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:
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 …”
Taking the fitness challenge … thanks to Thor
I don’t like challenges. You know, those Internet crazes? The dance challenges (can’t dance.) The eat-more-kale challenges (hate kale.) And the ever-annoying fitness challenges (don’t need it … hypnotized myself to believe I’m already fit.)
But I DO like cookies. And this love of mine seems to be taking a small toll on me recently. Maybe all of this working from home has made me slightly more sedentary. Or the stress of work combined with the pandemic has had an effect. Maybe I’m not running as much as I used to, or my age is catching up to me a little bit.
Add to that the fact that my kitchen looks like a grocery store cookie aisle.
One of the best parts about working from home is the readily available supply of cookies at my immediate disposal. In the middle of any video conference, no matter how important it is, I can say, “Oh, I’m so sorry … can you hold on one sec. Minor emergency,” and duck out to grab a cookie. It’s reason No. 1 most Americans don’t want to return to the office.
But it certainly comes with its downsides. Or should I say, EXPANDING-sides. That’s what I started noticing recently. First, when I dropped a notch in my belt. And second, when I ordered a new pair of running shorts in the size I’ve always worn, only to find them a little more “form-fitting.” You know … SNUG!
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!
And then I guess we’re off to high school …
Hold on! Let’s just hold on one minute!
Because I need to get this straight. I need to consult the calendar. I’m not sure it has totally sunk down into the recesses of my spongy brain, where actual working cells still live and breathe. I don’t think – as many times as my wife has told me … and she has told me a lot! – this fact has completely registered with me.
So, hold on … let’s work this out: We’re somewhere in the middle of May … haven’t fully figured out when, but somewhere. May is, if memory serves, traditionally the end of the school year. My daughter’s middle school has said this last week was it for new assignments in their online-learning environment. And this next week, which is when exams would have been if not canceled, is kind of the last week. At least, I think … scratching my chin … if I heard all this correctly.
Anyway, forget the details and complex calendar-ing. My point is this: The end of my daughter’s eighth grade year is upon us.
Which really means: The end of her middle school CAREER is just days away.
Giving up on taming the un-tameable hair
I’m coming to terms with … my hair.
I know there are bigger problems in the world. More important things to worry about. People out there really suffering. Physically. Financially. Mentally. I get that, and I feel petty about this.
But still, I’m coming to terms with this right now.
It’s been a life-long struggle … my hair. A reckoning even. At times, depending on the humidity, some might call it an existential crisis. I would.
Our hair, like it or not, helps to define us. That’s why we spend so much time obsessing over it. Cutting and coloring it. “Styling” it. Trying not to lose it. Making sure that when we go out, it represents who we are. Or, who we want to be. It projects and speaks and says, “Look here! This is me!”
For much of my life, I’ve been trying to tame mine. To control it. Some people comb or part their hair. I’ve always waged war. I see each morning as a running battle between good and evil. Two great (or at least slightly-above-mediocre) warriors facing off in the mirror, preparing for a battle of epic proportions.
Me? I am the good, and slightly ordinary, night who wants to instill peace and order – complete, inconspicuous flatness across the land atop my head. No unruliness. Nobody out of line. Nothing that draws any kind of unwanted attention. If my hair could speak, I would want it to say, “Nothing to see here. Please move along.”
Finding some freedom in a socially-distanced kayak excursion
I knew I made a mistake when I sent the text.
Ever do that? Write a text or email, hit send and then think to yourself, “Wait a minute! What the heck did I just unleash!?!”
It was to my brother. The text read: “So what are you all doing this weekend? Amelie is wondering if a canoe expedition might be possible.”
The reply was immediate: “It is. Would you be rockin’ The Sea Eagle or did you grab an aluminum canoe?”
