Chaos and hunger at the holiday theme park

There are several un-written laws of Florida: Never tickle an alligator on its snout. Only on its tail. When sunning yourself, always rotate mid-way through cooking and make sure to baste. Always wear your formal flip-flops to important dress-up events, especially black tie.

But maybe most importantly, and the only “law” that should never be bent, broken or even slightly tinkered with is one every Floridian knows from birth: Don’t go to a theme park the week after Christmas.

It’s not just a violation, but also great way to risk life and limb. Not to mention your wallet.

Which is why I found it astonishing – even mind-blowing – to be sitting in a line of cars backed-up for almost a mile as we waited to get into the parking lot of Orlando’s Sea World … three days after Christmas.

“AAARRRGGHHHH!!!!” I growled. “I should have known better. I was raised smarter than this!”

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Resolving to be more goal-oriented in 2022

Happy new year to you all! I hope 2021 ended brightly, and that 2022 will be a beacon of hope, health and whatever the old year wasn’t. Plus, you win the lottery.

If you’re like me, you’re still trying to get a fix on what to expect in the new year. Maybe you were struggling with what kind of resolutions to make. I know I was. In fact, I found myself pondering what that old tradition even means. I went so far as to look up the word “resolve,” and the
Merriam-Webster dictionary defined it this way: “to make a definite and serious decision to do something.”

And then I finally understood why resolutions don’t work: Anyone can “make” a definite and serious decision – I resolve to invent faster-than-light space travel! – but who has the drive to actually follow through?

So, this year I decided to skip resolutions in favor of project management-approved goals that will come with action plans and data-driven results. It’s not too late for you to follow my lead, so I thought I would share with you my “Goals for 2022”:

• Wear more Adventure Pants – They’re not really called that. It’s a name my brother has given to this brand of utility dungarees that have cool pockets, stretchable fabric and the durability of petrified wood. His have gone one step further into the “adventure” category with holes burned in from campfires and poison ivy growing out of a pocket. They’re ridiculously comfortable, and call you to venture out into the wilds, replace the suspension on your vehicle or just sit down at your desk and write a really great action plan for wearing more Adventure Pants.

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The Christmas break house project extravaganza

Yeah! Sit around. Do nothing. Start the day with mimosas and a good book in bed. By myself! Yeah!

When I ended up with a bunch of unused vacation days at the end of the year, it seemed like magic. A gift. Like being a kid at the arcade. When you won a whole bunch of tickets in Skee-ball and went to the gift shop to redeem them. “Look at all the possibilities for them to rip me off!” Troll dolls. Gummy worms. Water pistols. Cheap plastic Army men with parachutes that don’t work. And lots of other things your mom will quickly round up and throw away. The world is magical! How can there be this much joy?

This was how I was feeling about my week off at home.

But we all know the myth about that. How quickly reality sets it, and the time off becomes something else entirely. Because while I might dream of lounging around and reading and working on my Skee-ball skills at some grungy arcade, the truth is my week got filled up with … house projects!

EGAD!!!

I did it to myself. No one else to blame. I front-loaded my time by taking on all manner of things I had pushed off for months. Even years.

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Christmas shopping early this year … for me!

I’ve always been a last-minute gift shopper. The kind of person who goes down to the wire. Like the dawn of Christmas is cracking over the horizon and I’m out in the shed trying to build my own 4K flatscreen TV because I waited too long to order it.

“The picture’s a little fuzzy, but that’s just WIFI issues,” I tell my family as I hang a piece of hastily cut and crudely painted plywood on the living room wall. “Just wait and you’ll see the colors pop!”

But this year, I’m taking no chances. I’m heeding the advice of experts, analysts and retailers who say that you can’t wait to do your shopping. A host of supply-chain and shipping issues combined with parts shortages and climbing prices have managed to make things we want more scarce, and more expensive.

Shoot, even if you’re giving the latest in high-tech toiler paper, you might be … well … something out-of-luck.

So, I’m pre-empting my procrastination and getting on the ball. I’m buying everything I can right away. Asking for ideas early, and placing orders left and right. Box-after-box of gifts are thrown over my fence. I have a cardboard fort of delivery items stacked up in my front room. I have no idea what most of them are. My keyboard keys and mouse were flying so fast, and I was just buying at random. Anything that popped up on my screen.

And I fear I’ve taken it too far.

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Thanksgivers dish out some gratitude

Sometimes we lose sight of how important Thanksgiving truly is. Caught up in the turkey or the parades or the standing in lines to buy ridiculously cheap flat-screen TVs, we forget about the need to give thanks and show gratitude. I know I do, and it’s why I need to stop and remind myself what the spirit of the holiday is all about. So, this week I thought I would take the time to show thanks for everything I’m appreciative of:

• I’m thankful for special, un-planned house repairs. Especially the ones that pop-up right before major holidays and demand emergency attention because people are coming in a matter of days. Like when some critters not only figured out how to get back into my attic, but also that it would be really funny to chew their way into some ductwork. Imagine their surprise when they discovered I don’t actually keep food in there. And imagine my surprise when I discovered the little pile of insulation beneath an AC duct caused by disappointed critters. That I would need to climb up there to do some varmint-proofing and ductwork-replacing so my guests don’t find their turkey and stuffing seasoned with a sprinkle of pink insulation. Oh, the joys of old-house living. For that, I give thanks.

• I’m thankful that when I told myself years ago, “You know, you should really clear out all this junk in the attic in case there’s an emergency repair needed to prevent familial humiliation right before a major holiday,” that I didn’t listen to myself. That I poo-poo-ed it. That I thought, “Yeah, like that will ever happen!” and just left all that junk piled up so present-day me would have to cart it out before I can even locate the ducts.

