As a morning dose of entertainment I eventually turn to Page 2 of the Tampa Tribune where the latest lottery numbers are printed in the center of the page, a column by Television Critic Walter Belcher at the top and a celebrity rag sheet to the right with all that’s going on with those beautiful people in the entertainment fields. (Tony Dow will have a spot in the Louvre displaying one of his original abstract sculptures!)
Just below the deeds and misdeeds of celebrities, there’s a daily listing of Today’s Birthdays covering well-known professionals from all walks of life. Producers, directors, actors, actresses, sports figures, politicians, etc. Only the birthdays of the living are listed.
It’s become a morning mind exercise that leads to personal memories of events that might help be make a thoughtful guess on the age of each celebrity.
Take for instance, on November 5, Bryan Adams and Ryan Adams, who aren’t related, shared the same birthday. A very unique coincidence and particularly of interest because both are listened to often. Let’s take Bryan: recollection puts one of this first hit tunes Cuts Like a Knife somewhere in the early ‘80s shortly after moving from West Chicago, IL, to Santa Monica, CA, in 1981. That was 27 years ago, so assuming Bryan may have been maybe around 20 – simply because he looked young and many artists make their initial entry into the music scene once they’ve entered adulthood. My guess added 20 + 27 to equal 47 years old in 2008. Not bad since he was actually 48!
Ryan Adams, of course, is much younger with just a few years in the limelight whith music I consider alternative-rock-folk music, although the paper referenced his work as alternative-country. Maybe, but on his 2007 CD Easy Tiger some of the music reminded me of Neil Young; similarly, I never considered Neil a country singer.
Although Ryan’s CDs typically hide his face either with hair hanging down, or his face directed away from the camera, I figured maybe five years ago he was probably 20 when he released Love Is Hell. So, 20 + 5 would put him at the age of 25. A fairly shy cry from his actual 33 years.
Walter Cronkite had a birthday on Election Day 2008. Going back to the 60’s with recollections of his emotions on the assassination of JFK (1963) and the landing on the moon (1969) that would be 40-45 years ago when he may have been about 40, so the guess was about 85 years old – a poor guess since he turned 92 this year.
[My thoughts usually revisit certain periods of time when there was a memorable personal event, such as Neil Armstrong’s moon walk in the same era as a lone movie date to see 2001: A Space Odyssey and the Beatles’s songs Hey Jude, Get Back and Come Together.]
For another instance, Prince Charles was born on November 14 but, since he’s never been a person of interest in my life and I really didn't care, I just figured he had to be close to a decade older than myself. My guess was 65 although he was actually 60. My goal is to be within 3 years of each person's age.
Too often there are names I don’t recognize, such as actor Josh Duhamel (who? movies? or TV?) – 36. Former UN Secretary-General Boutros-Ghali? 86 yrs. Rapper E-40? 41 yrs. Rachel Appleton? 15. Holly Valance? 25. Kip Pardue? 32. Whatever! They all get a “I don’t know that one.”
There's a personal interest when a person's age is close to my own. In addition to myself, others in the not-quite-sixty group including Elvira, Charo, Ozzie Obsourne, Jay Leno, Robin Williams, Jessica Lange, Cheryl Ladd and Dr. Phil.
Just a few minutes in the morning and the windmills of my mind get the brain a-stirrin', with reflections on people, places and events that mark the years leading up the this time in my life. As the day progresses, who knows, the day’s activities may be remembered years from now when I relate an experience to a name on Today’s Birthdays.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
A Night To Remember
They not only came in waives but more alarmingly, they came in storms. Ghosts, goblins, Spidermen, witches, extra-terrestrials, princesses, werewolves, Dracula’s, and many more disguises worn by children, teens and adults greeted me on the other side of the front door. Not a single mummy! No Frankenstein? I didn’t know a single one of them yet they were all friendly, if not shy, tricking me into giving treats in celebration of Halloween.
Year one of living in Spring Hill found a fair number of costumed partakers of sweets and treats. Years two and three were few and far between, leaving too much candy to tempt my taste buds with mouth pleasing pieces of chocolate and flavors that would get the saliva flowing from the tartness of their ingredients.
