A New Holiday Tradition

This year I wanted to initiate a special gathering with friends to celebrate Christmas and the completion of another year. Dinner or breakfast--argh. Another reason to eat this time of year is not cool. A party at my place--there's enough stuff strewn all over with decorations and I can't stand the stress of people crowding in here.

So I decided on a Holiday Nature Walk at Robinson Preserve.  Today was the day, and naturally it was the one day in the last twenty years it has rained here in December. Okay, yes, that may be a slight exaggeration about the twenty years. But it is not an exaggeration to let you know how many times I dropped the f-bomb while driving to the preserve.

As the windshield wipers went back and forth, I wondered how many of the 20 great ladies planning to come to Bradenton from Sarasota would make it and how many would actually want to walk in this weather. On a Sunday morning, there wasn't much room for a Plan B.

One by one, they all showed up except two. They were ready for an adventure. Not one suggested we didn't go or looked unenthused. Decked out in varying degrees of rain coats, umbrellas, hoods and quilted jackets, we set out.  We had a unbelievably peaceful walk in the light rain and soft mist through the preserve. Small groups formed and re-formed differently throughout the few miles as old friends saw acquaintances and new people met for the first time.  I enjoyed it all and am thankful to know such a great assemblage of women.

We shared a simple lunch at Atlanta Bread afterward. I returned to the house and read and napped for half of the afternoon. I'm thinking the others did the same.

I love the new tradition and hope to do it every year.

My Other Dog Face, Stream of Consciousness

So I marched down to the neighbor's house this evening and discovered that...

a.) It was not their sweet, old, shiter-spreading dog barking all night.
b.) They have taken in a second dog they found wandering around the street and have relentlessly tried to find its home for 4 days. That's not the dog barking either. They don't know what to do. The shelter here is full, and the pound carries an uncertain future.

The irresponsible person with the barking dog lives behind them. It barks all day. And it barks all night.

What is it with people and animals?!

The sound of the barking, obviously carrying farther in the cold air, resumed by 6:00 p.m. this evening. 
(Wait, does sound really travel farther in cold air? See answer.)

Neither my problem listening to the barking nor the dog's problem being left outside without care are resolved by this knowledge. And I feel pretty bad for the neighbors I labeled as the culprits at this point. They can't escape it, no matter what, because of their proximity.

So I have already established my love for all things animals with you, right? But let's just say I do not like to see pooches (however lovely they are) inside of stores or on airplanes. I looked up in Ann Taylor not long ago--stop me if I told you this already--and saw some lady with a snotty dog in a purse. "WTF," I thought, "this ain't no PetSmart."

Last week a plane bound for Phoenix landed in Pittsburgh because an 89 year old passenger's dog decided to let itself out of its little kennel. It bit another passenger and the flight attendant. Really? What the hell are dogs doing on planes again?  I forgot.

I feel sort of two-faced about the whole thing. My dog is a part of my family and I feel that pets should be treated as such. But there are certain places meant for humans--like places with tight spaces in which you've paid for a seat (and cannot escape) and places selling new goods or food you don't want to have touched by pet dander or hair.

Is that fair?  OMG! The dog stopped barking...

...Never mind, something was just loud on the tv.

I'd Like My Neighbors To Enjoy Being Outside Overnight in 32 Degrees

Maybe then they would have a greater understanding of how their dogs felt last night.

You screw with animals, and you're not really on my good side.

Around 4 am this morning, I heard a number of dogs barking on our street--dogs who had been left outdoors in the freezing temperatures we're experiencing here. In addition to being awake for quite a while after a very long work day yesterday, I can't sleep and am outraged at this irresponsibility.

Dogs are not objects. They deserve to be nurtured and taken care of. If you can't do it, don't own a dog. Don't "try it" and give the dog up if you can't handle it. Don't even make that decision to go there by getting one in the first place.

I called the police twice in the last two hours. When they arrived on the street, three of the barking dogs were just walking around the street.

