April Fool's 2019

With Spring comes cleaning. It's like an unwritten rule that we clean our houses and spruce up our yards, and I think next year that I'm going to rebel and do all of this in the Florida winter. 

Since Spring sprung, my husband has walked the perimeter of the house, making mental lists of items and chores he believes should be taken care of in the next couple of months. When the man decides on something, he doesn't hesitate. 

Number one on the list was taking care of the ripped screens over our pool and deck that Hurricane Irma had damaged. Minor considering what the old gal could've done, but the holes were letting in way too much pollen this year in my pool, and thus replacing the screen went on the list.

My husband is the champion of estimates. He loves Angie's List. We have a steady stream of companies traipsing on and off our property leaving official documents stuck inside the front door. Sometimes he remembers to tell me about this and most times he doesn't. We seem to have a communication gap meaning that he doesn't get his point across as well as I would like him to.

We'd already had one company give us an estimate on rescreening the entire porch, and hubby seemed satisfied and mentioned that he would probably go with that company. So, it was a surprise when he called me this morning to give me a heads up to the fact that a screening guy was coming by to look at our screen. I took that to mean he was getting a second estimate.

First, however, to arrive, was a guy I'd scheduled to clean my carpets. I've had the carpets for more than five years and never had it professionally cleaned, and it was one of those cold calls where they offer you a deal, and you end up paying more. Whatever. The carpets needed cleaning. The man was built like a romance cover model, and I had high hopes of watching him work so that I could get some descriptive adjectives for my book. We chatted, he got to work, and I fired up my computer intent on research.

Unfortunately, before the computer was done booting, a truck pulled up to the front of my house. The screen guy. I latched the yapping dog on to his leash and strolled outside to meet them. One tall guy. One short guy. The short guy wore socks and Adidas sandals and drove the beat-up truck with magnets affixed to its side advertising the company. I couldn't make it out. I welcomed them and led them around the side of the house to the screened-in porch. Some thoughts as I did so:

• Two guys for an estimate?
• It sure took them long enough to get out of the car just to view a screened porch.
• Not sure why Tall Guy is bringing in a considerable drink container for the few minutes it will take to measure. 

But I didn't have time for my thoughts because the carpet hottie was alone inside my house, so I asked them if they needed me for anything.

Tall guy: "Which panels are you looking at?"

Me: "What?"

Tall guy: "The panels you want to be replaced?"

Me: "Is that what he told you? To just do the ones with holes?"

Tall guy: "We were told replace 7 to 8 screens."

Uh, okay. That's about how many were ripped via Irma, and I had earlier inquired as to why my husband was not just replacing those instead of the whole porch and silly me, but I thought maybe the guy had listened to me. So, I took them inside the porch and began pointing out holes. I mean, seriously, they needed my help? Okay then. I helped. Point, point, point. The guy counted as I pointed. One, two, three. 

We were up to six. Tall Guy was standing at the side of the deck, and Short Guy was standing at the end of the deck, and I jabbed my finger right where Short Guy was standing.to show him another hole about the size of a pencil eraser. Tall Guy counts seven, nods, and Short Guy removes a razor blade from his pocket and slices a slash across my screen. Before I could even get my mouth open to protest, Tall Guy slashes the screen he is standing in front of.

Me: "WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"

I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening, but these guys kept slashing. It was like a scene from a horror film only instead of blood and guts oozing from body parts, I saw critters and leaves and pollen in my pool. What the fuck?

Me: "STOP THAT! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?"

Tall guy: "Because we're replacing your screens." 

He said it matter-of-factly, and I opened and closed my mouth several times, and then I turned around and walked into the house where I immediately called my husband in hysteria.

Me: "Are these guys doing the job? Replacing the damaged screens?"

Tom: "No, just giving me an estimate."

Me: "WELL, THEY JUST RIPPED THE SCREENS WITH KNIVES!! THEY THINK THEY ARE HERE TO REPLACE THE DAMAGED SCREENS. THEY RIPPED IT. WITH KNIVES." 

I think that's what I said. It may have come out more jumbled together because I was having an anxiety-riddled, hysteria, gasping for breath moment. All with the background noise of the carpet cleaner. 

I took the phone out to the truck, where the two guys were removing tools. That's when I noticed that the magnet signs on the truck had colored tape across the name. I asked for a business card. It did not match the name displayed under the tape. 