Originally, the idea of spending money and a couple hours of time opening and closing the door for a glimpse of people large and small draped in one or other pieces of cloth, plastic and, in some cases, paint didn’t fit well with my attitude. But, on the eve of Halloween, I found myself at the closest of the many Wal-Mart stores in Hernando County heading toward the “Seasonal” aisle, confused and indecisive on which of the multitude of choices that would make me a popular host to the door-to-door spooks saying “Trick or Treat”.
I decided to ask a couple of kids standing next to me what might I pick to avoid a trick. Either they didn’t quite understand my wording or they had been brought up, as they should be, leery of adults offering candy. Luck had that Mom was right there and interpreted my question in simpler words.
The boy, about 10 years old, gave an immediate response of “Airheads”. I admitted to Mom that I had no idea what they were, at which time Dad magically produced a bag of the candy for my taking. Cool, I felt the thoughtful giver for the next night’s activities. The daughter, who had been silent to my original inquiry, maintained silence with an aloof presence and drifting away. When my comment reasoned she wasn’t a candy lover, Mom assured the opposite. Still they girl, in her early teens, offered no suggestions.
I wasn’t done with Mom quite yet. In an effort to be REAL popular, I needed more input. Starburst and Skittles, which I was familiar with, immediately came to mind so in shopping cart they went, one bag with a mixture of both. As we all meandered back and forth down the candy aisle, I had to explain to Mom that it was chocolate candies that were my favorite: Snickers, Clark Bars, Reese’s, etc.
I’m sure whatever I might have picked out there wouldn’t likely be a disappointed kid with whatever I deposited in the bag but, again, I really didn’t want to disappoint the little ones. Finally, I felt at ease with the bags of candy among the groceries and personal items in the shopping cart. It wasn’t quite time to go to the checkout lane as I still had to slip a few small bags of those chocolate delights among the other treats. I have to admit it was done with guilt, not that they would be hoarded; I did some generous sharing through the late evening hours.
Yes, I had quite a pile of candies. As a last minute choice to participate in the night’s activities, I wanted to make sure I didn’t shortchange any one of the potential visitors. I not only wanted to please but be generous, and I was. There was one kid who was already so awarded with goodies that his bag was nearly full but still with room for a few more; I chose not to slight the guy. He must have been proud of take for the evening; I was hopeful that he would share his bounty but that was up to him, not me.
As a not-so-typical treat, I had a placed three Golden Delicious apples in a paper bag hoping to find the right family with a Mom and Dad there to make sure they were inspected for safety; there’s always the chance that some ghastly person would ruin the night with an item foreign to the fruit. The parents, also in costume, and two little boys seemed the perfect choice. As Dad was the last to leave me at the door, I asked for his attention with ‘Excuse me…’ and explained that I love apples as no one else in the household but when they had been purchased I failed to remember soon-to-be installed bridgework kept me from enjoying the fruit. He glanced inside the bag and commented that his boys love apples. I was thanked and felt thankful myself.
I reserved that Hanna Montana candy necklaces for the little girls and a couple of stick-ons that came with the package for the littlest of the sugar-and-spices.
The crowning moment came at the very end of my participation of the evening. No knock on the door, no ring of the doorbell. Although I faintly heard the words ‘Trick or Treat’, I felt obstinate enough that I didn’t acknowledge the threat until I heard the greeting of a light tapping on the door. The little girl was so cute in an outfit and hat of a witch that made me think she was surely the Good Witch of the South. Once the door was open, not a sound was uttered from her mouth. She gave a shy smile then turned her back toward me, perhaps wanting to share the full sight of her costume. I asked her if she had a wand and, although she didn’t respond, Mom tried to find it but with no luck She couldn’t even respond when Mom prompted her to say those three little trademark words of the night.
The shining moment for the three of us came when I handed the last of the Hanna Montana stickers to Mom so they wouldn’t get crumpled. Bright eyes and a gaping mouth gave me the crowning moment of pleasure. As it was approaching the 10 o’clock hour, I prepared to close down the candy shop, turning the outside lights off once I was assured they were safely along their way.