I understand these things happen. Accidents occur. Dogs go under fences or escape through unsecured doors. But really? On a night when it's freezing here in Florida?

I know one household to which a barker from this long early morning belongs. The dog has been a wanderer for quite some time and is frequently found taking its morning constitutional in our backyard. I feel terrible for the dog--it's old and not well cared for. The problem is, the alternative is death in the pound. They don't go to great lengths to adopt old dogs out. They get euthanized.

I believe these neighbors have had difficult financial circumstances, but I'm so disappointed that they aren't doing what's best for their pet--or the neighborhood. And they're going to get a knock on the door from me when I get home this afternoon.

Sucking Your Fingers? Really?

This morning I took my car in for the dreaded oil change. Something irks me about the fact that you have to do anything but put gas in a car after you've spent all that money. ...Yeah, I know, typical girl.

Anyway, the staff of Honda Cars of Bradenton stocked the waiting room with coffee and doughnuts that actually looked fresh and delish. I didn't dare touch them of course, but noticed that the other three in the room enjoyed them.

How do I know this? Was it because I noticed them standing before the doughnuts, selecting their picks? No. Was it because I could smell the pastries wafting past as they were carried to the chairs behind me? No.

It was because I could hear each person loudly licking and sucking on his fingers as he ate. WTF? Does anyone have manners anymore?  That noise disgusts me. I'm a Southern girl, and I did learn my Southern manners. Sucking on your fingers--especially in public--is pretty gross. True, we weren't at the Ritz, but still... spare me the sound effects.

I know there are much worse things going on in the world. Tell me about it.

Not a Good Sort of Record

It's a fact: in my part of Bradentucky, an item put on the street corner has a shelf life of t-minus 5 minutes. Someone will come along and pick it up for re purposing, drive off, and you'll forget it was ever in your possession. And that's just the way you want it.

No one living on the street wants to be that exception to unspoken the 5 minute rule.

So let's just say I'm not too proud that we're on the verge of breaking a record for our street. Our Flanders-ized couch has been sitting out there for 3 days and it's getting really, really lonely.

If a calculation loving reader is planning to tell me how many times we've surpassed the 5 minute mark in the many 5 minute periods comprising the last 3 days, you're not doing my pride any favors.

Thanks a lot, you worthless trash collecting picker uppers! Now the City is going to have to call what husband refers to as "The Claw." How embarrassing.

MargaritaTime

If I had to rate this week on an annoyingness scale of 1-10, I'd give it an 8. Sure, a score of 8 is nothing approaching a 10+, but it was just enough to put me in that space where I long for complete isolation from reality.

Each day I've started with a plan in mind and not much later, the entire thing is derailed with 75 new things that weren't even invented 15 minutes earlier. But such is life, right? If you can't be flexible, you'll have issues.

Last night after some much needed rain (ahhh, I love that sound), the weather turned and we're experiencing the first real taste of Fall here in Florida. It's that kind of delicious temperature that keeps you nestled in the covers and apparently also keeps your cell phone alarm on "silent" so you don't realize you're late as hell for work. I awoke with a startle this morning but was able to get ready in 20 minutes.

The weekend should provide a lovely reprieve from the insanity of the last 5 days.

We enjoyed a nice stroll in Bradenton's Village of the Arts this evening. Tomorrow morning, I'm meeting a friend going solo at Robinson Preserve for what promises to be a cool and delightful walk through some of the most gorgeous restored habitat in Manatee County.  When friends sleep in, you gotta forgive them.

And tomorrow evening, Husband and I are looking forward to the Girls, Inc. fundraiser on Longboat Key. That organization makes a tremendous difference in the lives of girls. The dedicated organizational leadership, its innovative programs and the stories I hear of girls who have a new sense of confidence are all prime examples of what good nonprofits do.

Margarita, anyone?  I'm in the mood for a nice cocktail.

