Burn Barrel Romance

Scott is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person out of necessity. He has a very physical job and while he isn’t old, he isn’t young anymore either (neither am I for that matter, being a year older than he is). By eight o’clock most nights he is in jammies and ready for bed. So when we came home after Cyra’s concert last week and Scott put his yard work clothes back on I was more than surprised.

“What are you up to,” I asked him as he slipped he shoes on.

“I’m going go burn things and drink a beer…or maybe two. Want to join me?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

There’s something about sitting in front of a fire with Scott that makes my insides woozy. Normally when we sit around in front of a fire it’s when we are off camping and marshmallows are involved. Not romantic, per se, but nice enough. And making a big fire in the burn barrel, while it might not involve s’mores, is fun nevertheless.

The moon and stars peeked through a mostly overcast sky and I dragged our two Adirondack chairs into the yard while Scott began building the fire. By the time I brought our drinks out – a nice IPA for Scott and a good cup of Earl Grey for me (ironically although the selling and drinking of beer is our main source of income, I don’t particularly care for the taste) Scott had a good size blaze going.

We turned off the flood lights and sat in the glow of the barrel, quietly sipping our drinks. Cyra, her bundle of nerves exhausted from the concert, had collapsed into bed soon after we arrived home and Ashleigh was glued to the internet, giggling over The Meta Picture and fan-girling to manga. The neighborhood was quiet except for the billions of frogs in the pond out front and the occasionally barking of a dog.

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow Scott and I ended up having a date night: out of the house, in front of a roaring fire, sharing a drink, and no kids around? Sounds like a date to me. So what that it was in the backyard and mosquitoes the size of Cessnas buzzed around us despite the heavy dose of bug spray and citronella candles.

And somehow, magically, we ended up breaking one of our cardinal rules: never, ever, talk religion or politics.

Our views are so vastly different that we don’t even try to come to a common ground anymore. We just accept that we will never see eye to eye on certain things and so those subjects are not permitted. But on this magical, burn barrel date we talked religion. And, even more surprising, it didn’t end in a fight.

I must be maturing.

I don't know exactly how the subject came up, but it all came down to the way we met. Scott claims fate: some force led us to make the choices that led us to meet – he draws the line at calling predestination (even though it certainly sounded like that to me) claiming that just because we were fated to meet didn’t mean, necessarily, that we were fated to be together.

It reminded me of my days back at Flagler when I took a Milton class (you know, Paradise Lost, that guy). Oh the debates that I demanded we have in class (remember, Sara?) all the arguments I brought up about free will versus predestination to the point where the professor had to tell me to give it a rest.

But I couldn’t. It bugs me even today. If the god you believe in is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving then you cannot have free will because he already knows what you are going to do and you can’t prove an omnipotent being false so therefore you have no choice but to do what has already been seen. That, my friends, is predestination.

Whoops!

I’m breaking my no religion, no politics rule here too! Yikes!

Back to the story! My argument is that if we were destined to meet, then all of our choices along the way are trivialized because it wouldn’t matter what choice we made, we’d still have ended up meeting. Scott argues that my view only works if our meeting is the be all end all of those choices. It got more convoluted as the evening wore on. We teased and laughed, joked and smiled. There may have been some kissing too - but I don't kiss and tell!

Regardless of the conversation, I am more than happy with the choices that led me to Scott. Whether it was predestination, fate handing us a road map, or just simple coincidence, without Scott I wouldn't have my girls, my BFF Sara, or a million wonderful memories and moments with a man I can't imagine my life without.

And that, my Friends, I wouldn't change for the world!

M is for Malarkey

I tell stories. Frivolous stories full of unapologetic malarkey and hyperbole. I have been doing this all my life.

When I was little, as my family would sit down to dinner, I would be asked one simple, almost insignificant question: What did you do today, Heather.

Without a second of hesitation I would launch into a detailed description about my day interspersing actual occurrence with snippets of malarkey just to see how far I could take the tale. Nine times out of ten, I was encouraged to spin the tale out further beyond what I could have readily imagined. 

Oh how I wish I had a record of the stories I told. Looking back, I’m sure not a single one of them made sense and my siblings only tolerated my shenanigans because I was the baby of the family.  My childhood was fantasy wrapped in delusion filled to the brim with malarkey.

