Category: Florida

Hanging With The Grands

I’m having such a wonderful time with my grandchildren, Dominique and Jackson, this week. 

We stopped by Studly Doright’s (Poppa’s) office.

 

Aren’t they cute?
 
Later in the day Jackson and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. He’s all about asking me to challenge him to do physical stunts, such as climbing trees and jumping over obstacles. I’m such a wimp, though, that I can never come up with a suitable activity.

I loved his question, “Nana, do you have any trees that need climbing?”

  
Dominique and I spent an hour making bird feeders out of pine cones, peanut butter, twine, and seeds. 

 Here are the final products:

 

Now we need to hang them.

The kids chopped down a couple of saplings.

 

Jackson is a born lumber Jack.
 While I watched from a safe distance. 
 

Gator in the House

I succesfully rendezvoused with our son Jason in Jackson, Mississippi, and brought our grandkids, Dominique (13), and Jackson (10), home with me to Havana, Florida. No sooner had we gotten unpacked than Dominique headed to the lake with her fishing pole, and Jackson suited up to ride his minibike.

   
 

I had a glass of wine and handed over supervisory duties to Studly Doright, aka Poppa.

Dominque caught a fish right off the bat.

 
Prompting Jackson to come join in the fun:

  
And then our resident gator made an appearance:

 

 
I believe I’ll go have another glass of wine within the safe confines of Doright Manor and pray that no one falls prey to our reptile friend. 

Peace, people.

What Does the Fox Say?

                     What Does the Fox Say? 

Apparently this one just said, Zzzzzzzzz! I discovered the gray fox at the Tallahassee Museum Thursday morning, as he indulged in a nap while nestled in the fork of a tree.

 
To be honest, I didn’t see him, so well did he blend with his surroundings, until a little girl pointed him out to her grandparents, and I was lucky enough to benefit from her sharp eyes.

Below is the photo before I edited it to make Mr. Fox more visible. He was well camouflaged, eh?

 
I’ll post more from the museum over the next two weeks. 

Mama Turtle

Wrapped in an age-softened, threadbare quilt made from the scraps taken from my grandma’s

Sewing basket, the cat and I daydream while rain drums on the lake. In the yard, about

Fifty feet from the house, a mother turtle works to lay her eggs, covering to protect them

From predators and well-intentioned humans. I mark the place in my mind, to better

Advocate for my reptile friend once her work is done. Mamas have to stick together.

Salsa School Dropout

Wednesday evening I had the rare choice of attending two events. One, an informational meeting about a women’s salsa group, had been on my calendar for weeks. The other, a movie night with a friend and her daughters, had come up on the spur of the moment.

Since I was really curious about the salsa group, I gave my regrets to my friend and headed to a dance studio in Tallahassee. I arrived just as an exercise class called “Twerk It!” was ending. A combination of hip hop and Zumba, the class looked like exhausting fun. 

Slowly the Twerk It! group left the building in groups of twos and threes and the salsa instructor appeared. She was an attractive, fit woman in her mid-30’s who quickly got into her spiel about the joys of Touch Salsa, a franchised program that can apparently be found worldwide.

As she spoke I became more excited. Not only did participants get to learn salsa routines, but they could participate in dance competitions as part of a larger group. And, they got to wear cute dance costumes. Count me in!

Now, the Facebook ad for this class indicated it was informational only, so I’d worn my flip flops. BIG mistake! I cannot emphasize this enough. 

The instructor had us line up behind her to learn a few basic steps. I was doing fine until I had to do a right turn. My flip flops stuck to the floor and guess who went sprawling? Yep, me.  

Undeterred I shook it off and got up in time to tackle a left turn. I knew better than to try to pivot this time, so I sort of hopped. It wasn’t pretty, but I stayed upright.

Finally our little group got through five basic steps. That’s when the instructor added in the arm movements. I’m fairly sure that had anyone been watching my gesticulations they would’ve felt compelled to notify emergency personnel.

I abandoned trying to follow the instructions and just did a variation of waving my hands in the air like I just didn’t care. The instructor gave me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. Can you blame her? I’m sure she thought I wasn’t trying. But the sad truth is, I was trying really hard. 

So, I decided the Touch Salsa class wasn’t for me, and after paying my $5.00 I told the instructor I wouldn’t be participating. I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure she breathed a sigh of relief.

Now about that Twerk It! class? That might be right up my alley. Stay tuned.

http://youtu.be/WQGSWBkJW84
Peace, people!

A Little Life

This story was related to me yesterday. It broke my heart. I’ll do my best to retell it here just as the man told it to me.

I grew up in Miami (Florida). But keep in mind it was a very different place back then. My cousins and I had free reign. We’d get up early and grab our bikes, pedal to a row boat we’d stashed on the banks of a lake and then we’d fish all day.

Not like today, when kids are watched over constantly. I think the Adam Walsh case changed all of that, but this was back in 1959 or ’60, a long time before that. Anyway, we went everywhere. 

There was a walled neighborhood where the Blacks lived. It was walled off, separate from the other parts of the town, but sometimes my friends and I would play baseball in an area of sugar sand right behind the wall. And a lot of the kids from the black neighborhood would climb the wall and come join the game.

We had a grand time until, of course, one of the white moms would notice and call the cops to make the black kids go back to their own neighborhood. You see, it just wasn’t done, the mixing.

There was a lake behind the sugar sand, with a ring of homes around it. We loved to swim there, even though it was off limits. In the middle of the lake was a small island where ducks liked to nest. We called it Duck Egg Island.

We’d get the eggs and have duck egg fights, but to get to the lake we had to walk past the walled neighborhood where the Blacks lived and then cut through one of the yards of the homes around the lake. We did it all the time.

One day as we passed the wall a little black child sitting on top of it hollered at us. “Hey! Where y’all going?”

Someone told him we were headed to a swimming hole. Without a pause he jumped down off that wall and joined us. 

Now my friends and I were like fish. We swam every day. We never considered that a kid our age couldn’t swim. 

The lake was fairly shallow until you got about 10 yards out, then it dropped dramatically. When we got to Duck Egg Island someone noticed the black kid wasn’t with us.

We swam back and one of us, I don’t remember who, dove under, but he couldn’t get to the child. We all tried. Again and again. He was too deep.

Now, we should have gone for help right away, but we knew we weren’t supposed to be swimming in that lake. And we knew we weren’t supposed to be playing with black kids. Finally someone ran to a nearby house and an ambulance was called. But of course it was way too late. 

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about that kid. 

The storyteller bowed his head and cried at this admission. I cried, too. 

 

Quirky Places

 
I dig quirky places. If Studly Doright ever gets to retire I’m going to insist on a leisurely tour of offbeat destinations.

On our way home from Texas early this month we stopped at a gem of a place just this side of Pensacola. It wasn’t my first stop there, but Studly had never experienced the Oasis Travel Center before. It’s part convenience store, part gift shop, part fast food kiosks, and part diner.

The VW bus pictured above serves as the establishment’s front entryway. Then once inside one’s senses are assailed by all manner of funky fun: yard art, a pirate ship, unique tshirts, and college fan gear.

  
   
The diner, though, is the grooviest.   

  
Dubbed the “Derailed Diner,” it’s designed to look as if a train has come barreling through the side of the building, complete with the resulting rubble.

This entrance opens directly into the diner, and every now and again the signal crossing activates with light and sound.

  
The inside of the diner is an eclectic mix of kooky memorabilia.

One can dine at the Derailed Diner lunch counter:

  
Some of the stools are a bit on the wild side. There’s a John Deere tractor seat and a saddle,

  
a pair of airplane seats, 

  
and a motorcycle passenger’s seat, complete with fender and saddlebags.

 Away from the counter are regular tables, but there were also tailgates with small TV sets in the spirit of drive-in movies.   
 The train motif continued inside, as well,
  
Many tables are decorated to represent various states. We sat at the Kansas table where Dorothy’s ruby red slippers served as salt and pepper shakers, while a Wizard of Oz game under glass added to the theme.

 Everywhere one looked there was something to spark the imagination. 
I was curious about the origin of this certifiably quirky place, and one of the waitresses directed me to this sign:

  
If you ever find yourself on Interstate 10 between Pensacola and Tallahassee, look for the Oasis Travel Center. The restrooms are clean, the food is good, and the people are friendly.

Peace, people!

Lunchtime Flowers

Impervious to curious stares and half-hidden giggles, I waded into the flowers in front of Chuy’s Tex-Mex restaurant in Tallahassee to snap photos after lunch today.

  
I had to crawl over a barrier to get to these pretty blossoms. Yes, I’m a rule breaker.

 
Sheepishly I shrugged my shoulders at a watchful employee, “They’re so pretty,” I explained. 
He just grinned. Thankfully no one called the petal patrol to take me into custody. 

Peace, people!

Once and Future Flowers

I found these lurking in my front yard.   
The best thing about photographing flowers is that, for the most part, they remain stationary.   
And they never blink or need their makeup refreshed. 

 And they make me happy. We need more happy.

Peace, people!

My Feet Hurt Even Worse

Today I took over 14,000 steps at Disney Hollywood Studios. When I walked to catch the bus to return to the Pop Century Resort I could easily imagine my ankles snapping into jagged, ragged, splintered pieces at which point I would simply drag myself by my forearms to the bus stop. 

No one would give me a second glance as I pulled my bloody stumps onto the vehicle unless of course I accidentally crossed the yellow line at whch point I would be gently reprimanded.

—————BUT—————

I rode Star Tours not once, not twice, but three times, and even though I was never named as the rebel spy I personally know two people who were. 

I survived two rounds on the Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster and even managed to look like I was having fun on the second try. The Tower of Terror didn’t claim my life this year; although, it was a close call. What a great, terrifying ride! 

I discovered the joys of Toy Story Mania and would gladly ride it non-stop if the lines weren’t so long. 

Indiana Jones thrilled me with daring escapades in his stunt show spectacular, and I was seated close enough to feel the heat from the explosions.

————HOWEVER————-

Tomorrow I must return to Studly Doright and Doright Manor. My heart is ready. My feet are begging for it, but dang, I’ll miss Disneyworld, CB, Lord Jeff, and kids. What a great time. Now I’m having a beer. Or two.

‘Til next time Disneyworld. Rock on.

 

Aerosmith grants backstage passes to their show. The catch? You have to ride a roller coaster with multiple loops in the dark. And by the way, it goes from 0 to 60 in under four seconds.
  
Star Tours has something interesting around every corner.
  
Inside Toy Story Mania–maybe the most fun ride ever! Trust me, it’s not just for kids.
  
Toy Story Mania is way more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
   
Peace, people!