A Strange and Unpleasant Morning at School

I awoke in the middle of the night really, really pissed. After trying to get in touch with D-Man's science teacher through phone and e-mail for well over a week about a very pressing problem, on Tuesday morning I resorted to calling the vice principal. He assured me he would take care of it, yet alas, as of Wednesday evening, I had heard nothing.

So during what has now become now my standard 1:00 a.m. wake up call with Flanders, I started stewing to the point that I just couldn't get back to sleep.

I showed up at the school this morning at 8:15 a.m. and vowed to wait in the office until VP arrived. And wait I did.

After over an hour (oh yes, it's been a fine week for Gropius), Husband and I were becoming increasingly agitated.  A semi-comic relief entered the office area, and it was just so bizarre at the time...but now, of course I'm feeling the terror of what she actually described. Terror for the animal that is.
 
So picture it. We're sitting there, arms crossed in frustration, watching the scene...

• Lingering students who, for whatever reason, weren't in class
• Non-English speaking parents struggling to converse with the receptionist about a bus stop at a seemingly non-existent address
• A grandmother storming in with her grandson who had been bullied on the bus
• A half dressed mother enrolling her student in school

"Middle school in 2010," I thought. "Jesus, is this a school...for real?"

Now that you have the scene in your mind, enter stage right a very overweight woman wearing a sundress and lots of bling on the fingers. She's carrying a dog that is dressed in a baby's onesie. Um okay, now we have dogs in the school? (And keep in mind, I am a dog lover, but really, at school?)  She sits down beside Larry and allows the dog to start running around the office. No one seems to care.

And then it gets weirder. She begins to tell us--along with everyone else within a 300 ft. radius who isn't consumed with the other disturbing issues going on--about how she really "don't know nothing about no dogs." ...How her former dog was "just like this one," but "I stepped on it in the middle of the night and caused trauma to its head" and "after I paid $2,000 in vet bills they had to put it to sleep anyway."

"So I just up and got a new one. $2,000 this one cost me too. Mmmm hmmm," she continued.

She got up and left, came back in with the dog 5 or 10 minutes later and left again. I have no freaking idea what she was even doing in the office. It was like a scene from Candid Camera, except no one came in to surprise us with the big joke.

I wish this had an interesting ending, but that's all she wrote for my storytelling skills tonight. I'm absolutely exhausted. And wondering if I'm still in the after 1 a.m. realm...maybe this day never happened.

Yes--I wish. But today was only a day, and there are much worse things going for others. Perspective: I try.

Crossing the Line

I know, I know, it's a big no-no to get political on your blog, unless it's a political blog.  And religion, I shouldn't go there either.  So I'm going to do both in one post.

I was alarmed at my level of upset today when, on the way to work, I passed a man holding a sign advocating for a local political candidate (himself?) reading "Christian Leadership."

See, I have nothing against Christians. Muslims. Buddhists. Jews. In fact, I believe that all of the great religions in the world reach the same basic truths but get there in different ways. Different customs. Different pictures of God. But I happen to see it as the same God. 

I've had enough with division over this in America. It's time for this to end, to move on.

There are still people who still don't understand that we live in a country where there's a separation between church and state. Some of these people are already in office. Some are running for election.  It's usually the same people who don't recognize that "morality" and "ethical" behavior cross religions lines--they aren't any more or less inherent in Christianity than in any other religion. Those who use religion to back up violence or to judge others aren't truly living the messages expressed in their religion. They're practicing an altered version that leads to an unraveling of peace and truth and an uprising in anger and hatred.

By the message on the sign alone, its owner communicated two things to me:

1. I disrespect one of our country's founding premises--that old separation between church and state thing again.
2. I disrespect voters who are not Christian.

Religion doesn't have a place in American politics. Morality, ethics--yes. (I'd love to actually see them there.)

My freedom to choose, practice and express my religion is just that--mine.  It's not my business to judge you or prevent you from believing what you hold dear.  We're all prevented from that when our federal, state or county representatives are vocal advocates for one religion above another, in the midst of their public service or while advocating for votes. 

