The magic of Christmas decorating with dead lights and lizards

Ah, the decorating for Christmas. Nothing speaks more to who you are as a person, not to mention your familial skills, than how you handle the annual tradition of turning your home into a holiday extravaganza. Most see it as a festive, joyous occasion that lets family come together and bond. Hooray!

OR … a complete disaster when everything goes wrong and two lizards get loose in the house. Because … yeah … 2020. Booo! But I imagine these are common events as people dress up their domiciles for the holidays. How many of these traditions did you cross off your to-do list this year?

• Only in Florida do you get lizards perched atop a Christmas tree like the traditional star, or maybe even a Baby Jesus. In other parts of the country you might worry about snow or leaves or even squirrels getting lodged into your tree. But Floridians have to think about shaking out reptiles. I didn’t, so we ended up with two of the little buggers running around and needing to be corralled. “Oh, just leave him,” my daughter pleaded. “Look how majestic he looks up there surveying the land.”

• Then there are the Christmas tree lights that don’t light. That’s OK. Nothing lasts forever, and thank goodness they supplied extra bulbs and fuses. But I ask you this: In all your years of Christmas decorating, have you ever got a string of lights to spring back to life thanks to extra bulbs and fuses? I never have. I immediately turn to the fuses, always thinking, “Hey. I’m Mr. Fixit. I’ll save the day because I know stuff and my family will celebrate me as a hero!” What I don’t know is that replacing fuses that are about the size of dust mites requires the same kind of microsurgery equipment found only in the top hospitals.

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The Lizard Hospital opens for patients

“Good morning, Lizard Hospital. How may I help you? Oh, I see. You’re looking for a family of suckers who will take in injured everyday Florida yard lizards, nurse them back to health and potentially adopt them for life? Yep! You’ve come to the right place. Let me just go flush the rest of my sanity down the toilet and I’ll be right with you.”

My house is now … a lizard hospital.

There are two reptilian ICU containers sitting in my dining room. Stuffed with grass and sticks and pieces of drying ground beef. YouTube videos are on the computer about caring for injured lizards. A syringe sits in a bowl of water in the kitchen waiting for my daughter to dribble drops into their mouths.

I hope these two critters have insurance. Someone is going to have a hefty bill for this top-shelf care.

It all started a week ago. My daughter returned from walking the dog to recount the trauma she had witnessed: A massacre! Lizard carcasses scattered about the sidewalk. (There was a flat frog in the street, too, but that was a different problem. Speeders!) The lizards must have had a run-in with a cat. An angry cat. With a grudge. He left the broken bodies as a warning to others.

“It was awful!” she said. “There was just one survivor. And as you can see, he’s not doing so well.” She shoved the lizard in my face. He had one eye bulging out. It’s an image you’ll never forget.

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Fear the Florida hurricane jinx

Don’t jinx it.

Whatever you do, DO NOT jinx it. Because for large parts of Florida, it’s going pretty well. In a record hurricane season like no other, so far we are doing pretty … NO! Don’t think it. Don’t say it. Don’t write it.

It’s not going pretty well. It’s going terrible. We’re literally running out of storm names. The say we start using the Greek alphabet if we run through all the names. Which is crazy because who even knew the Greeks had their own alphabet? And when was the last time Greece was even threatened by a tropical cyclone? So, where do they get off getting to name our storms with their letters? That’s crazy!

Personally, I think the areas most-at-risk should be allowed to do a write-in campaign to name them. Then we can get some really good names like: Little Swirly, ‘Ole Crooked Tail or The One That Licked Us. How about “Tiger Chomp?” Man, that would be good, wouldn’t it? I would take a Tiger Chomp over a Vicky or a Zeta. Besides, Greek alphabet-named storms are going to sound like a bad frat party in the Atlantic.

OK, back on topic: Don’t jinx it. Don’t let it creep into your mind. Don’t think we’re in the clear. Don’t you dare say, “maybe none are going to hit us this year.” Ugh! I feel sick even typing that.