As dark as the night had become, there was a glow of satisfaction for the appreciation the kids showed for my efforts to make their night a successful adventure. Each time the kids walked away from the house and down the sidewalk, I demanded they ‘Have fun!’
I have no doubt they did have fun many times over and I played a bit part in their satisfaction. Yes, the kids and I had a good amount of fun!
Year one of living in Spring Hill found a fair number of costumed partakers of sweets and treats. Years two and three were few and far between, leaving too much candy to tempt my taste buds with mouth pleasing pieces of chocolate and flavors that would get the saliva flowing from the tartness of their ingredients.
Originally, the idea of spending money and a couple hours of time opening and closing the door for a glimpse of people large and small draped in one or other pieces of cloth, plastic and, in some cases, paint didn’t fit well with my attitude. But, on the eve of Halloween, I found myself at the closest of the many Wal-Mart stores in Hernando County heading toward the “Seasonal” aisle, confused and indecisive on which of the multitude of choices that would make me a popular host to the door-to-door spooks saying “Trick or Treat”.
I decided to ask a couple of kids standing next to me what might I pick to avoid a trick. Either they didn’t quite understand my wording or they had been brought up, as they should be, leery of adults offering candy. Luck had that Mom was right there and interpreted my question in simpler words.
The boy, about 10 years old, gave an immediate response of “Airheads”. I admitted to Mom that I had no idea what they were, at which time Dad magically produced a bag of the candy for my taking. Cool, I felt the thoughtful giver for the next night’s activities. The daughter, who had been silent to my original inquiry, maintained silence with an aloof presence and drifting away. When my comment reasoned she wasn’t a candy lover, Mom assured the opposite. Still they girl, in her early teens, offered no suggestions.
I wasn’t done with Mom quite yet. In an effort to be REAL popular, I needed more input. Starburst and Skittles, which I was familiar with, immediately came to mind so in shopping cart they went, one bag with a mixture of both. As we all meandered back and forth down the candy aisle, I had to explain to Mom that it was chocolate candies that were my favorite: Snickers, Clark Bars, Reese’s, etc.
I’m sure whatever I might have picked out there wouldn’t likely be a disappointed kid with whatever I deposited in the bag but, again, I really didn’t want to disappoint the little ones. Finally, I felt at ease with the bags of candy among the groceries and personal items in the shopping cart. It wasn’t quite time to go to the checkout lane as I still had to slip a few small bags of those chocolate delights among the other treats. I have to admit it was done with guilt, not that they would be hoarded; I did some generous sharing through the late evening hours.
Yes, I had quite a pile of candies. As a last minute choice to participate in the night’s activities, I wanted to make sure I didn’t shortchange any one of the potential visitors. I not only wanted to please but be generous, and I was. There was one kid who was already so awarded with goodies that his bag was nearly full but still with room for a few more; I chose not to slight the guy. He must have been proud of take for the evening; I was hopeful that he would share his bounty but that was up to him, not me.
As a not-so-typical treat, I had a placed three Golden Delicious apples in a paper bag hoping to find the right family with a Mom and Dad there to make sure they were inspected for safety; there’s always the chance that some ghastly person would ruin the night with an item foreign to the fruit. The parents, also in costume, and two little boys seemed the perfect choice. As Dad was the last to leave me at the door, I asked for his attention with ‘Excuse me…’ and explained that I love apples as no one else in the household but when they had been purchased I failed to remember soon-to-be installed bridgework kept me from enjoying the fruit. He glanced inside the bag and commented that his boys love apples. I was thanked and felt thankful myself.
I reserved that Hanna Montana candy necklaces for the little girls and a couple of stick-ons that came with the package for the littlest of the sugar-and-spices.