Tall Guy took the phone to talk to Tom. It was a heated discussion. It got more heated when Tall Guy accused me of telling them to do the work. Oh, no, you didn't, buddy. I started shouting, reminding him of my earlier screaming when they'd sliced and diced. He ignored me. I looked at Short Guy.

Me: "Dude, you know the truth."

Tall Guy handed me back my phone and got on his phone to call the company. He was pissed! I trudged back into the house, talking to the husband, who insisted I not let these guys leave without repairing our screens. 

What? Like what was he expecting me to do? Grab these two by their ankles and hold on for dear life? What part of they slashed the screen with razor blades did he not hear?

Meanwhile, in the middle of this, my friend called. I hysterically gave her the shortened version, and she offered to drive over to protect me in case they turned their blades on me.

Me: "Nah, it's okay. I have the hottie carpet cleaning guy with big muscles."

Tall guy's conversation with his boss took about half an hour. Tall Guy was quite heated. I snuck around, taking pictures of them through various windows because even though I'm a writer, I suck as a witness in a description of culprits. It might be the hysteria part of me. 

Hottie carpet cleaning guy finished his job and listened to the sordid tale. He shook his head, tsked in the right places, pointed out that these guys were in sandals, and basked in the glow that I considered him a protector. He told me he hated to leave me. I refrained from whining about not getting to use him for research purposes. I sent him on his way and proceeded to wander from window to window, spying on the screen rippers.

Eventually, Tall Guy came to my front door. We engaged in a civil conversation. I told him I didn't blame him. He was doing what his boss told him to do. He had a work order to replace 7 to 8 screens. He appreciated my understanding and proceeded to discuss an estimate. 

It seemed the company Tom had called hired out Tall Guy's company due to a lack of workers. So, really we had two companies involved in this mess, and neither one wanted to fix the problem. Tall Guy wouldn't get paid if he did it, and the other company guy was just off the grid. 

I called Tom.

Tall Guy and Tom talked. They worked out a deal to replace the damaged and now sliced screens for $500. Twelve screens. Tall Guy and Short Guy, whose names I did eventually learn, went off and did the job. It looks great. I think in the end we got the better deal. What ultimately was a $2,000 job only cost us $500 to replace the damaged screens.

It does not, however, factor in the hours lost of my life--due to hysteria and fear, nor does it factor in the loss of my research. But hey, as I always say:

Me: "Thanks for the blog entry."

Update: In the end, the work was shoddy. The two had to return the next day to finish a screen they'd missed. Several weeks later, we had the entire porch re-screened by my breakfast friend. We lost the $500.

Jan

My friend Jim told me recently that he hadn’t known how much getting older sucked. Not the aging and the aches and pains but the loss of those who mean so much. While I’m still twenty years behind him, I understand that sadness. Death was once something far off in the distance, and now it’s closing in. We’re realizing more that it’s inevitable. And it sucks.

I just got the dreaded phone call. The one where you expect one thing and instead get the news that someone you loved is gone. My mother in law called to inform me that her brother’s wife had died. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Jan was the epitome of life. A ball of zappy energy full of vim and vigor packed into a tiny body that never quit even when she was kicked back, sipping a vodka and tonic. Her joyfulness was contagious and her wit snappy. Visits to their home in Arizona rank in my top five vacations.

We connected with sports. Jan was a huge Los Angeles Dodgers fan, and her dream was to retire from her job and follow the team around the country for a year. She and her husband took us to a Diamondback game when we visited, and she was exactly my favorite kind of sports fan; loud, proud, and unapologetic. While she loved baseball, she could talk football, and she always called me when the Steelers got to the Super Bowl. The last conversation I had with her was after an NFL playoff game. True to Jan, we talked sports, glossed over health issues, and got right to discussing our children and her grandchildren.

She loved children, and she walked the walk when it came to them. She was the kind of grandmother I hope to be. The down on the ground, hands in the mud, dirty clothes grandmother. She listened when children spoke, really listened to what they had to say, and she talked to them as equals, often engaging them in conversations that no other adult would dare to touch. She rarely ever said no to children. If they asked to do something that she couldn’t say yes to for adult reasons, she’d redirect and invent an even better game that would incorporate some of what was initially asked. She always asked first about my girls in any conversation.

Jan hailed from England and had the accent with a distinctive voice I’d know with my eyes closed. She was insightful, and while she didn’t like to speak ill of anyone, she’d share her opinions if she thought it would benefit. She kept her husband on the straight and narrow path while letting him believe he was in charge, and they had a relationship that truly worked. She was caring, kind, funny, and absolutely wonderful. I know she will be missed by her husband, her sons, and her grandchildren, but she will be missed by me too.


