Shadows

Most people concentrate on the sky. But the shadows are just as beautiful. How satisfying it is to watch the light wrapping its shawl around trees and fence posts, barns and docks.

That's what I love about old Florida. The shadows tell a story, and it's not one of sadness. There are horse farms and still, muddy marshes supporting rotten boat bottoms with grasses growing through them. Soft hills carpeted with pasture display classic oaks like dancers on a pedestal.

North central Florida sprinkled woodlands across my weekend. They were laced with dogwoods--just past their prime and half-dressed with white flowers--a sight for the eyes a little too used to tropical scenes.

My mind has been too full of things. It's felt like French onion soup oozing over the edges of a mug that's too small. I've needed some serious nature, and nature that's more than 30 minutes from home. This part of the state feels like a more temperate zone--less beachy, with trees that actually lose their leaves in the winter, and therefore, shine zealous crops of lime green growth when the spring hits the air.

I feel renewed. Cedar Key sightseeing. Gainesville hiking. Ocala horseback riding. Strung together with two lane county roads, they have each seen their share of college students, visitors from out of state, families backed by generations born in a state where surprisingly few originate, and other characters of travel and home.

I regret my camera didn't make the treck, yet I see through a clearer heart lens of really being in the moment when I'm not concentrating on a perfect image to savor for later.

Shadows--whether building with the illumination of a new day or the fading of a day that's been filled with experience--lay themselves out on the land and reach to me. I feel their stories and the sun shining on them, an observer yet somehow part of it all.

Aunt Gropius Gets the Boot

I have such a cute nephew. Two of them actually. One of them is old enough to come away with me and the D-Man on daytime adventures. He's four.

On Monday school was out for President's Day and I had the day off of work as well, so I scheduled an adventure--D-Man, the nephew and I--off to the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa. With pee pee breaks, it was about an hour and a half away, so not a bad little trip.

Naturally, every family in Southwest Florida that was not at the beach or Busch Gardens had the same zoo idea. So for a few hours we sneaked around other strollers, smart phone-laden teenagers trying to get pics, and hordes of families positioning for good views of the sluggish looking fauna.

I thought we had a pretty good time. We covered some serious ground enjoying everything from monkeys to tapirs to bizarre ibises to giraffes, and we pushed cute little Neph in the stroller the whole time so he didn't even have to get tired out.

As we were leaving, I said, "Neph, did you have a good time at the zoo?"

"No," he replied, very matter-of-factly.

I was planning on not feeding into the little trick. Being outsmarted by a 4 year old is not a good plan. So we loaded up into the car and I suggested a milkshake stop on the way home. Two strawberries and one chocolate. That would be a nice after-event pacifier for all of us, I thought.

About 15 minutes from the house, Neph started working himself up into a teary episode. "What the heck is going on here?" I thought.

I got him out of it a few times by making conversation, but as soon as he could remember his plan to be upset for extra love from mommy during the reuniting, he started the pouting again.

By the time we pulled in the driveway, he was in the middle of a full-on cry and went running up to the door like Big Bad Aunt Gropius had taken him along on a road trip from hell. 

Overtired, needing to poop, who knows... I know, he's only four. But I still felt lousy that a good day had to end like that for all three of us. Next time we'll make it a little shorter and a little closer to home. He's a sweet kid and we all love to spend time with him. But really, Neph, did you have to do that?

The Answer is "No"

• D-Man: "I thought you said you were going to keep Flanders off the new couch. Remember?"
  Gropius: "No. Don't you remember that the poor thing lived on the streets?"
  (It's been nearly 12 years since she lived on the streets, but I still hate the thought of her starting her life in that fashion. Therefore, every possible convenience should be granted to her, at the expense of people and furniture.)
• Husband: "Can this be our next bedspread?" (showing me a picture of a Guy Harvey ocean scene that's been sewn into a honky bedspread)
  Gropius: "No."
  (No further explanation required.)
  
• Gropius: "Hmmm....can I actually take a vacation day in which I stay in town and do not think about work?"
  Gropius: "No. Obviously."
  (Honestly, what the hell is wrong with me? I did go to the beach today, but I still checked work e-mail several times and will probably end up working for at least 2 hours when it's all said and done.)
  
• Gropius: "Really? Do you really have to change the channel and watch bits and pieces of 2 other shows during the commercials? Can't you just keep it on this channel while we watch the entire 30 minute episode?"
  Husband: "No. Obviously."
  (The remote is a sign of power. Silent and powerful power. Power power. It will never be relinquished by the male members of this family...and it must be clutched at all times. And when they give me the remote and say, "Here, put it on what you want to see," it really means, "You'll be asleep in a few minutes so I'll give you this one pretend act of compromise.")
• Husband: "I bet I can convince you to like football...hmm? Just like you learned to love baseball?"
  Gropius: "No. A million times no. Sorry, love. Also, no to hockey, golf and basically any sport.
  
  (I made my leap with baseball, but you know, just when I got to really love the team and appreciate all of the players, know them by name, etc.--the Rays went and traded everyone I especially cared about. Nice. I might retract my baseball hots.)