Pad Thai Karaoke

We finally found a good Thai restaurant near our house. It’s a small family-owned business with authentic and reliably good food. The service and atmosphere are friendly...and let’s just say "slightly unusual."


The waitress we inevitably secure during each visit is a young woman who is probably in her mid-twenties but who looks much younger. For whatever reason, she is insulting and daring with Husband in a playful way that could get her in to big trouble if the wrong person walked in who didn’t find it so funny.

She’s pleasant and accommodating but never cracks a smile. She teases him relentlessly about his baldness and his inability to handle “Thai hot,” asserting that trying to eat spicey foods is how Husband lost his hair. She enjoys bantering him by repeatedly egging him on with “you’re such a baby,” etc. Husband is a great sport about it and the whole thing has been entertaining.

Has been are the key words here. Last night we decided that it’s getting sort of old, and though we appreciate her “different” style, we both commented that we weren’t really in the mood for it.

On Saturday night, “entertainment” is provided. This usually consists of a member of the family in full dress dancing around, or in last night’s case, singing on a tiny stage using a karaoke machine.

Hmmm.

Upon walking in the door, we were immediately greeted by the singing woman, who was draped in a tight fitting, black two-piece ensemble with sequined fringes dangling about her. She stopped singing while still clutching the microphone and escorted us to the table, directly in front of the stage.

At this point, it felt a little awkward. We were the only two people sitting in that section and had a direct view of her performance. True, she had a lovely voice and the Thai songs were a nice touch. Her movements were a little tight and sort of Elaine Benes-like (Seinfeld). Between songs you could hear her platform shoes clunking across the wooden mini-stage as she selected a new ditty, and you could see the blue screen scrolling words. Do we clap? Do we stare at her to provide an audience? Do we look up approvingly every now and then?

Meanwhile, our waitress approached and immediately lit into Husband. She remembered our most recent visit, a mid-July birthday dinner for Husband with the larger family. (Husband is still a few years shy of 40 and looks his age.)

“So how does it feel to be 50?” she said.

Husband was ready. “I don’t know. How does it feel to be 12?” he retorted.

I think she got it. She made haste in taking our order.



Then things got weirder. The lovely entertainer singing traditional Thai songs started selecting tunes by artists one would never expect to hear in such an environment, like old school Carpenters and John Denver.

The apex of our experience occurred when we listened to the Pad Thai Karaoke rendition of “Take Me Home, Country Road.” I’ll leave it to your imagination. You can probably enjoy the “mounteeeen mama” and “West Virgineeeeee” aspects in your mind. (Please anonymous, jump in with your spelling corrections.)

We were relieved when the stage was left vacant. It’s not that we didn’t appreciate her. Again, her voice was lovely. The whole thing was just weird. And sometimes, you just want to eat.

Still, we would recommend the place any day. Love the food, love it when you can enjoy a family-owned and operated establishment, and love it that the unexpected awaits us.

Gropius Meets Psycopath

I've been listening to a series on NPR this week about the brain of a psychopath. It's only natural that it would end with an experiential look at the subject today.

I should have known something was off kilter from the start this morning. I was working from home until a 10 a.m. appointment at a local tv station. I reached into my purse to get out some cash for D-Man's camp carnival and my wallet wasn't there.  Thankfully, I was able to call work to find out I had left it on my desk.

When I got in the car a few minutes late to get to the appointment, I remembered my thinking and planning from last night: "I really need gas but I don't feel like getting it now. I'll just leave for my meeting early in the morning to get it."

The only problem was I was running late. And oh. I didn't have any money. Husband was long gone for work. Wallet was at work. That's right.

So I managed to make it to the tv station, but as I was approaching it, something not good happened.

There was a guy in a car behind me who evidently thought I was going straight, not turning right. He was pulling one of those deals where he sped up to make a right turn in a non-existent side lane. Therefore, when he turned right, I was turning right...right on top of him. We came within inches of a collision. Both of us stopped and then I proceeded into the parking lot.