Mind you, I don’t have any flotation devices. “The Sea Eagle” is his inflatable kayak that is pretty easy to haul around, sturdy and can be blown up on short notice. But in my brother’s parlance, the name is less a brand or product, and more like Mel Gibson yelling, “FREEDOM!” in “Braveheart.” He talks about “The Sea Eagle” like it’s another family member – like they hangout and share a beer while discussing politics and manly things; like they peered into each other’s souls and formed a union.
My daughter had been asking about doing this for a while. Trying to get us all together. Trying to get me to buy a canoe. Trying to get us to go on one of these expeditions that my brother cooks up with his 6-year-old son, Striker. She’s gone on a couple as they traipse through the woods looking for old, forgotten railroad lines or “artifacts” along the Intracoastal that could be ancient Native American pottery, or maybe petrified poop. It’s kind of a hit-or-miss thing.
Just a waitin’ on my stimulus check …
If you got your stimulus check from the IRS, hooray for you! Seriously … I mean that. Hoo-ray! I’m glad for you. It’s just that, I haven’t gotten mine yet, and while I’m not desperate for it – I have snacks! – I do kind of want it. Because it’s mine. And I kind of feel like, well, you got yours, so … WHERE’S MINE!?!
But I haven’t gotten it yet. I know this because I check my bank account roughly 700 times a day … to the point that the tips of my fingers have gone numb and I’m starting to hallucinate about the IRS logo chasing me through the desert. (I mean, what is that logo? An eagle proudly doing his taxes or something?)
Again, don’t worry about me financially. I just get a little neurotic about things. When I was late for my own birth, I started knocking on my mother’s womb and calling out, “Hell-OOOO! Can we get a move on here?!?”
Maybe you’re like me: Wanting that money. So I have put together some helpful hints on finding out more information on your check, as well as coping with the frustration of waiting for it to arrive in your bank account:
• This is extremely important, as in everything I’ve read all experts recommend this: Check your bank account 700 times a day. Do it until the tips of your fingers go numb and you start to hallucinate about the IRS logo chasing you through the desert. It doesn’t matter if you just checked it 3 seconds ago. Because maybe at that moment the direct deposit was still processing and now it’s in there. Yeah, good point. Hold on a second while I go … DANG! Where is it?
Things you learn grocery shopping for a college student
It was a bit of a scare earlier this month. One of my college students came down sick, and during times like these, you take that seriously. He self-quarantined himself for a little over a week before eventually getting a coronavirus test. Thankfully, it came back negative. What a relief! That had been an unnerving time, and it gets you thinking about things, like how you should never take your health for granted. Or how strong these bonds between teachers and students can be. Or how strange the grocery buying habits of college students are.
I learned this after offering to pick him up some groceries. When I asked how he was situated for food, he told me he had a few cans of soup and that he would be alright. Oh, OK. Sure! “Text me a list and I’ll pick you up something,” I remember writing him, thinking a carton of ramen noodles and a bag of beef jerky would do the trick.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
All the news that’s also news in the midst of a pandemic
There must be other news out there. Out there in the universe. Something new. News stories that aren’t solely focused on the one item that none of us seem able to escape or get away from for one merciful minute: “Tiger King!” No … I mean coronavirus.
But either one, man. Try to find a station, newspaper or media feed where those two aren’t dominating. And I don’t mean to make light of it. I know it’s serious business, but we all need a break. We need a chance to catch our breaths and read something else – to know that there is a world out there that isn’t only about death rates, what the president said or why the greatest country on the planet STILL can’t put more toilet paper on grocery store shelves.
I mean, seriously! We have developed phones that will video-conference us anywhere in the world and vehicles that are road-tripping around Mars, but even the single-ply stuff is impossible to come by!
So for you, my loyal readers (all eight of you), I made it my focus, my challenge, my duty to search high and low for the best news that isn’t getting to you. The news that is still happening, but gets buried under the constant barrage of coronavirus/Tiger King coverage. Consider this your escape – your few minutes of relief and sanctuary before you return to the maelstrom that surrounds us 24-7:
• Story No. 1: … OK, hold on …