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Predictions for the rest of a jinxed year

Yeah, it’s 2020. A year ruled by Murphy’s Law, that good ‘ole adage about anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. And go wrong in spectacular fashion. In fact, “go wrong” might include one of your body parts spontaneously combusting, and then you get attacked by a murder hornet … WITH MANGE!

All in the actual law. Look it up.

We’re eight months into the year, and if you’re keeping track, we’ve had a major pandemic, an economic crisis, riots and unrest, wildfires in California, some weather event in the Midwest called a “derecho” (I thought that was a breakfast burrito, but apparently that’s not right) and most recently two hurricanes in the Gulf nearly colliding in an ultimate violation of social distancing. Earlier models even called for the two storms to meet on Bourbon Street, which would have just about topped it all.

So, if you’re like me, you’re asking yourself, “What else could possibly go wrong in 2020?” And if you’re like me, you should NEVER ask dumb questions like this because the universe will promptly respond: “Are you mocking me? How about I make your pinky finger spontaneously combust and send a murder hornet for you!”

We still have a rip-roaring presidential election to go, a long hurricane season to slog through and another four months before we can flick 2020 the middle finger goodbye. What else could go wrong? I’ve decided to try and answer that question with a few predictions and prognostications that might come to pass before the dawn of a glorious new year:

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Things Floridians forget we shouldn’t do in August

Oh … right! So, that’s why you’re not supposed to get back into running in August … in Florida … when you can melt tar on your forehead.

Yeah. Oh yeah … it’s hot!

I spent all summer getting out of shape, so why not pick this perfect, balmy month to start getting back into it? It’s beautiful outside. The trees are bursting into flames. The oxygen molecules boil as you inhale them. Your shoes stick to the pavement if you stand too long in one place. And all around you, people can be heard saying: “That poor moron is gonna’ die. Look away from the running dead man!”

Welcome to August.

It occurred to me on one of these runs that we true Floridians – not exactly God’s gift to the IQ farm – never quite remember just how bad August gets. Because we’re Floridians! We like to shrug it off and say things like, “Heat? Ha! I spoon it on my cereal and eat it for … wait … which meal is that?”

We revel in the heat. We excel in the heat. We wear it like a badge of honor.

And then we get to August, remember how miserable it is and wonder why we chose to live in THIS state when people in other parts of the world are wearing light sweaters and saying things like, “Buffy, darling, can you throw another log on the fire before the guests come over for crudités? We don’t want them to catch chill.”

Man, I wanna’ “catch chill” and eat August crudités!

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Hooked on space and riding to the Heavens

Maybe it’s a desire to get out of here – to break the COVID-inspired cabin fever – but I’ve been hooked by the space bug recently. Anything space-related that might take me to the Heavens above, both literally and figuratively.

Or maybe it’s that for the first time in a long time, space is at the forefront again. There are so many exiting missions and moments and milestones. Rockets are constantly rising from Cape Canaveral. American astronauts are launching from American soil again, and splashing down in must-see events. Plutonium-powered planetary rovers as big as SUVs are Mars-bound. A tricked-out dune buggy named Perseverance stuffed with so many fascinating experiments that science geeks need therapy just to figure out which to get the most excited about.

Meanwhile, SpaceX is testing its giant “Starship” launch vehicle that looks straight out of Buck Rogers and promises to take humans to the moon and even Mars. That way actual people can ride around on the plutonium-powered dune buggy. Tee up more therapy for science geeks.

I’m fascinated by it all, too. Like how the Mars rover Perseverance is carrying a mini helicopter so it can test out flying on the Red Planet. Which to me is just the pinnacle of audacity. I take my daughter’s drone out here on Earth, and in 5 minutes I’ve made it a permanent Christmas ornament in a pine tree. But know-it-all, fancy-pants Perseverance is going to drive out into the middle of an open field, set his little bugger off and probably nail it on the first try. He doesn’t even have to worry about pine trees!

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We have to hurricane plan in a pandemic? Ouch!

OK, so hurricane season is here and we’ve already had three named storms. Forecasters are calling for an overly active season, and the tropics are spitting them out like a drunken shooting gallery. Add on top of that we’re still in the midst of a pandemic and it’s enough to make you go crazy … or move to Iowa.
Emergency officials always warn us to prepare early for the possibility of storms, but this year they’re also saying to take into consideration how coronavirus has thrown an extra wrench into the mix. Yeah, great! Because there wasn’t enough to think about before. So, as a certified “storm preparation artiste” and a year-round worry wart, I’m here to offer a few helpful tips on getting ready for this year’s season, which might just be a doozy:

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Getting along with gators on a lazy Florida river

Only in Florida do you float along next to one of nature’s most dangerous predators and think to yourself, “Hey, look at that … now, where did we put the pretzel chips?”

And it was upon that realization that I started to wonder if we’re alright. We Floridians.

There we were, kayaking along Silver Springs. Paddling through the turquoise waters and lazy river grass. My daughter had asked if I thought we would see any alligators. My wife had warned us both. She had a bit of a dream about it. Not a good one. More of a nightmarish premonition. I think it somehow involved us being devoured by a gator on some kind of fancy cracker.

She was nervous about the two of us going, in particular because earlier in the week a curator at the St. Augustine Alligator Farm had been bitten and pulled from a canoe while retrieving some photo equipment. Luckily, even while injured, he was able to get himself to safety. He was an expert and knew what to do. If something happened to us, though, what chance did we stand?

Our epitaph would read: Went out as an adornment atop a fancy cracker.

Did I think we would even see any alligators, my daughter asked as we cruised along. Nah! Probably too many people on the river. Or the spring water was too cold. Or too much shade when they could be out on some sun-drenched bank somewhere soaking it in and …

“Hey, look at that …”

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The travel bug dashed by the corona bug

What does a socially-distancing summer trip planning aficionado do without plans for a summer trip?

That’s what I’m wrestling with as we reach the doorstep of the summer travel season. It’s Memorial Day Weekend, and the biggest plans most of us have is a journey to the grocery store. At least we get to dress up … by wearing a mask.

I don’t mean to complain. My family and I are healthy. We have jobs. We have toilet paper. And remarkably, we’re all still talking to each other.

But like everyone, boy, do we long to be free. Back to the good, old healthy days when you could come and go as you please. No concern for where you went or who you talked to. And you could safely plot out summer treks that took you to far-off exotic lands filled with adventure and intrigue. Like Orlando!

Or somewhere even further, and more exotic. Where there are waterfalls. Or cotton candy machines. Or skyscrapers. Or travel scams by street hustlers who can spot you a mile away because your shirt screams, “Easiest money you’ll make all day!”

Man, what I wouldn’t give to be ripped off right now!

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Worried eyes and healing eyes as we all come to terms with coronavirus

The two women in the grocery store checkout line were buying pudding packs. Lots of them.

“We’ll eat these first,” said the younger of the two women reassuringly. The older woman seemed frail. From a pocket, she pulled a tissue and dabbed her nose. The other woman took out a bottle of hand sanitizer and squeezed it into her hands. She rubbed them together.

The woman slowly turned her head and looked up at me. The older woman.

I was standing there with a cart full of groceries. This was the weekend before things got really “interesting.” Before you couldn’t find chicken or toilet paper or stuff you never thought stores would run out of. Or at least, not when there wasn’t a tropical cyclone spinning off the Florida coast.

That weekend, things were only slightly off-kilter. Slightly hushed. Slightly concerned. The reality wasn’t setting in yet. People who went to the grocery store that early in the morning looked at each other in ways I haven’t fully come to terms with. They jumped when they heard someone cough. They walked the aisles solemnly. They paused near the cleaning supplies or the respiratory relief pills and stared. Did they need them? Were they overreacting?

Sometimes they just looked at each other, like they didn’t know what to say.

Like the older woman dabbing her nose.

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