Unfortunately, life intervened, and we didn’t see each other for years. I hadn’t spoken to her since that NFL playoff game, but she was always in my mind at various times; while cooking on my electric skillet, mixing cocktails, sitting poolside, and when hearing anything Dodger related. She was a one of a kind gal.

Jim is right. Getting old and losing loved ones sucks. 

A good time to say thank you

I was catching up with my cousin Jaimee's blog and read this entry about a visit to her son's school. Jaimee, if readers remember, had a surprise pregnancy years after tying her tubes and closing up shop after three kids. Those kids were heading toward their teens and were as shocked as their parents. Surprise!

It all worked out better than they expected. Little Nolan has five parents who love, cherish, and boss him around. Recently, Jaimee quit her job where she drove twice a day to another city two hours away with little Nolan in the backseat. The results of this change closer to home meant putting Nolan in a preschool, and her blog post had to do with a special event at Nolan's preschool. A circus. Jaimee took off of work for a couple of hours to attend, and when it was all finished, Nolan thought he was going home. 

He wasn't.

Reading this, my heart broke. Nolan had a meltdown and kept letting his mother know that he loved her as if this would change the outcome. Aww... It made me wish I lived near them so that I could've been there and whisked him home with me. Because as a SAHM, I got to do just that. 

We had special events at school and if my kids wanted to end their day right then and there? They did. We went home. (Okay, full disclosure, my kids would probably argue with that since school importance was drilled into me via my mother, but I'm mainly referring to Nolan's age. Although they also got to leave in their later years if the teacher agreed, although I know they will roll their eyes at that.) And I loved knowing that if they wanted or needed to come home, they could. Without stress for either of us.

I felt Jaimee's anguish. I can remember that very feeling when we were deciding if I would return to my job after my maternity leave. It wasn't an easy decision, especially for me. Nor was it easy after the decision had been made for me to stay home. I loved my job. I had been offered a promotion. I was damn good at what I did. Not only did I save lives, but I also taught children and adults how to swim and how to protect themselves, and I trained and molded other lifeguards. It was hard to walk away. I lost a piece of myself when I did.

But Tom and I decided this was best for our family and I've never regretted it for a minute. I was born to be a SAHM. I genuinely believe that, but in saying it, I have to also give HUGE credit to Tom. Because he's the one who made it possible all these years.  

He sacrificed. He didn't get to sleep later or take a nap. Tom didn't get to attend every school event (although he was at most of them) or every sporting event, and he was the one who shouldered job stress and had fewer hours of cherub smiles. Like Jaimee, who had to walk away from a crying child begging for him to stay, we couldn't have done this without Daddy Tom.

Now that our nest is empty and my husband is at retirement age, I'm sure he envisioned I'd venture out into the workforce. Probably I too envisioned that back when we made the SAHM decision, but neither of us knew the future, and so he still gets up every day and heads off to his job while I putter around the empty house and have time to read other people's blogs. 

Hmm...maybe I should offer myself up as Jaimee's nanny.

Florida Spring 2019

Spring in Florida isn't like anywhere else that I've lived. There are very little showers, and rarely do we have gentle breezes and seventy-degree temperatures. For us, spring means raking leaves, pollen, jacaranda trees, and a spike in traffic. It's also the end of the strawberry season, an increase in the citrus rat population, and the beginning of the gator mating season.

Spring kind of sucks in Florida.

I don't have allergies. Thus far, I'm immune to the pollen that falls daily from my large oak tree and covers everything that is in its vicinity; my porch, the roof of my van, the mailbox, the driveway, etc. You can stand on my porch and hear the pollen as it falls. It sounds like it is raining. I have written multiple times about our pollen clean up. About how I can't air out the house by opening windows because the pollen will blow inside and cover my furniture in a sheen of green dust. If we go outside, we track in the stuff on our shoes, our clothes, our hair, and with the pollen comes silkworms. Dangling from the oak branches, these little guys lie in wait to drop on us. We are forever swatting them off each other.

Spring means several weeks of sweeping inside and out. Sometimes twice or more a day.

Darcy is my kid bothered by the pollen. She pops a daily allergy tablet from February through April. When she lived at home, we'd have her strip at the door and shower immediately every time she came home from school or from outdoors. Otherwise, the kid was miserable. Now it seems my husband has decided that his recent cold is an allergic reaction to the pollen.