Looking behind me in my review mirror, I could see him following me. Psychopath pulled in beside me in a parking space and rolled down the window of his ratty car. He was wearing a wife beater tank top and looked like a pro wrestler about 10 years after his prime.

Psychopath then proceeded to start shouting "You BITCH" at me in a very frightening psychotic manner. I just looked at him, flashed the nicest smile I could muster and slowly, deliberately said "I hope you have a wonderful day."  He had no idea what to do with that. I think he had planned on me either crying, yelling back or apologizing? Whatever he expected, he didn't get it. He left.

Boss was meeting me at the station, I borrowed twenty bucks to get me gas until I could get to the office and reclaim my long lost wallet. Phew!

So this week I learned that geneticists have evidently discovered some sort of "angry" gene that predisposes people to violence. That gene, along with child abuse in the early years, "makes" a person 400 times more likely to commit a violent crime as an adult. Although I find that interesting, I also find a little thing called "not threatening people" and "controlling one's emotions" interesting too. No doubt the Psychopath from this morning possesses the gene, but if he had in fact decided to take me out of this life today, I hope that gene wouldn't be used to defend him in a murder trial.

We can use genetics, our background, harsh life experiences and chemical imbalances to help understand people but at some point, personal choice and responsibility play a role. It makes me jittery knowing this guy is driving around my town. I hope I never see him again. I hope he doesn't have a wife or kids...I can only imagine what they must experience if he does.

And finally, I'm grateful for being looked after so we didn't collide. Thank God. And may God work with us to guard just exactly how we use genetics in this modern day.

The Crime of Inaction

Driving out to Anna Maria Island on Memorial Day, I saw every pump occupied at the BP station. I hated them for being blind. At the same time I wondered if the station was the pride of a small business owner who doesn’t have any more to do with the oil crisis than I do for purchasing gas. And even with a concerted conscience focused on punishing BP, I had stopped at one of their stations to fill my car up last week and realized it half after I had been standing at the pump for over 4 minutes.
The beach was beautiful. During a fast paced walk I enjoyed seeing the families sitting in the sand, a toddler sloppily carrying a full bucket of water to the tiny castle he was building, the brilliant layers of blue-green meeting the cloudless sky…

The knowledge of the big “it” out there—the spill that keeps coming out beyond what any of us can comprehend every minute, hour and day--was a weight for everyone on the shore.  Instead of carrying that heaviness with me, I said a prayer with every step in the surf. I had to feel that somehow my calling of all the Goodness that is seen and unseen would be heard.

Besides that imminent concern and small answer, this time of year I’m especially alert to the beach nesting birds. They depend on a clean beach, undisturbed dunes and the grace of God to hatch and raise their young. Every year, the number of successful least terns, black skimmer and snowy plovers diminishes. More harm that one can possibly imagine is done by the trash on the beach attracting predators, the quick footed tourists and locals who can’t be bothered to look where they step, and unknowing children who chase the energy strained adults mustering everything to feed their chicks.

I loved watching a skimmer dip in the shallow waves, following them in a line down the beach with a grace and precision hard to believe. Another one came. And another. On my walk back, I watched a young man with his girlfriend coming in the opposite direction. I misjudged him as one who couldn’t care less about a bird, but then I saw him turn. Stop. Watch the skimmer with a look of fascination. It made me smile and feel hopeful.

Approaching the entrance to the beach I used, it was impossible not to see a large area where a group had left over 30 bottles, cans, wrappers and used bottle of sunscreen. I felt sick. In the midst of the largest environmental disaster to ever face our country, here was a deliberate act of laziness and disregard for everything. Everything!

Even on Memorial Day? Our veterans sure as hell didn’t make their sacrifices so that Americans could treat our own country like a pig sty. Sick and angry, I collected as many pieces of trash as I could and went to the garbage bin. A couple settling down to sit in their chairs remarked about how angry it made them, yet when I returned with a bag from my car, they hadn’t lifted a finger.

