood airplanes, and train boards. We had racing pigeons, and a mean duck that never quacked. My mom got Chester to eat the slugs, when all Chester wanted was our barefoot toes. Now, friends want to see the booby trap my dad set up to keep robbers away from his tools. Its a brick that sits up high, and when the drawer is open it falls and crushes anything in its way. He is quite sure that his grandson is the robber.
We ate lunch recently at Frosty Freeze, a special old hangout of my family. My dad was convinced that the gathering lunch crowd of day laborers thought we were movie stars. It was a moment of pretend that made him feel important. In my rush to grow and mature, I've forgotten how to pretend. He just reminded me again of the magic of being anyone you want to be.
My dad is in the terrible two's now. He has tantrums and throws food. He refuses to eat, doesn't want to use the toilet, or take care of himself. For any parent, we remember that stage. I just never expected to see it again. His life is rewinding, back and back, as I watch it all in reverse.
Now...would you please pass the ketchup?......I need it for my ham!
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