We slept with the windows up one night, and the next morning he had a runny nose. By that evening, he was in a walk-in clinic, sure that he had a sinus infection. I about fell over. The man NEVER goes to the doctor. He never admits that he is sick. EVER. Yet, now at the first sign of a sniffle, he is at the clinic?

I thought for sure he had to be delusional with fever or something. Uh, no. No fever. Of course, the clinic workers rolled their eyes, patted him on the shoulder, and told him to drink plenty of fluids and rest. Nothing they could do for him on day one of what looked to be a cold. They must have mentioned pollen too because now he showers at night and tiptoes over the pollen in the driveway.

Pollen hangs from the trees, drops, and spreads its seeds all over the ground. It's a mess. You can sweep in the morning and have to do it again in the evening. We pray for April showers just to wash it away. 

Already our temperatures are in the late 80's here in my area. My A/C kicked in a long time ago. The only good thing happening in Spring for me is my pineapple plantation. I usually have at least one flowering plant. I lamented the fact that I didn't have any signs of fruit a week ago, but when I returned from my Spring Break travels, the plant from one of my homegrown fruits had sprouted.

My mother would be so thrilled. This plant started out in a pot, and Tom replanted it in August when we planted the top of our 2018 crop. He planted this one by the mailbox, so I'll need to keep an eye on it. People like to steal pineapples. As do the animals. I'm going to point my camera in this direction just in case.

Happy Spring!

Spring Break 2018 - Day 3

From the travel journal -

Cara - Notice I'm the keeper of the records. Sigh. If only Darcy were here--

We got out of the unit a half an hour over our ten o'clock morning checkout time. We had no elevator in our building, so I had to walk to Building Four to get the wheeled luggage rack. I took the stairs, got the item, and pushed the elevator button. A Wyndham cleaning crew waited with me, all of us staring at the elevator doors. 

It showed it was on the second floor. Five minutes later, it was still on the second floor. We waited another five minutes, and the cleaning supervisor went off to tell maintenance. I went back up the stairs, minus the luggage rack, to give out the bad news. We carried our stuff down the three flights of stairs in two trips.

No one has yet to bitch to me about checking out late, but I try hard to follow the rules as I know how it is to be on the other end when wanting to check in early. The earlier we depart, the earlier the cleaning crew gets inside to ready the room for early arrivals. So on and so forth.

We decided that today we would shop. Madison has somehow broken all of her shoes and is down to one pair. These she has worn until the straps are literally hanging by threads. She needs shoes. Desperately. 

SueG said we'd hit the Orlando outlets.

We ate again at Cracker Barrel, where the same two ladies welcomed us like old friends. From the Barrel, we looked up the nearest outlet and headed there. It was packed with European shoppers dragging rolling suitcases.

Shopping with Madison is quite the experience. SueG has had a taste of it, but her kids have not. I give credit to Sydney, who hung in the longest. She continued following Madison around while the rest of us sat and had a drink. We did not get in our 5,000 steps goal.

At first, we couldn't find any shoe stores except sneaker places like Nike and New Balance. While Madison owns a pair of sneakers, they are rarely worn, although she informed me in the New Balance store that the ones she did own needed to be replaced--for "the gym," which sent me into a laughing fit. She bought a pair of sneakers.

We walked and walked and walked to find a shoe store that sold other shoes. I thought maybe shoe stores didn't have outlets when Madison suddenly pointed and exclaimed: "FINALLY".

More laughter. We did not enter. 

Eventually, we found a map and some stores, but alas, left with only the sneakers.

Purchases made:

• Cara: Fossil sunglasses
• SueG: Ray-Ban sunglasses to use after her cataract surgery in April. Water.
• Maddy: New Balance sneakers and some clothes from Charlotte Russe, which is going out of business.
• Alex: A soda
• Sydney: Nothing

The trip home was uneventful and quiet. The youngsters were on their electronic devices, although Madison and Alex correctly answered the trivia I threw at them when we passed by Polytechnic College.

Me: "Name something we learned about Polytechnic College."

SueG: "It's the only one in Florida."

Me: "I'm not counting that as an answer."

Alex: "They have two dormitories."

Me: "Correct. Five points for Alex."

Madison: "It has is the only college with a fully digital library."

Me: "Correct. Five points to Madison."

SueG: "And ten points to me because my answer was right too. It is the only Polytechnic school in Florida. Remember, it's a long walk home from here."

And another traveling Spring Break is in the books.