I collected everything, putting the sandy refuse in a Whole Foods bag made from recycled bottles. I was pissed. I know from years of experience that some people will always litter. They’ll always have shameful behavior without being ashamed.

But what I wasn’t prepared for were countless groups of couples and families on the beach who would stay right where they were, watching. Just watching. It didn't occur to them to clean it up before, and seeing someone picking up the mess, it still didn't occur to them.

As they hear news of the oil spill at night, do they shake their heads with sadness, change the channel, or pray for the sportscast to come?

Do you know people who roll over on their beach blankets and look the other way. What is in their conscience? What's the difference between their inaction and the inaction of those who left the trash to begin with? I'm not sure there is a difference.

Beware, Cowardly Bicycle Thief. Karma Will Find You.

Hi Bicycle Thief! It’s me, Gropius. I live two doors down from the site of your smooth transaction. Lifting two boys’ bikes from a fenced backyard before 10 pm, eh? That’s pretty ballsy. Congratulations on pulling it off.

Whatever you manage to get for those hot items, I’ll tell you, it’s nothing compared with the payoff waiting from a mutual friend we share, Karma. You see, she’s one thing that enables me to sleep soundly at night. Although I’d love to see you get hauled into the po’po’ and have your name slathered all over the paper as the heartless bastard stealing kids’ bikes, we both know the chances of that are pretty minimal. But the chances of getting what you deserve and then some, hmm, I’d put that at about 100%.

Karma might not visit you right away, but she will visit. She’ll show up on your own pestilent turf when you least expect it…maybe even after you’ve decided to try and get your life together, if that ever happens. And she can be a real bitch too.

Don’t forget, Karma doesn’t just provide a simple exchange for taking something that’s not yours. She includes the entire kit n’ caboodle—“interest” on extras like making a whole string of neighbors feel not so safe, wondering what kind of creeps are slithering around their streets. And having two decent kids have to figure out how to get around to harmless activities too many blocks away while you’re using money from their transportation to finance whatever contemptible activities you’re involved in. Damn, that was a mouthful!

Until the two of you shall meet, my pit bull has left a bunch of you know what our un-fenced backyard. You’re welcome to come and lift that. It’s waiting for you.

Confessions of a New Baseball Mom...No, Don't Call Me That

Saturday was D-man's first game at GT Bray, and I wasn't exactly prepared for a few things. But I'm told that eventually, it will become part of the routine and I'll become just as complacent as the rest of them about...

• Being a baseball mom? Don't ever call me that or you're going down.
  I have a son who plays baseball and I support him and the team. You may think it's bizarre that I resent being referred to as "a [fill in the blank with any sport] mom." I don't quite understand it myself. Does this have anything to do with Sarah Palin? I don't know. But I don't like it.
  
• The fact that sometimes, every kid on the opposing team has a good 30 pounds and 2 feet in excess of our boys.
  With each pitcher/batter face off, I felt like we were witnessing Andre the Giant take on Paul from the Wonder Years. I was scared.
  
• Holy crap. There's a kid on our team with facial hair.
  (Yeah, he's the only one who could disguise himself as a player on the other team and get away with it). It must not be too much longer until "things" start happening here at our house.
  
• There is a click of loud and foul-mouthed women who congregate next to the bleachers yelling at one another in thick Brooklyn accents.
  Don't look at them too long, or you'll start to wonder if they'll be waiting for you in the parking lot.
  
• And finally, toting along some reading material might not be a bad idea (although if it's not a National Inquirer, the loud and foul-mouthed women will have one more reason to hate you).
  We endured a 45 minute inning, which is apparently not unusual.

If I could only hear some of the conversations emanating from said spectator-parents, I would have an abundance of free and potentially juicy Gropius material. Tuesday evening, I go on alert with a special listening device. Until then, have a good week, peeps.