The crowning moment came at the very end of my participation of the evening. No knock on the door, no ring of the doorbell. Although I faintly heard the words ‘Trick or Treat’, I felt obstinate enough that I didn’t acknowledge the threat until I heard the greeting of a light tapping on the door. The little girl was so cute in an outfit and hat of a witch that made me think she was surely the Good Witch of the South. Once the door was open, not a sound was uttered from her mouth. She gave a shy smile then turned her back toward me, perhaps wanting to share the full sight of her costume. I asked her if she had a wand and, although she didn’t respond, Mom tried to find it but with no luck She couldn’t even respond when Mom prompted her to say those three little trademark words of the night.
The shining moment for the three of us came when I handed the last of the Hanna Montana stickers to Mom so they wouldn’t get crumpled. Bright eyes and a gaping mouth gave me the crowning moment of pleasure. As it was approaching the 10 o’clock hour, I prepared to close down the candy shop, turning the outside lights off once I was assured they were safely along their way.
As dark as the night had become, there was a glow of satisfaction for the appreciation the kids showed for my efforts to make their night a successful adventure. Each time the kids walked away from the house and down the sidewalk, I demanded they ‘Have fun!’
I have no doubt they did have fun many times over and I played a bit part in their satisfaction. Yes, the kids and I had a good amount of fun!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Lake Park Campground and Cottages
Getting to Rapid City was a straight and easy shot from Sioux Falls on the eastern most part of South Dakota on border of Iowa along I-90. There was no problem following the route given by Map Quest and being on an early Tuesday afternoon traffic was light enough to leave my nerves intact. I was pretty anxious to check in and check out the place where I would lay my weary body and relax my mind, as if I really thought I could contain the excitement of being at the base of the Black Hills.
Of course, there had a be a glitch, traveling back and forth along Jackson Blvd trying to find County Club Blvd that would take me to Chapel Lane and whatever cabin would be my home for the next two weeks. Twice I reached a point where buildings became fewer and the twist of a bend found me where there were none.
After passing Sheridan Lake Rd and the Meadow Brook Golf Course and Country Club three times there still wasn’t a road labeled as it should have been. I was so intent on finding Country Club Blvd that frustration finally set in as I began to eagle-hawk every street and driveway along Jackson Blvd. Finally, there was a small, white on green street sign that read Chapel Ln! From there it would have been a quick walk to the entrance of Lake Park Campground if I hadn’t been riding in a four-wheeler.
If I hadn’t been astute to the surroundings, I might have missed the entrance, but there it was with ivy covering part of the sign that told me I had reached my destination.
The office was easily identified with an ice bin, which I would soon find was no longer stocked. Sherry was behind the counter, quick to remember the name from a couple of conversations we had a few weeks prior to arriving. We were a day earlier since we had left a day earlier than planned and drove straight through the first night of travel.
Sherry was very friendly, made us feel welcome and actually gave us the choice of two cabins, both next to each other, one decorated in the mode of a hunter’s abode with an animal’s head hung on the wall, etc. The other cabin had a less manly feel about it but Cabin 11 was the winner, only because the TV was aligned for viewing from an easy chair and a sofa bed. Other than the positioning of the TV the cabins were identical with the same amenities yet in reversed order.
Two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large cloakroom adjacent to small bathroom with the basic washbowl, toilet and stand-alone shower. In the cloakroom the best friend a traveler can expect was a hot water heater! For us alone, no attached cabins where sharing would have affected water pressure and available hot water. What a pleasure!
The kitchen was equipped with dishes; silverware; glasses; coffee maker, cups and filters; a window air conditioner and a gas heater; refrigerator; basic cable; and pots and pans. There were enough towels for a family of six and a huge supply of quality toilet paper, which saved the rolls I had brought along… just in case Of course, there were plenty of And an outside gas grill – a real one, not some chintzy piece of metal housing. Clean and neat with no acception.
Upon arriving, I had asked Sherry if there was a microwave. Yes. She explained it wasn’t including with any promotional information, including the Inet, because it pleases people to find more than what they expect rather than falling short of expectations. Outside the cabin, next to the grill, was a full-sized picnic table.