What have you said "no" to recently? Is it firm, or indecisive, like a weak handshake?

The Zebra Wins

There seems to be a strange and pervasive fascination with what has become the "mother of all wildlife terror," the migration of zebra or wildebeast that inevitably includes crossing a crocodile-filled river. It's on almost constantly in nature television. 

I thought this Red Bull ad was pretty cute and clever. They really know how to capitalize on things.

The Sunrise Suite

My dear friend Ingrid who died of cancer in April of 2009 was amazing in so many ways. She had a knack for finding hidden gems to explore during extended weekend adventures. For years she tried to turn me on to Cedar Key, a little island in the Gulf of Mexico due west of Gainesville, Florida. I never made it there until after she died.

"There's only one place to stay in Cedar Key," Ingrid used to tell me as I joked that she was being paid by their Visitor's Bureau. And then she proceeded to pimp out the Cedar Key Bed and Breakfast as the sweetest, most charming place in Florida.

When I met Bill and Alice--the owners of Cedar Key Bed and Breakfast--in the summer of 2009, I told them that Ingrid had sent me. They were sad to hear the news about her death. They knew the world was at a loss without her.

I felt Ingrid's persuasive words about the place follow me during our stay. The Sunrise Suite, her favorite accommodation at the B & B and our choice as well, had long windows that opened up to the Gulf, welcoming the water and the sky into the sun porch and the living room. You can't imagine the view from the bedroom.

I enjoyed talking with Bill and Alice about their lives during that trip with Husband and D-Man, and when I returned in the Fall with a group of women for a girls' weekend, it was easy to feel like we were picking up where we left off.  There was a lot of hope and light in those brief conversations. 

Bill had discovered a cancerous tumor on his leg earlier in the year, but with some experimental treatments in Mexico, he was cured and so grateful for the bill of good health. We talked about it during both of my visits.

Yesterday I called to make a reservation for the Sunrise Suite for a long weekend in March. When a young girl answered the phone, I asked if Bill and Alice were still running the place.

"Just Miss Alice," the girl said. "Bill died of cancer in December."

The sound of her words kept churning and amplifying like a singing bowl. I was thinking about how Alice was holding up, about whether Bill suffered, about why he couldn't be helped.

No matter how many times I'm jolted with the news of death, I seem to quickly lose touch with the fact that life is too short to get caught up in the minutia of meaningless details. I want to hold on to that. I want to be wiser and stop letting people take my power who are not worthy of it. I want to laugh more, take myself less seriously, and never miss an opportunity to be the person I am.  And I want that for all of us.

We're all so much like Ingrid, we just don't know it. She was 100% authentic, 100% of the time.

Today I imagine her kicking back in the Sunrise Suite with Bill, looking out at the Gulf, sipping a margarita and sending love to those who are still here in the world.

Observations

How's this for a random assemblage of weekend thoughts and observations?

• Apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed Christina Aguilerra's bizarre rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl. (Granted, that's the only thing about the Super Bowl I'll notice. Who's playing again?)  I can't drum up support for the argument that it is really necessary for today's singers to see how long, weird and screwy they can make various staples of American heritage.

• Where the hell did this weekend go?
• Today I thoroughly enjoyed a Dali Diva Sunday. We took a short drive up to St. Pete to enjoy the newly opened Dali Museum and a bite to eat at the Red Mesa Cantina, one of my favorite places to have a tofu, jalapeno and pineapple taco. Okay, it's the only place I can have that. Doesn't it sound repulsive? It's so good you wouldn't believe it. (Really, you wouldn't believe it.)
• I know it's silly--I'm not a spring chicken anymore--but I still find it unsettling to see photos of long lost acquaintances with kids and husbands. Are they really parents? Wives?  Last night I found out something really, really weird about a man I dated in college. I was sad to hear what's happened to him in the 13 years since I've seen him--rather, so sad to hear of the life he's created for himself. As Gandhi said, "It's never too late to be what you might have been." I hope that's true for him.
• I fell off the exercise bandwagon for like 2 days and now I can't drag myself out to do it. How weak is that?
• Back to Dali--yes, I'm bouncing around--what a strange but fascinating cookie. I tried to read his autobiography years ago but got a little nauseated at the arrogance. Let's just say he was a tiny bit self-absorbed. I guess the magnitude of his work in terms of both artistic and psychological brilliance can help me overlook that. Check out Pines Lake Redhead blog for a nice account of our trip. The new museum was so well thought out in its design.  And check out this photo of a museum docent who was modeling her handmade shoe hat, one of four in her collection:

I'm a little concerned about the feng shui of that particular arrangement--an upside down shoe on your head. What kind of energy is that attracting her way?

I'll leave you with that deep thought and wish you a week of good things.

Inside Ducks

Years ago people used to ask, "Is your dog an 'inside dog' or an 'outside dog'?"  These days, there's only one kind: the inside dog, or you're an animal abuser. I kind of agree. But The Peabody has "inside ducks."  I've already posted on this, but here's a refresher. It's a short video I shot today while at a conference at The Peabody in Orlando. Damn they're cute: