“You didn’t warn her?!” I asked.
“No.” Said in a tone that implied that he meant to, but just didn’t get around to it. Right. He was
basking in the afterglow of high finance and the anticipation of springing a surprise on Jake. He
was not going to let anything disrupt such a high, particularly not a wall-eyed fit perpetrated
upon him by an angry and disappointed daughter.
Then an even more startling development arose; another vehicle approached from yet a different
direction and rather than stopping, the driver simply slowed down and cruised right on through
like a big, fat, lazy shark in a tank at Sea World. In reality, the driver of the shark car most likely
recognized the situation for what it was; classic four-way stop constipation, and made a hasty
decision not to become ensnared in our dilemma.
The triage nurse diagnosed my injury as a "contusion" which sounded a lot less painless than it
felt, and exhibiting an extraordinary grasp of human nature, effectively nailed my current state of
mind, for I found myself hustled into an examination room with cheerful cartoon characters
adorning the walls. In other words ... "If yer gonna act like a baby, we're gonna put you in the
appropriate room."
Early Tuesday morning the dog was nowhere to be found. I searched for as long as I could
before I had to leave for work. I had pretty well so convinced myself that he’d wandered off to
die. Later that evening I finally found him lying out by the canal at the end of the road and
thought that my suspicions had been confirmed; animals will often seek out water when they
are near dying.
The audience roared with laughter and applause at this unexpected Abbott and Costello type
play, and the players, both teams, laughed and slapped each other on the back, impressed with
their own ability to provide such quality entertainment.
What is significant about these lights is that they have been appearing for over a century. Back
before there were headlights or lights from passing aircraft. Back in the 1800s, cowboys and
pioneers first noticed the lights and spent many a sleepless night thinking they were the lights
from Apache campfires.
I was watching my neighbor's grandson playing in her front yard the other day. Apparently
there's a hard fast rule about not bringing electronics to Grandma's house, and thank goodness
for that, because I had a great time watching this kid try to entertain himself while completely
bereft of anything requiring batteries.
Naturally when I found the frame with the cracked glass lying in a puddle of water in the living
room floor after Hurricane Charley passed through, I was devastated. The photo was
unrecognizable. It was an old photo anyway; fragile. The water had caused the colors to run,
the lines of contrast had blurred -- the truck became just a large block of sienna and ran
together with the blue of Daddy's shirt and the sky in the background. What I was looking at
was not a favorite photo, but more an abstract painting by Pablo Picasso.
This tag team dog match went on until Dante finally tired of being rewarded with nothing but
screams everywhere he went, and as he sat down panting, halfway between the doggy door
and the back door, I saw my chance. I rushed from the bathroom, yanked open the Dutch
door and careened into the kitchen slamming the Dutch door behind me. I vaguely remember
vaulting over the kitchen trash can, sending the lid spinning across the kitchen floor like a
child's metal top and slamming into Judy -- knocking the wind out of both of us.
Daddy just sat there, one cheek bulging with pancake and his eyes twin points of gray steel.
Even as I stood there, shivering with indignation and terrified of my own tremulous and
temporary power, I knew what I had done wrong, but I also knew that it was a knee-jerk
reaction and an innocent enough mistake and I wanted to send a message that sometimes
things, no matter how embarrassing, should and could be let go.
After having lived through the 2004 Florida tropical weather season, I have become a pro at
deciphering weather lingo. I now understand the significance of potential steering mechanisms,
wind sheer, high pressure ridges, low pressure troughs, maximum sustained winds as opposed
to gusts, millibars, eye walls and projected paths. They say the best way to defeat an adversary
is to learn about them. I have learned. I am now a bonafide, card-carrying, hurricane dad-gum
specialist. Me and Steve Lyons, yep. I can hold my own in conversation with any meteorologist
anywhere, and have unofficially dubbed myself Honorary Meteorologist, and I defy anyone,
anywhere to challenge that title.
My oldest daughter is under the impression that in order to get her point across, she must raise
her voice three octaves and 150 decibels. When she reaches a certain level of frustration, this
voice kicks in and dogs across three counties respond with howls of pain. Not only is “the
voice” loud, it’s delivered in a monotone that is only rivaled by the sound of a circular saw
running full out in a small, enclosed space.
For a long while, looking out my bedroom window was a waste of time, as my window
treatment on that side of the house was tin foil taped inside the glass to knock out the afternoon
sun. Before you go passing judgment, it was the deluxe, heavy-duty kind. Cheap I am not. But
tin foil curtains are still not conducive to external viewing. You look out, you see a blurry vision
of yourself looking back in.
“Here!” She thrust the towel at me.
“What am I going to do with that? Give it a bath?”
“Catch it!"
“I caught it!”
“Well, don’t let it go!” No problem ... I was holding on to that cold, scaly tail like my very life
depended on it. Then she actually started to worry about my safety. “But don’t let it bite you!”
Once again, I reacted to her words without thinking, by promptly letting go.
“Mom!” The disappointment on her face was a sight to behold. I had failed her on so many
levels that I’m not sure she even knew what they all were yet.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”