Today, I still tell wild stories full of malarkey. Just ask the girls about the orangutans that I blame for everything. Or Scott. Poor Scott. Last night while we sat at dinner, a thunderstorm rolled overhead with flashes of lightening and great booms of thunder that shook the windows in their frames. As we ate, I bemoaned the fact that we left my newly purchased bags of soil – the ones for the raised garden bed I’m building – out on the lawn. Unprotected. Scott and the girls looked at me incredulously.

“It’s dirt,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “But it’s my dirt now and I should take better care of it.”

“What are you going to do once you put it in the garden?” He asked.

I looked at him like he was the crazy one, “Put umbrellas over it, obviously.”

Like I said. Malarkey.

Malarkey is a noun from the 1930s that means nonsense.

Example: Marty the Magnificent managed to mumble the magic word making Melvin the Mouse move. “What malarkey!” Marcus moaned at the meager maneuver. 

This post has been brought to you by the Letter M and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 566. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

H is for Heebie Jeebie

When we first moved into our house we discovered that living in the country had some distinct advantages and some creepy disadvantages. I grew up in the country so bugs and creepy-crawlies in the house was nothing to me. But after spending so many years living in homes that had monthly pest service, I found that I had forgotten my country roots.

One night shortly after we moved in, I was curled up next to Scott, softly snoring* when I felt a tickle scuttle across my forehead and down my cheek. I reached up to scratch at the offending tickle and came away with a large spider (I am trying to curb my tendency for hyperbole otherwise I’d say something like “ginormous” or “monstrous”). I flung it and myself out of bed screeching with all the power of 100 banshees.

Scott rolled to his feet and clicked the light on in one smooth motion (proving that at least in an emergency his dexterity isn’t all that bad) and looked around wild-eyed for the serial killer that was clearly invading the house.

“Spider!!” I screamed pointing at the floor my body convulsed into a fit of shakes. “It crawled. Across. My. Face. Kill it!”

Now let me be clear, Friends, I am no more afraid of spiders than I am of cats. That is to say, I’m not at all afraid of them. However, I certainly do not want them crawling across me while I sleep. I’m more than happy to provide shelter to a spider; they eat mosquitoes and flies and therefore will typically leave them alone. And it isn’t like I live in Australia where every creepy crawly is out to get you. My spiders, usually, aren’t venomous – just big, hairy common brown crevice spiders (Mom: don’t click that link).

I had major Heebie-Jeebies that night trying to fall back asleep.

Heebie-Jeebie is noun used in the from the 1920s used to indicate nervousness although today I think we tend to mean it more as a case of the creeps or getting skived out.

Example: Heather had the heebie-jeebies when she heard a horrendous hungry howl and hurried home to hide.

*ha! Softly snoring! Does anyone actually snore softly?

This post has been brought to you by the Letter H and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 965. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

Friday Photos

I find it oddly appropriate that today's photo is a bird of prey. There's a lawyer joke in there somewhere and next week I think I might get to it but for now...

One of the things I love about living where I do is I get a bit of country all tucked up nicely next to my city. I have a yard with critters and yet it's only a few minutes drive to Barnes and Noble. I have chickens* that wander through my yard yet I'm a mere three miles to the nearest major highway. I have a lovely dicotomy of a neighborhood. I rarely see anyone but when I do they are so friendly it's kind of spooky.

I came home the other day after picking Cyra up from violin lessons and saw a huge bird hanging out in the front yard. I say huge because it was clearly bigger than the blue jays, cardinals and robins that have so recently been chillin'. As I pulled in it just stared at me. Menacing dark eyes all broody like David Duchovny (interesting side story - I once almost named Ashleigh "Duchovny" because I loved the X-Files that much). The bird stood his ground as Cyra and I got out of the car and moved towards the house. It wasn't until Junie came bounding out through the open door that he decided to take to the skies.

Duchovny didn't go far (yup. I named him. I do that.) just up to a tree over hanging the gazebo. There, he continued to glare at me from on high. Fine, I thought, clearly this is a bird who likes to be in the spotlight. I called Junie in, grabbed the camera off of the dining room table and snapped a half dozen shots before Duchovny and his deep broodiness called it quits.

Pensive Duchovny surveying his dominion.

I bet he thinks all the lady hawks will swoon over that smoulder!

It turns out that this is a red-shouldered hawk. I think. At least that's as near as I can figure from comparing the photo to a bird identifying website. And you know, the internet never lies.




*Unfortunately those chickens are not my own. Someday, chickens, someday!

