Fly, Fly Away

I get home in the evenings and part of my chores is making sure all the flowers and plants on the front porch are watered and you all know me well enough by now to know that I HATE THE HEAT.  It’s almost the end of July and I’m not gonna even try and lie, I am over that too.

Every day, I come in the house, and I know better than to sit down in that comfy recliner in my VERY air-conditioned house, because I will not want to get back up.

And then it’s a ten-minute wrestle with my conscience about just how hot was it out there today? I mean like, if I don’t water today will everything be dead tomorrow – hot, or can I skip a day and they may be wilted but they’ll survive - hot.

It doesn’t take but one glance out the glass storm door to know that NOTHING out there is going to survive without me and that water hose doing our daily dance across the front porch, sprinkling drops of the next best thing to heaven.  

However, what my husband still can’t quite seem to fathom is how I raise such a fuss about all that? How I seemingly have to moan and groan like a 12-year-old who was told to clean his room before I can begin – because those things really happen – EVERY SINGLE DAY.

All of those real-life duties, which I agreed to taking personal care of, every single time I bought a new plant, back in the excitement days; you know like BEFORE the baby gets here and you vow to do ALL the midnight feedings and change ALL the diapers – yeah, those days.

Well then why on earth do I carry on so about my watering duties; but then around 7pm, most nights without fail – I’m BACK out there on that same porch, camera in tow, sitting in that same steam bath, forehead dripping water like a faucet and sweating like a sinner in church, watching for birds?!   

I know! Crazy right?! But it’s real, I do it, and I LOVE IT. Because every night at feeding time, birds of all kinds, come from everywhere to feed, fight, and hiss at one another for a space to eat.

In particular, the last week or so, the Hummingbirds! I hadn’t seen them since the beginning of Spring, but now all of sudden they are finally back and with a vengeance. Zooming in and out, running one another off from the feeders, making them stingy little buggers besides!

I saw a black-headed looking cardinal last night, which I now know was a Bald-Headed Cardinal. I had never seen one, so of course, I’m telling my husband all about it, and before I’m done with this mystery bird – I have created a story of him being a re-located burn victim from the recent Eastpoint fires! I know - even as it was coming out of my mouth it sounded a tad/a LOT crazy!

I am positive I will never be called the Crazy Cat Lady, but Crazy Bird Lady – well that just might be a reality!

The Fun Starts at Sunrise - Conclusion

As the boat motor starts slow and quiet, the water begins to ripple against the sideboards, and that all to familiar smell of lake water comes rushing back to greet my senses. It is a smell like no other, that will stay in my shoes and my clothes; and actually, even the boat, for weeks after we bring it back home and park it back under the shed.

I’ll admit that sometimes when our schedules are hectic and we can’t seem to make time to take the boat out, I’ll walk out under the shed and get right next to the boat and sniff as hard as I can, hoping for remaining traces of that smell I love so much.

Anyway, it’s still dark, so we’re moving slow, but picking up a little more speed as we go along. My husband who is sitting at the helm turns to me and asks me where do I want to start first? I don’t really know why he asks, because my answer is always the same – at the rocks.  It’s really the dam, but it’s a whole side with nothing but rocks – so that’s what I call it.  

I

 like starting there because the water is fairly shallow, and past fishing trips tell me that the catfish in particular like it there. Plus, there are zero places to find for shade, so if you want to fish that area for very long, you’d better do it before or right after sun-up.

So, to the rocks it was! We each caught three or four catfish and bream right off the first cast of the poles! We always use bream poles and man alive, what fun it is for a big ole’ cat to grab whatever bait we’re putting out! We always know we’re in for a bit of a fight until they either get tired or snap our pole in two – which has happened several times in the past!

We ran the boat slow and steady down the wall of rocks until two things happened: the fish seemed to stopping biting and it felt like the sun was burning blisters through our clothes – even with 70spf sunblock applied graciously!

Our next spot of choice was over near Hammock’s Creek. But once we got over there, it was already pretty situated with boaters who had already claimed their stake spots and nobody likes an encroacher!

So, we used the trolling motor to piddle from one place to another, all close to banks or lily pads, hoping to come up on a bed of one kind of fish or another. That didn’t really happen, but we did end the day with four big catfish and about 13 good-sized bream; certainly enough to consider a mess of fish!

Sometime around noon, all the fish-biting was slowing down, and the heat was rising. So we rolled our poles up, and headed back toward the dock. And as the boat was flying, I leaned out the side and let that water splash up my arms to cool me off.

In my world, there’s not much that beats a good day of fishing and I sure can’t wait to go back!

The Fun Starts at Sunrise - PART 1

I drug myself out of bed, eyes still half open/half shut and stumbled to the bathroom. I stopped on the way by the linen closet, fumbled for a wash cloth, and continued to stumble until I reached the bathroom sink – which I knew – totally by feel. I fumbled for the faucet to turn on the water and I stood there, dead still, eyes closed, wondering why I ever agreed to this.

The water began to warm up and I wet my toothbrush, applied the toothpaste, and began to brush – again, with my eyes alternately open and shut. Upon completing that task, I was a little more alive, so I grabbed the wash cloth and begin to wet/soap it up to wash my face. Finally, I was almost human.

I trudged to the kitchen to start the coffee maker, because without that sweet hot java, the journey could not continue.

It was 4:30 in the morning and I was trying to be a human being. I was trying to behave like I thought what was happening was as good of an idea as I did the night before when planning it.  As some ideas always seem like so much more fun when I’m wide awake and raring to go.