Sherry gave me fair warning that I would most likely see resident deer roaming the area, which there were. Without warning and without a camera handy, at one point two deer and three fawns passed next to the cabin, not more than five feet from where I sat in pleasant awe. The first week they were in sight often then they seemed to have disappeared, but Sherry suggested I just walk behind the cabin a short way where she had just seen them. They’re definitely accustomed to humans but still attune to their survival instincts. I saw then quite a few times afterward.
Lake Park Campgrounds and Cottages was the perfect place to lay my head to rest after each day’s adventures. There are other choices in different areas among the hills but the location gave me easy access to Rapid City with its restaurants, museums and a true small town feel of friendliness. Just the right size – not too big, not too small.
Mount Rushmore; a variety of caverns; Custer State Park; Hill City and Keystone, which are quaint tourist havens; Deadwood, where Wild Bill and Calamity Jane dwelled; Sturgis, where the 69th Annual Motorcycle Rally will be held the first week in August next year; and so many other wondrous adventures filled the days. These were less than hour’s drive away from the cabin. Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and the Mammoth Site downstate were within a two-hour drive.
Wherever a person travels along the roads, there’s no boredom as the scenery engulfs a person’s eyesight. Even the driver can enjoy the views without taking the eyes off the road – they’re all around!
Yes, Lake Park Campground and Cottages is strongly recommended to anyone visiting the Black Hills of South Dakota. It’s a temporary home, a haven of tranquility among towering trees with open views of the sky and the friendliest of people, Sherry first and foremost.
www.lakeparkcampground.com
Of course, there had a be a glitch, traveling back and forth along Jackson Blvd trying to find County Club Blvd that would take me to Chapel Lane and whatever cabin would be my home for the next two weeks. Twice I reached a point where buildings became fewer and the twist of a bend found me where there were none.
After passing Sheridan Lake Rd and the Meadow Brook Golf Course and Country Club three times there still wasn’t a road labeled as it should have been. I was so intent on finding Country Club Blvd that frustration finally set in as I began to eagle-hawk every street and driveway along Jackson Blvd. Finally, there was a small, white on green street sign that read Chapel Ln! From there it would have been a quick walk to the entrance of Lake Park Campground if I hadn’t been riding in a four-wheeler.
If I hadn’t been astute to the surroundings, I might have missed the entrance, but there it was with ivy covering part of the sign that told me I had reached my destination.
The office was easily identified with an ice bin, which I would soon find was no longer stocked. Sherry was behind the counter, quick to remember the name from a couple of conversations we had a few weeks prior to arriving. We were a day earlier since we had left a day earlier than planned and drove straight through the first night of travel.
Sherry was very friendly, made us feel welcome and actually gave us the choice of two cabins, both next to each other, one decorated in the mode of a hunter’s abode with an animal’s head hung on the wall, etc. The other cabin had a less manly feel about it but Cabin 11 was the winner, only because the TV was aligned for viewing from an easy chair and a sofa bed. Other than the positioning of the TV the cabins were identical with the same amenities yet in reversed order.
Two bedrooms, a full kitchen, a large cloakroom adjacent to small bathroom with the basic washbowl, toilet and stand-alone shower. In the cloakroom the best friend a traveler can expect was a hot water heater! For us alone, no attached cabins where sharing would have affected water pressure and available hot water. What a pleasure!
The kitchen was equipped with dishes; silverware; glasses; coffee maker, cups and filters; a window air conditioner and a gas heater; refrigerator; basic cable; and pots and pans. There were enough towels for a family of six and a huge supply of quality toilet paper, which saved the rolls I had brought along… just in case Of course, there were plenty of And an outside gas grill – a real one, not some chintzy piece of metal housing. Clean and neat with no acception.
Upon arriving, I had asked Sherry if there was a microwave. Yes. She explained it wasn’t including with any promotional information, including the Inet, because it pleases people to find more than what they expect rather than falling short of expectations. Outside the cabin, next to the grill, was a full-sized picnic table.