Photo A Day - View From Your Window

I love the view from my living room windows. A big grassy lawn, a gazebo and a pond - it reminds me of an old English estate. Not that I have ever been to an old English estate but I imagine that there would be at least one view from the manor that overlooked an expanse of manicured lawn with a pretty gazebo smack in the middle of an artfully arranged garden and a glassy pond filled to the brim with basking turtles, minnows and dragonflies.

I have a very good imagination.

This view today grants me a small taste of home - upstate New York. Although it is well into November, here in Florida it only just started to get chilly and the leaves only just turned and started to fall. It's officially long sleeve shirt weather now. (Sorry my Great White North friends for rubbing it in...how many feet of snow do you have already?)

As much as I find home is where my family is, I still miss my hometown in the autumn. The delightful crunch of the leaves under foot, the crisp air biting at the nose, the fuzzy sweaters and slippers, apple orchards and pumpkin patches, things that Florida lack, makes me nostalgic for home. But once a year, as the few deciduous trees drop their leaves, I am transported back to my northeastern roots.

Look at my little photobombing kitty, Simone. It wasn't until I had the camera aimed out the window that she decided she needed to be on the sill.

A carpet of leaves is as close as I'll get to a carpet of snow.

Photo A Day - Something You Do Everyday

When I was growing up we had hardwood floors throughout the house, upstairs and down. I can remember my mom going through once a day running a big dust mop over the floors but I never really thought about it until now.

The last three houses I've lived in were almost entirely carpeted. Even some of the bathrooms. So the only rooms I had to sweep were the kitchen, the entry way and the bathroom.

My current home however has no carpets whatsoever. None. Oh sure we tossed down a couple area rugs but tile and wood laminate floors stretch wall to wall here. Something that I fell in love with when we first looked at the house. No more carpets I thought gleefully. No more juice or pet stains just easy breezy sweep and mop and nice and clean.

Oh how naive I was back then.

Maybe it wouldn't matter as much if I lived anywhere else.  But no, here in Florida - the Sand is Everywhere State - you can't escape from the sand, especially if you live along the coast. So everyday, sometimes twice a day, I am sweeping. Sweeping. Sweeping.

Sand, cat hair, dog hair, my hair, dog and cat food (because holy moly are the pets messy eaters), dirt, and dust.

It never gets put away because I am always using it which makes the broom the most used tool I own.

This accumulation is from 8 o'clock last night to 8 o'clock this morning. And only from about half of the dining room.

Eww. Right? I want a new broom. This one is dirty.

It never. ever. ends.

I do not remember big piles of sand or dirt in the house growing up which means I am certain that the reason my mom made me take naps was not because I was tired, but because her endless battle against dirt and dust wore her out.

birds win because they can fly

So I came home last night after a successful trip to Barnes and Noble (any trip to the book store, by the way, is always successful) and found this hanging out along the roof of the carport:

 Can you see that little squiggle up next to that ledge? No? Let me...just...zoom...in...

Meet Winston the Yellow Rat Snake

 WHAT?!?! Seriously? That snake is totally waiting to ambush us as we get out of the car!

Just to give you all a bit of scale: that pillar is about 1x2.5 and he is wrapping himself around nearly all FOUR SIDES!

Let me do some math here (it isn't my strong suit so give me a sec)...

Winston is at least three to four feet long! And he's all scrunched up which means he's probably longer.

This is what I think he was after:

There were two birds up in the corner of the that ledge sleeping. They've done it before and I've always told them that they need to go home to their nest because I'm no voyeur. And Winston looked rather intent upon getting to that ledge.

Fortunately for the bird - not so much for Winston - our shrieks of fear that a monster snake was about to launch itself at us from the ceiling woke the birds up and they took off. This one only made it to the pillar on the other side of the carport. I think he was still a bit groggy from all the partying he was doing. Winston, however, seemed less than pleased that his dinner had flown off and took to hunting some moths while we watched from the safety of the house.

This morning when Scott left he found the bird had come back to the pillar after Winston slithered off:

Jackie Chan (I've just named him that) is clinging, ninja-like, to the interior corner of the pillar completely asleep. Not even flash photography disturbed him!

Debby Does My Yard

When we first moved in to our house, we were excited by the prospect of having a pond out front. Unfortunately, the pond at the time was little more than a muck hole because of the severe drought conditions that Florida has recently gone through. Unsurprisingly, Tropical Storm Debby and Tropical Storm Beryl have helped alleviate the dried up pond.

Debby did a bit more than fill up the pond though and we are lucky that we didn't have the amount of flooding that others in the state suffered - washed out roads, rivers exploding over their banks. Despite Florida's need for rain, this was not exactly the way we wanted the problem solved.

During a break in the rain, I was able to snap a few photos of the pond.

 

Just a few minutes later the rain started up again and within ten minutes the yard was flooded...again.

I wish I could have gotten a better shot of the neighbor's yard in this one. Their yard is virtually flat and it was nothing but water.

I wonder if all this water will take care of the fire ants and moles...

The next set of photos are from after the storm passed and the sun broke through the clouds.

Those ripples? 50 gajillion tadpoles just eating and growing and plotting.

This was the high water mark. I was amazed that the water level dropped so quickly after the storm. That might be a testament to how low the aqueduct levels are but I'm not waterologist so don't quote me on that!

Junie very much appreciates having a pond...Guess how many bathes she'll be getting in the coming weeks?

Who Needs A Truck?

I do. Seriously and for real. Need a truck.

I was only able to fit two in the back seat and I need at least four! By the time I got back to the store that gave them to me for FREE the other two I wanted were GONE!!

I bet someone saw me joyfully cramming pallets into my car and they were all like "HEY!! Let's ruin that lady's day and take the other ones BEFORE she comes back! Bwa ha ha!! That will keep her from ever being able to complete her awesome pallet project!"

My project, by the way, is indeed totally awesome. Check it out here.

I Made It Monday

Until I became obsessed with the Apocalypse, I never gave gardening much thought. My dad grew a huge garden every year and I can remember times when I helped weed, sow and pick. My mother had beds of flowers and pots of plants but I still didn't pay much attention.

Now, I am borderline obsessed with my little haphazard garden. I've got a stockpile of mason jars and I'm ready to can as soon as more veggies grow. This year was my practice garden. I recycled milk crates and bought cheap pots at Wal-Mart. I broke apart an old bed frame that I knew I wasn't going to use again to build makeshift trellises for my cucumbers and peas.

I am ridiculously proud of the fact that I put seeds in some dirt and now I am starting to get to vegetables to feed my family.

from left to right: peas, cucumbers, tomatoes, sugar snap peas, peppers, carrots, celery, lettuce. in front: onions, basil, tomatoes.

cucumbers and a head board

sugar snap pea blossom. it totally smells like peas.

the peas were the first veggies to grow!

a mix of jalapeno and bell peppers

crazy color carrots.

my favorite herb - basil. and the only one I planted.

lettuce

tiny tomato blossoms

Mail Box Hazards

So, I had a letter to pop in the mail box today. No problems. Looks like I forgot to check the mail yesterday. No problems.

Then this happens. Two feet from my head. Thank goodness I have an awesome DEX score and made my Perception check!

Why yes! That is a 20+ foot long branch from a mass murdering pine tree!

Apparently it no longer wished to be committed to the tree.

I couldn't quite get my hands around it.

I am never checking the mail again. Plus now I need to add pine trees to my ever growing list of fears!

March Photo A Day - Where You Relax

I'm am truly sad that today is the last photo a day for me right now. Tomorrow starts the April Blogging A to Z challenge that as much as I am looking forward to, I am a little nervous about. I haven't a fully fleshed out theme not do I have more than five posts completed. I meant to work on them during March, but...meaning to and actually doing are to entirely different things.

Anyway, for today's photo I wanted to showcase a few places where I relax. I hope you enjoy!

This is my Adirondack chair that sits on my car port. We don't really use the carport for cars so it has turned into a patio of sorts. From this chair I survey my container garden, the girls playing in the yard and the squirrels scampering around looking for nuts. I like sitting out here in drinking tea in my jammies in the morning just as much as I like sitting here waiting for the girls to get home from school.

Our tent at a nearby campground. Not only is camping relaxing for me, but the girls too tell me how much better they feel camping. No stress, no phone, not internet, no T.V. Just us, a deck of cards and dead cow cooked over fire.

I've posted photos of Maine before. This one happens to be my favorite. One that I thought for the longest time had been lost when a certain husband (who shall not be named) crashed my computer. During a recent cleaning frenzy I happened upon a few CDs labeled "photos" and lo and behold, I actually had made a few back ups.

Going to Maine is like going home. Although things have changed since I lived there and spent my summers there, there is a feeling of peace, of relaxation, of love that I strongly associate with this small island cove. This is where my siblings and I played, where cousins met annually, where my family gathered, reminisced and loved, where my very best childhood memories took place.