Mea Culpa

 Okay, I did it again. I wandered away from the blog and then didn’t get up enough momentum to return till now.

          However, in my defense I’ve had a roaring cold for the past three weeks and still have a lurking cough that sneaks up, thus preventing me from returning to my yoga group, too. When the room is so silent you worry about someone being embarrassed by even a soft fart, you certainly don’t need me suddenly hacking up a lung.

          So, today I spent playing catch-up. My book club met on Wednesday and I went dancing in, saw the woman hosting this week collecting up the books and realized to my horror that I’d forgotten to call the library to order the ones for June. When I’m hosting.

          Funny, just the day before I’d exchanged nightmares with my hairdresser. He’d said that the common hairdresser dream is hordes of people arriving to the shop all for the same time slot. I shared my teacher one, in which I can’t find my classroom and when I get there I have none of the materials needed.

          And now I’d basically lived that in real life.

          So that Wednesday I quickly slunk over to the library desk and ordered the copies needed. They must have sensed my desperation because 12 of them arrived on Friday. (I still need 6 more.)

          Thus, today was spent ferrying the ones I did have to people’s homes. I will say it’s handy that the book club is all people in our complex so that wasn’t too much of a strain.

(And here is something that caught my attention as I walked by the library showcase. Isn't this a neat idea?)

Bringing the Florida cold with us

         We’ve landed; we’re officially now transplanted back to Massachusetts till next winter. Over the years, we’ve grown used to the three days of driving necessary to get here, but each year it feels just a bit more difficult. This year’s added bonus was that on day one My Guy was coughing. By day two he was coughing and sneezing and my eyes began to water. By day three all we wanted, sweet Jesus, was to get home.

Departure

 Today is a day of piles in the hall, cleaning the fridge, eating on paper plates, and packing the car. Not to mention all the Florida-specific tasks like placing DampRid (bagged granules that soak up moisture) in closets, and last-minute saran wrap over the toilets (discouraging evaporation and possible critters from pipes).

Marty puts down her drink and runs to the rescue.

 

       We’ve taken an almost proprietary interest in the little moorhen family that would appear and peck their way through the grass and water’s edge around our pond. Mom, Dad, and six tiny chicks, little black ping-pong balls. Their home base is probably the stand of grasses and water plants next to our bridge.

          While they’re good swimmers – sometimes diving under water to get to food – in spite of not having webbed feet (Thank you, Wikipedia), and can fly, I most often see the parents running hell-bent-for-leather across the ground as though they’re about to miss a bus.

         

So, there we were, My Guy and I, late one afternoon sitting fat and happy on the lanai, margaritas in hand, when he looks across to the bridge and says, “The otter’s after the moorhens!”  

          Well, we’re so invested in these little balls of fluff that when they appear near our unit, we always count to make sure all six babies are there. So, fueled by righteousness and alcohol, I leapt up, found my flip-flops and walked at top speed (no one wants to see me run) around two buildings, hoping to get to the scene of the crime in time.

          I rounded the second building and a second-floor couple standing on their lanai called down, “He’s after the chicks!”

          I clapped my hands loudly and a gray-black form shot out from the hedge next to the building and dashed back into the water. Let me tell you, he was huge, even bigger than our last sixteen pound house cat, what with that big thick tail.

          I marched back home, victorious. I hoped.

          That night, though, until the small hours of the morning, I could hear a bird calling with the regularity of an alarm that wouldn’t quit. I hoped it wasn’t the mom or dad calling for a missing chick.

          Ah well, I told myself, it’s the cycle of life. These are wild animals who live precarious lives. And so on and so forth. Sigh.

          And then, frabulous joy and excitement!! I looked outside today and saw both parents with all six chicks scrabbling away right outside our screens.

          We’re leaving here on Friday and none too soon. I want the happy end of this story to hold.

Rude Awakening

 

Tomorrow we’ll be listening as someone sings a thought we’ve all had – ‘If I were a rich man. . .’

Duty Done!

           Our next door neighbors here are so close that our porches sit side-by-side. We’re outwardly friendly, but like the big ole hypocrites we are, we avoid them with dodges and weaves worthy of any prizefighter in the ring.

Morning Constitutional

 

Another stroll around our quiet (especially now that many of us snowbirds have left) complex once again provided some unexpected sights.