The Bradentucky Christening

If you guessed this is a partially eaten chocolate creation, you would be right. If you also guessed that Husband was the one who left the teeth marks in place of her left breast, you would also be right. And finally, if you guessed that this little abomination was made by our neighbor's mother for her granddaughter's Christening, you would get a perfect score of 3/3.

Insults to your intelligence aside, my guess is that you probably earned a 2/3 score on this odd quiz. It's been my limited experience that the usual party favors for infants on auspicious occasions are a little more...traditional. You do know that we live in Bradentucky, Florida, right?

P.S. This writing took approximately 5 minutes. The "sort of" chocolate goddess has now vanished and is being digested. Not sure what it tasted like.

And...We're Off!

That's right folks, the wife beater tank top festival has officially begun at the Gropius household. Every year, husband hosts a 6 hour July 4 "event." Neighbors and others basically move in to our front yard, bearing food, a tent to protect the food from summer insects, plastic chairs, and things that shall remained unnamed...not because they're illegal, but because I try not to notice too much.

The night ends with a truly dramatic display of fireworks that husband has amassed throughout the year and carefully assembled for professional execution. We just pray that fingers and eyes remain intact...and that the neighbors who do not care for the noise, smoke and screaming can restrain themselves from calling the police.

Please. Don't feel bad if you didn't get an invite. I try to hide this from all of my friends, as the entire thing is a little "not my taste," shall we say. If I could stop being such a snob for a minute, I would say that some of the nicest people around are here. And the fireworks are awesome.

In closing, my "no wife beater tank top" proclamation is a no go once again this year. And a co-worker is coming, so I will be outed about this for sure. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for a pictorial story of the damage. And have a happy & safe July 4!

How totally appealing...I'm ready for you.

Driving back to Bradentucky today from a morning at the Sarasota Farmer's Market and a little Eco-Fest at Laurel Park, I was loving the fresh exposure to the environmentally friendly, politically inclined and conscious populace.

I quickly broke right out of that frame of mind after citing an old pick up bearing a bumper sticker with "I'll Take You to XTC."

Mmm hmmm. I can hardly wait! Tell me where to sign up. The good 'ole boys inside were preparing for a well planned trip to Hooters, telling from the passionate left turn off of US 41. I'm sure the waitstaff there will be fast and fresh to the standing offer as well. Sigh.

The Bradentucky Version of Cheers

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. If you live in Bradentucky and you're over 70, that place is Bradenton Donuts.

Go there any day of the week, pull up to a swivel chair at the counter, order a coffee and any one of the multitude of donut varieties. You'll be treated like a regular at Cheers. After one trip, everyone will know your name. And your "usual" order. The nice folks who own the place and make the donuts are cheery, attentive and must have photographic memories.

I will warn you that if you're a baby boomer or younger, you'll be anything but usual in there. (It would be nice to get more younger folks coming. We stuck out like sore thumbs.)

It's also the one place I've ever seen where you can actually order a bowl of Raman noodles. (BONUS!) Next time you're in Bradentucky, check this local joint out. It's been in town forever.
Don't forget a pre-trip to the ATM; "cash only" still rules at Bradenton Donuts.

A Solemn Occasion at Joey D's

One of the best Bradentucky places to wind down with the fam after a long day is Joey D's, a locally-owned pizza joint right on U.S. 41 just north of Cortez. Great waitstaff, veggie and carnivorous food choices and always good 'ole, regular working folks in your company.

Tonight we ordered the worst artery-clogging offenders and played a few rounds of "A Solemn Occasion." Ever play this game? It's a family heirloom, passed down through generations on my father's side. We'll just use Gropius and Eddie to explain how you do it:

Gropius stares at Eddie and says in the most serious, monotone manner possible, "It's a solemn occasion, brother Eddie. It's a solemn occasion." And Eddie--staring back with utmost solemn intensity--gravely replies, "Yes it is, brother Gropius. Yes it is."

The two players must say the words very solemnly, extremely slowly, and utterly deliberately. The losing player is the one who cannot help but crack even a slight smile. I've found that it's much easier to play the Gropius part. The Eddie player almost always loses.

