Yes, yes, let's talk about the weather*

I keep meaning to talk more about North Carolina. But I'll be going back soon so I might as well wait to write more after that.

In the meantime it's been hot and sticky and rainy and thunderstorm-y and such, typical summer weather in Florida. We're a quarter of the way through hurricane season and there's been just two named storms - the first one must not have been much of anything, because when I heard about then-tropical storm Bertha, I said, what happened to "A"? I had a little trouble finding out about Tropical Storm Arthur, which hit Central America in early June, but it had an interesting beginning. Apparently a strong tropical storm, Alma, formed in the eastern Pacific and hit Nicaragua in Central America in late May/early June. And Alma's remnants formed into Arthur - talk about gender benders. As of Friday, a tropical storm watch was posted for BermudaAnyway, here in Florida we do try to keep an eye on the oceans this time of year. If only the next 4-1/2 months would be so mild.

Otherwise, it's rain every day, sometimes hard, sometimes light, sometimes high winds, sometimes thunder and lightning. But rain, which is okay. We're still in a drought, and the rain keeps the temperature down for a while. The plants and flowers look green and fresh. Even right now as I write this it's raining pretty hard. I just heard a clap of thunder. I suppose I should stop and at least log out or shut down my PC, which is also a routine here in the summer - I always shut down my PC before I leave for work in the morning. If I can avoid getting my hard drive zapped by a lightning strike, it's worth it. From November to May I don't often bother. It's just another aspect of Florida life.

* A line from The Pirates of Penzance

Not "doin' " too much at the doin's

My brother e-mailed me a couple of nights ago. It seems that the Northville (NY) doin's are gonna be more like the "don'ts" this year. I guess there's a parade and fireworks, but they didn't have enough volunteers to assist with managing a midway of rides and games, so they're not having one. That's a travesty. It's sacrilege. And it's the end of a long-time tradition.

Anyone who's ever been to the doin's know that it's small-town celebrating at its best. Check out my "same ol' fourth" post in the July 2005 archives of Southern Exposure blog and you'll see what I mean.

I'll be working on the Fourth of July - too many approaching deadlines and not enough time to meet them otherwise. I won't be the only one there, which doesn't make me feel any better about it. But I do get to take the holiday on another day of my choice, and I plan to do that at the end of July as part of a long weekend.

Whether I work or whether I don't, Fourth of July in Florida is nothing, just a day off. I wish the Northville residents knew how special their celebration is. It's a shame kids in the area won't know what a real July 4th celebration is. Maybe next year village residents will wake up and smell the popcorn and cotton candy.

Happy Fourth of July, everybody.

I'm waiting for a hot flash so my underwear will dry

My sister gave me the title for this post several weeks ago when I was just beginning what is now my 5th week of 50+ hour work weeks including coming in on weekends. I had told her that I had worked late one night, came home and realized I didn't have any clean undies for the following day, and had no time to do a load of laundry, so that night I had rinsed out a couple of pairs, squeezed them as dry as I could in a towel, and hung them to dry over a couple of doorknobs. In the morning they were still slightly damp, and not having any time to dry them in the dryer (it would have been a waste of electricity anyway), I put them on still damp. And since I've had occasional hot flashes over the past few months, signaling that menopause is near, she joked that if I had a hot flash while I had on the damp underwear, they'd dry really fast. Well, that set us both off into hysterics. I suppose you had to be there, but it was pretty funny at the time.

Okay, maybe that's TMI (too much information), but I was thinking about it as I'm down to my last pair of clean underwear and only had to work 10.5 hours today. So I was home by 7:15 tonight and have time do a load of whites. They're in the washer right now and will go in the dryer in a few minutes. I'll take the dryer over a hot flash anytime.

An intentional life

It's not easy to write a post when you're working 10-hour days (today it was 13 hours). Well, it's easy to write one, but mentally impossible for it to be any good. My project deadlines at work are all happening at once. I constantly remind myself that I'm only one person and there are only so many hours in the day. I'm working on the Fourth of July. Unfortunately, as bad as this month has been (averaging > 50 hours a week), next month will be just as bad, maybe worse. Except that I've already blocked out a Friday and Monday at the end of the month for a long weekend to visit J. in North Carolina. August may look a little prettier, maybe. I expect come November I will have so many extra hours accumulated that I could take 2-hour lunches every day until the end of the year, ha ha. I haven't really achieved a work-life balance in the past year; the scales definitely tip towards work. And I'm at the point in my life where I don't feel I should have to prove anything to anybody by working myself to death. Life is too short, for God's sake. When I die, they're not going to put on my headstone, "She worked 50-hour weeks and was good at her job."

There's a poem that best describes what I'd like on my headstone, or at least how I'd like to be remembered. It's by Mary Anne Radmacher Hershey.