Sherry gave me fair warning that I would most likely see resident deer roaming the area, which there were. Without warning and without a camera handy, at one point two deer and three fawns passed next to the cabin, not more than five feet from where I sat in pleasant awe. The first week they were in sight often then they seemed to have disappeared, but Sherry suggested I just walk behind the cabin a short way where she had just seen them. They’re definitely accustomed to humans but still attune to their survival instincts. I saw then quite a few times afterward.
Lake Park Campgrounds and Cottages was the perfect place to lay my head to rest after each day’s adventures. There are other choices in different areas among the hills but the location gave me easy access to Rapid City with its restaurants, museums and a true small town feel of friendliness. Just the right size – not too big, not too small.
Mount Rushmore; a variety of caverns; Custer State Park; Hill City and Keystone, which are quaint tourist havens; Deadwood, where Wild Bill and Calamity Jane dwelled; Sturgis, where the 69th Annual Motorcycle Rally will be held the first week in August next year; and so many other wondrous adventures filled the days. These were less than hour’s drive away from the cabin. Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and the Mammoth Site downstate were within a two-hour drive.
Wherever a person travels along the roads, there’s no boredom as the scenery engulfs a person’s eyesight. Even the driver can enjoy the views without taking the eyes off the road – they’re all around!
Yes, Lake Park Campground and Cottages is strongly recommended to anyone visiting the Black Hills of South Dakota. It’s a temporary home, a haven of tranquility among towering trees with open views of the sky and the friendliest of people, Sherry first and foremost.
www.lakeparkcampground.com
Two Years Onward
Hibiscus with yellow flowers. The red of bottlebrush. The orange of honeysuckle. The white and yellow colors of jasmines. The purple of bougainvillea. The bluebells. A trio of snapdragon colors; yellow, purple, pink. The forever greens of evergreens. The bright deep pink of cactus flowers. Cannas with more pink and yellow flowers. The variegated tints of false bamboo and crotons.
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
These are the plants that are planted along the backyard fence, just this side of the numerous sand hill pines that stand among other plants and bushes in the Sand Hill Boy Scout Reserve that extends from Cortez Blvd and my home. There are a number of other plants whose names I just can’t remember.
It’s been a busy year of my attempts to adorn my backyard with vegetation that will eventually highlight the sights of visitors’ and mine own eyes. And I do mean eventually.
It’s been an arduous journey to rid the full expanse of the privacy fence along the width of the backyard, a large area some 70 feet by 10 feet that the subcontractors of Mr. Adams failed to place a few pallets of sod. The ground had been cleared as the plot of land was being prepared for resale by an investor, with an 1860-sq foot home set back from the road, but sand was left where blades of grass should have grown. The sprinkler system was misplaced as was the missing bahia.
A lot of time, sweat, digging and uprooting of weeds, and gallons of vegetation killer has been spent in preparation of whatever whim, size and expense of greenery I would decide to plant. And plant I did. Still, at this point, there are very few trees. An East Palatka holly, which will at some point have bunches of red berries that will attract a flock of birds at whatever harvest time they choose, and a non-baring fruit fig are the only trees have been introduced to the property.
The bluebells are abundant with their trumpets of purple-hewed flowers. The cannas have been quick-rooters with a continuous bloom of colors fulfilling my expectations of pleasant views.
The front of the house has a well-maintained rock garden. The roadside has a wide swath of cleared sand with a number of arborvitae and, here I go again, plants whose names I don’t remember. There’s also an open pit close to the sidewalk that was carefully bordered with “decorative” cement castings. At some point I will find the right kind of tree acceptable to my standards of shade. It’s right next to a sprinkler head, positioned perfectly for an ever-flowing fountain – no way, my friend; water is more precious to the ground than wasteful evaporation.
With slight patience I await the time when these vines and plants have my expectations of adornment. While I was gone for three weeks, they were left with the harsh weather conditions of drought, still alive but looking as though they were on their last root of survival. This was not good but the lack of moisture and the heat of days also kept weeds from proliferating the clearings.
Eventually is an often-used word of future goals and particularly applies to the growth of vegetation.
What? Maybe two years from now the vines will along the back fence will meld together with the lush of green and colorful flowers? Maybe the same time period for the bushes to flourish and fill in the garden where it now appears to be sparse and too barren?