So, we challenge you to a game! It's perfect for play-fighting with co-workers, the opening exchange during a performance appraisal, or procrastinating on daily mundane tasks that really count. You just need a partner willing to go there. (Good luck.) We would start to worry about you if you tried it with a mirror.

I'm Getting a Little Creeped Out

If you know me, there's no doubt in your mind that I'm a big lover of reptiles (the real kind, not politicians). But when our news is filled with stories about escaped and thriving pythons, iguanas, tegus (look it up) and other scaled creatures from faraway lands...right here in Sarasota/ Bradenton...I get a little creeped out.

Of course the takeover first came to light for most of us when that debatable photo of an exploded python with alligator was released. We all learned that python pets-no-more are filling the glades, reproducing and taking names. It's pretty serious when you think about all of the native species that are being taken out. And personally, I really don't want to come across a python big enough to take a gator when I'm out trail blazing.

Now we know there are iguana invaders all over our islands and keys, gobbling up native birds, native herps and basically anything the right size. And they're really hard to catch (I mean the lizards).

According to this recent article in the Bradenton-Herald, a 10 foot python and tegu were recently captured (escaped pets) and provided to a local wildlife rescue organization for educational purposes. A quote from the article about the rescue org. representative: "Not only has he provided a home for both of them, but the snake now has a name too. We think Crosby the snake will be very happy in his new environment. "

Point #1: Yes, I'm happy Crosby is in a new environment too. Reptile owners, can you please be more responsible? With the number of iguanas running around on our islands and pythons taking over, there's a serious limit to orphanages for them, once captured--if captured.

Point #2: I'm intrigued by what this snake's name was before it was captured. I'm guessing it wasn't something like GW the snake, Fuzzy, or Henry. It must have been something really baaaad. Bradenton-Herald, please do a better job of answering the questions we want to know. Do I hear follow-up?

Fav 5 Most Inspiring

In the interest of getting back to the point, Gropius is initiating a Sarasota/ Bradentucky Fav 5 series with the top 5 inspiring places in our area. Keep in mind that these are today’s musings; who knows how the list could change on another day. Let's begin with 5 and work our way up to the most inspiring:

5. The Florida West Coast Symphony—um, I mean the Sarasota Orchestra (new name, same place). I will confess that I’ve only been twice (thank you very much, Skunk Ape and Coaching Goddess), but it was so inspiring that I’m contemplating the MasterWorks series. Melt into the music and think of swallows flying low over the Celery Fields.

4. Burns Court Cinemas. Did you know that we have some majorly inspiring flicks come our way—independent films that don’t hit the regular box office? You can check them out and support the Sarasota Film Society while you’re doing it.

3. The Sarasota Convention & Visitors Bureau. No really, this place is inspiring, and who says you can't be a tourist in your own town? It’s pretty cool to walk in and see the millions of brochures of the totally amazing museums, performances, tours, services, natural areas, etc. that you can see, do and take advantage of in our little corner of the Universe. It makes me proud to live here.

2. Sarasota Bay Front—especially during the months when we have the giant sculptures and art on display. Whether you care for an obnoxiously huge rendition of a sailor’s kiss, a monstrous molar tooth, an empty picture frame, or the variety of other bizarre interpretations, it's a super place to walk and think about life.

....And the number 1 most inspiring place is…

1. Any Sarasota or Manatee County Park. I guess it’s cheating to speak in such generalities, but I couldn’t possibly choose—Carlton Reserve, Robinson Preserve, Red Bug Slough, Pinecraft Park…there are so many. They’re all pretty cheap too—free as a matter of fact. Although I was going to put my house as #1, since it is, for me a place of recharge (ok, some of the time it is), these awesome natural beauties definitely win on the list of most inspiring. Put them on your to do list. Bring your sweetheart or a friend or a kid.

Did I miss any here? Of course, there’s plenty of fodder. Fill me in.