She danced. She sang.
She took. She gave.
She served. She loved.
She created. She dissented.
She enlivened. She saw.
She grew. She sweated.
She changed. She learned.
She laughed. She shed her skin.
She bled on the pages of her days,
She walked through walls,
She lived with intention.

I figure I've done a lot on this list already. I've danced (weddings, discos, at home). I've sang (school choirs, church choirs, Sweet Adelines, Burnt Hills Oratorio Society, Orlando Chorale). Certainly I've taken. Hopefully I've given. Definitely I've served. I've loved, not enough and too much. I've created (quilts, afghans, cross-stitch pieces, sweaters...). I've dissented, though often quietly or not when it really mattered. I've seen, a lot, but not enough. I've grown (witness my constant battle with weight, ha ha, but yes, I've grown in other ways, too). I've sweated, changed, learned, and laughed.

So now that I'm at mid-life, I want to shed my skin and bleed on the pages of my days. I want to walk through walls. I want to live an intentional life. An intentional life has no regrets. And it doesn't include working long hours at an unfulfilling job.

I don't have a bag

Typically if I’m heading home from work on I-4, I get off at exit 33. Occasionally, like last Friday evening, I’ll do some shopping after work, so I get off a mile early at exit 32, which drops me off on Route 98 in the midst of North Lakeland’s shopping district. On that evening, I needed to make some photocopies (give me points for not doing it at work) at Staples and get a new black inkjet cartridge for my printer.

While you’re waiting at the traffic light at the end of the off-ramp for exit 32, it’s not unusual to see a homeless man standing with a sign asking for money, or food, or a job. I’ve never been generous in these circumstances, although I’ve seen other people give food or a dollar or two. I’m just not very trusting and am leery of what happens to the money after you give it to them. And most of the time I don’t have food with me.

However on this night, it was a woman with a sign, and I pulled up right next to her. She looked Hispanic perhaps, and the sign simply said she was homeless and “god bless.” For some reason, something came over me. I knew I had a bag of pretzels, a fruit and grain bar, and a serving of applesauce in my lunchbag. Heck, I even had a plastic spoon for the applesauce. Feeling generous without knowing why, I rolled down my window and held out the food. “Here,” I called, and passed over what would have at least been some kind of supper for her, and she said, “Do you have a bag? I don’t have a bag!” in a surprising southern drawl that unbelievably had an edge of sarcasm to it. I quickly looked around my car, a little exasperated, and said, “No, I don’t, I’m sorry.” She again repeated, “I don’t have a bag” and almost looked as though was going to give me back the food, but then she sort of sighed, clutched it to her chest and walked back to the side of the road.

As luck would have it (her luck or mine, I don’t know), there was a sheriff’s car right behind me that I hadn’t seen when I was in my generous mood. The homeless woman went over and talked to the female deputy, and after a minute, I saw her cross the off-ramp lanes and move on.

At first I felt ticked off. For the first time ever I gave to a homeless person in a situation like that, and she didn’t seem to want my offer of food because I didn’t provide a bag to put it in. Well screw it! Never again!

But later, I thought about how I’d feel in a situation like that: I have nothing. If I collected anything or people gave me things, I’d have nothing to put them in. I’d lose precious food or money, or drop them, I wouldn’t be able to transport them easily, I’d need both hands . . . And then I remembered seeing a homeless man at the same spot a week before that, accepting food from the man in the car in front of me, and how he brought the food back to a small pile behind a light pole. The pile included a couple of bottles of water. And I realized how hot it must be standing out there, so hot. Water would be a welcome thing, even if it wasn’t ice cold.

I’m seriously considering keeping a small cooler in my car this summer with a few bottles of water in it to pass out to these folks in case the situation happens again. And maybe stocking a few plastic grocery bags in it as well. I don’t want someone to think twice about accepting food or drink because they’ve got nothing to put it in.

North Carolina Part 1-a: I forgot the possum drop on New Year's Eve

No one was more surprised than I to discover that Clay's Corner has a web site, and a pretty good one at that, here. Even if it's not been updated for 2008, it's a hoot. Read about the annual New Year's Eve Possum Drop, which J. told me about and I forgot to mention in my first post, order your own possum memorabilia, enter a contest to win a can of opossum, see photos, read possum trivia and possum jokes ("How many fiddle players does it take to eat an opossum? Two, one to eat it & one to watch for cars"). Just a great, folksy site that's fun to visit.

A friend in need, a friend indeed

Check out my friend Roger's blog here, it's also posted on the right. I transcribed some posts for him over the phone a couple of weeks ago after he broke his rib in a fall. His Hall of Fame post was one that my nimble fingers typed as he dictated, and he thanks me at the end of another post I drafted, Triskaidekaphobic? Not me.