What? Maybe two years until the housing market regains a sensible, realistic market-driven growth period. Maybe two years until I can conceivably consider my options to move out of Spring Hill, out of Hernando County and out of Florida. As a friend had gifted me with a black and white, simply framed caricature of people leisurely basking in the yellow sun of a California day with words that proclaimed “Another day in paradise”, so I may depart this State Down-under. A poorly-governed State, a County with little insight of futures past, workforces dependent on simpletons, an elderly haven no longer within the means of retirees, a region sure to be plummeted with increasingly destructive hurricanes, and what is becoming a land meant for those with fortunes: causes for concern for my security and happiness in these waning years on this planet Earth, hopefully long before I’m running on empty.
So, there’s plenty of time to tidy the house. Minor settlement cracks to fill and hide. A bit of touch up paint here and there – “there” being primary along the baseboards where dust collects, where it’s not easily de-clustered, where a few brush strokes will cover what would turn a white glove with shades of gray.
Two years for my fortune cookie to come to reality, when I “will be at the height of your career”. Two years? I don’t know what that career might be; it has to be something more than working for phone companies for half my life, leaving me with a pension at a quarter of my ending pay. The company-contributed 401(k) was the best route to achieving a minimum degree of financial security (if there ever will be). And yet, as hard as I tried, others in my same age bracket couldn’t be prompted to use common sense. Paycheck deduction makes you budget what’s in hand.
Two years for another recent fortune cookie to fulfill it’s claim that “An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly!” Oh, really? If it’s the illegal type then it’s the sort that won’t speak English. Or maybe the Lotto will supply me with funds that are alien to my pocketbook. I might have a better chance that E.T. will sweep me from this slowly polluting, quickly heating planet and take me to heights and sights as I have never seen before!
Friday, October 24, 2008
What Planet Do They Live On?
A St. Petersburg Times/Bay News 9 poll taken on October 20 thru 22 of 800 local voters showed some very conflicting attitudes to the reality of these economic times. The poll also gave statistics on voter preference and expectations of the next President of the United States, but those numbers were of little surprise.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Do 42% of those polled truly believe their “personal economic situation to be better over the next year”? Do another 39% have faith in their belief that they expect their status “stay the same”? It’s the 12% who “expect it to get worse” that have a better grip on current, and the foreseeable future, financial trends.
That leaves yet another 7% who don’t care, aren’t legally registered voters or on their way out of State.
Those positive-thinking 336 might be the financially secure who can easily afford the rising costs of healthcare, the next round of increasing energy costs and haven’t bothered to check their 401k accounts. I assume their investments in homeownership still provide an upward-moving equitable balance sheet. Perhaps they expect a personal bailout?
They certainly aren’t retirees living on Social Security and Medicare benefits. They most definitely have no fear that they will be among the next 7%, or more, of unemployed Floridians.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Gas in the Tank, Money in the Bank
Heading to South Dakota gave some unreality checks on the price of gasoline. As the price was at about $3.80/gallon a month ago locally when I arrived in Rapid City the price was about $3.20! What a deal! But wait… that was for Regular unleaded grade (85 octane) but Super unleaded (87 octane) was 5-cents cheaper. Premium was a dime higher than regular. Cashiers inside the quickie-marts weren’t able to explain the pricing.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
At the time I left South Dakota, Super was selling at $2.99.
There is still a large difference in each of the state’s gas rates. With the assistance of Google, checking those rates, those sales tax rates are 4% in SD and 6% in FL. Gas taxes are $.24 and $.33, respectively. Niether has a state income tax.
Currently those conflicting rates are $3.08 compared to $2.91.
Regardless the reasons for such a discrepancy of prices, the money saved stays in the bank.
Other Currently Maintained Blogs
Hernando Hews '08
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
{The Looks and Outlooks of a Community}
www.hernandohews08.blogspot.com
Florida Menagerie 08
{The State Down Under}
www.ronraeblog.blogspot.com
Parcel Post '08
{Comments to Entice}
www.parcelpost08.blogspot.com
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