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Laboring through Labor Day

Ah, Labor Day! That annual holiday celebrating the hard work of so many men and women. And to honor them, we get to sit on our duffs and do absolutely nothing. Like me. Three straight days with nothing planned, prescribed or penciled-in, aside from sitting down with a good book in a comfortable chair and a beer the temperature of an arctic ice flow. Almost too cold … until I remember I live in Florida, and there is no such thing as “too cold!”

So, I just plop down, flip open my page and … huh. That’s interesting. There. See it? Hanging from the ceiling fan. Swinging from some translucent rope. Like Tarzan on a vine. Is that a … SPIDER!!!

Oh, well, I’ll just have to take care of that. I can’t sit here and read a book knowing that’s right there above me. I might try to concentrate. To tune it out. To say things like, “Cold beer makes problems go away.” But I know arachnid Tarzan would still be up there, watching me. Knowing that my ambivalence is a sign of my weakness. And that he can just invite all of his friends over to laugh at me and mock me and build webs that spell, “You look ridiculous in your little L.L. Bean slippers, silly human with only two arms.”

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Pulling off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day

How to make a perfect Mother’s Day? It’s all in the preparation. And the technique. And knowing not to say things to your wife like, “Wait, why do I have to do everything? You’re daughter’s the one you gave birth to! Why isn’t she doing the dishes?” Well, maybe not perfect. But here’s a look at how we pulled off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day this year in case you’re taking notes for future years:

• Be careful what you buy. For instance, my daughter came up with a great idea she saw online: A facial jade roller and skin massager. It sounded wonderful. Relaxes and soothes your face. Rolls across the skin, nourishing and replenishing your cells. Reduces line and wrinkles. WAIT!!! What?!? “Oh heck no!” I told her. “We can’t buy your mother something that is supposed to reduce wrinkles. That’s signing our own death warrant.” My daughter pointed out that she doesn’t have any wrinkles, and that it’s just something relaxing. But I wasn’t about to ruin Mother’s Day with a, “Hey, just in case you get some bags under your eyes, here’s a jade roller!” We would both be sleeping with the chickens.

• When your 15-year-old daughter yells from across the house, “Mom? Mom! MOM!!!” smile and say, “Isn’t it just the sweetest sound? Really captures the spirit of the day, and the wonders of being a mother, doesn’t it? I bet you’re SOOOO thankful right now.”

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A jelly jar’s worth of memories from 2020

We started a new tradition last year. In January 2020. You know “that” year. The little goblin. The stinker. Someone got it in their head that it would be a good idea for our family to chronicle each week’s “highlights.” Seemed like a good year to launch it, back when things first got started in 2020. So full of promise. A big, bright horizon ahead. Lots to look forward to and record for posterity.

And it probably would have been a good idea … ANY OTHER YEAR!

Each Sunday we would gather around the table for dinner – mother father and daughter jotting down our favorite memories, highlights or pretty much anything worth mentioning from the previous week. We would write them on a piece of paper, fold it up and put it in a glass jelly jar. The idea was this: a year later, on New Year’s Eve, we would open up the jar and as a family, read through all the little highlights. Remember all that had transpired in the passing year.

A jar full of remembrances. A 2020 time capsule.

What a great idea! Cue sound of blowing raspberry.

Of all the years.

But we did it. Not all year. There were huge gaps – whole weeks, and even months missing. A little spotty, but the jar filled nonetheless.

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A little closer together this Christmas thanks to tech

It sounded like someone playing the bagpipes on a cat. Out of tune and out of time. Discordant.

I looked up the definition of “discordant.” It said sounds that are “harsh and jarring because of a lack of harmony. Ie., playing the bagpipes on a cat.”

The melodious mess emanating from my computer speakers took place on Christmas Eve. Across Zoom. A family stretched through three states – Florida, Virginia and New York – all gathering together to sing – for the sake of the story, we shall call it “singing” – Christmas carols.

Even without the coronavirus, many wouldn’t be together on Christmas thanks to the distance or the cost or other familial commitments. But now, here they were, joining one another for songs likes “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” and “Jingle Bells.” Butchering them.

But if not in key, definitely in unison.

Thank you, 2020. This year, you taught us that technology could finally live up to its promise of bringing us closer together. That it could be useful and essential, not just cool, gimmicky and an escape. Most of the time we think of tech as transporting us away – in revolutionary video games, in the promise of perfect pictures through ever-thinner TV screens, in isolating wireless earphones.

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Reflections on 2020: A @#!%$ year like no other

It was a pretty haphazard, thrown-together Christmas card. Conceived, shot, produced and sent to the store for printing in no time at all. We’re talking less than an hour. Maybe a record!

We crowded around the Christmas tree in whatever we were wearing. We had a dog, a cat, a chicken and a blind Florida yard lizard. All the while a camera on a crooked mount fired off photos. The lighting was mediocre at best. We took at most five shots, found one where the dog didn’t look deranged and then uploaded it to a digital Christmas card template with holly around the edges. We sprinkled in some words my wife heard somewhere:

“It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

It sounded like a song. A refrain. Something a kid says after launching himself on a bike off a wobbly ramp and plowing face-first into the dirt. Pop-up as quick as you can like nothing catastrophic just happened. Lift your hands high into the air to show your bones are still nominally attached. Smile through the terrible pain, and the fact that some gravel is now permanently affixed to your skull. Scream out in sing-song fashion: “It’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.” Then collapse in a heap and wait for the sirens to arrive.

All-in-all, kind of sums up 2020, doesn’t it? Just get through it. Get done with it. As quick as you can. As best you can. Everyone will give you a pass. It’s a COVID-Christmas. NEXT!!!

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