The coffee had brewed, my cup was already full of what I needed to make it like heaven for me, Splenda and creamer, and I poured from the pot like an addict who needs a fix. As I took the first very small sip, because it’s hotter than a sidewalk in August, I felt the rush.  I could literally feel my veins begin to open up and my blood actively waking-up the rest of my body and my brain.

We climbed into the truck, it was still dark, and we headed out, face of the vehicle first, pulling our soon-to-be bundle of joy behind us. We stopped long enough for ice and the food of my pleasure and his, and we continued on our way.

We pulled into our destination, then we backed-in the rest of the way. We swapped positions, and now I was the driver and he was the receiver. We’d done this dance many times before, but it had been awhile. However, it’s just like riding a bike, you really don’t forget how, and it comes right back to you.

My window was rolled down and I could smell that deep, rich, intoxicating smell that reminds me why I loved it so. And as I breathed it deep into my lungs, I remembered exactly why I decided that THIS is exactly where I wanted to be before sunrise.

I had everything we needed in my bag, I was wearing my pink rubber Avon shoes and I walked the dock and stepped aboard. I could smell the fish just waiting for me to find the right spot, to find them. I found my seat, and as I was gripping my white cup full of green florescent worms in one hand and his bucket of creepy crickets in the other, the boat took off at a slow crawl. 

Tune in next week to hear the results!

Meltdown

It’s only July and I’m already asking myself how in the world I ended up here. How could I not have known how intolerant I would become in my older years? And how is that I didn’t even realize it all those years ago?

Who was that person who years ago would intentionally lie out in it for hours, baking her skin to a brown crisp? Who would walk a mile, there and back, to the curb store down the road, just to get an ICEE that would be melted before we got halfway back home?

Now she’s the person that gets irritable and mad, thirty minutes before it’s time to get off work, because she’s going to have walk from the front door to her car, which is all of ten steps. Because she knows the second she opens the truck door, the heat that will come rolling out in waves of steam will almost knock her to the ground, and most certainly take her breath away.

She won’t even be able to touch the steering wheel initially, she’ll have to turn the air on high, roll all the windows down, and let the heat of the last eight hours, find its way out of the truck. She’s almost tempted to drive 80 MPH down Hwy 90 just so the circulation of air conditioner and the rush of the hot air coming in will at least move it out a little bit faster; even if it means sacrificing some of her cooler air to push it out.

As she drives down the road, she questions her entire intelligence on ever buying a black vehicle with black interior – as it seems to just soak up that heat and set it on fire, while it waits for her to come back to it every afternoon.

She told her mother the other day, she wonders how in the world she ever thought she could stand living here? And her mother said, but where would you live? Where it snows? And she was right, because gracious knows I’m not made for shoveling snow these days.

There has to be somewhere in between the fire breathing dragon of the south that we call Florida, and the snowbound north that could be most anywhere else but here.

And to top all of that off, we’ve been in a drought here for the last few weeks; but we finally got some much needed rain tonight. At least when it rains, it cools off the atmosphere for a bit.

But tomorrow will bring another day of waking up with the sidewalks steaming and the temperatures with highs of what I’d like to weigh again, instead of how hot it is.

I want to be able to strap a portable a/c unit to my back and just carry it everywhere I go. Can’t someone invent something like that? Isn’t there anyone who hates the heat as much as I do? Isn’t anyone else literally crying because we still have the whole months of July and August to get through before we see any relief? I don’t think I’m going to make it folks, I really just don’t.

God Bless America!

 

I said to someone a few weeks ago, that I have been to more funerals and visitations in the last ten years than it seems one should have to experience.  And somehow, as always seems to be the way, they come in groups, so that you can no more gather yourself and your emotions from one, when your right smack in the middle of another.

I have told you all before, that I am not exceptionally emotional; but a well preached sermon at a funeral, or even more than that, when family members say a few words from their heart for their recently deceased, well, I’m the next best thing to a sprung leak on a fire hydrant.

I don’t even have to know the deceased personally, it’s usually just enough that I know the person who is speaking, and because I can feel their pain and loss in my heart, it all becomes crazily enough, personal for me.

In addition to all of the above, I also cry almost every single time the National Anthem is sang/played. Whether I’m watching it on television and someone is singing it exceptionally well, or 

I’m standing in a set of bleachers at a high school football game, or a 4^th of July fireworks event; it just happens. My heart swells with pride for where I live, my freedoms, and my ability to appreciate them both.

I recently attended a funeral of a close friend’s father and I was able to experience several things that day. I heard family talk with alternating seriousness, love and humor about the brother and father they both loved very much and would miss even more.

But after the funeral I attended my very first military grave-side service; complete with the presentation of the flag and the blowing of the bugles playing Taps. It was one of the most stirring services I have ever been to in my life. I, of course, had seen them many times on television, but nothing compares to the firsthand experience that I had that day. It was a huge representation of honor and respect for both who he was to our country in the past, who he was/is to all the family and friends in attendance, and how much he was appreciated by both for his service to our country.

It was an honor to attend, even as nothing more than a friend of the family bystander and watch the faces of each of the loved ones, and the love that was surrounding the entire service that day.

So, I’m going to close with this: I usually write about all the fireworks, the watermelon eating contests and the sack races every year about this time. And while that is a part of how we celebrate the 4^th of July, it’s not why we celebrate the 4^th of July.

We are celebrating our freedom that so many men and women died for over the years, and for the men and women today that continue that fight. That’s what the National Anthem represents – freedom; and our ability to enjoy it.  And it is my opinion that we are all responsible for at least respecting that freedom. God Bless America.