Author: Sheri Pardini

We took a drive last weekend and while looking for a particular road sign I wondered where some of these streets got their names and what was going through the minds of the people who named them. For instance, Rattlesnake Hammock! Here in the southeast the word hammock is given to a stand of trees that is in contrast to the surrounding ecosystem, so I have visions of rattlesnakes either hanging from these trees or infesting the ground around them. You don’t need a road to meander through that type of hammock! What you need is a sign, “Warning, Rattlesnake Hammock”

We have Radio Road, which I thought was pretty cool. It drives right into the airport, so I figured it had to do with radioing the airport tower. Nope! It was actually home to Naples’ first radio station. A functional moniker, not an exotic one.

Then there are the roads that have hyphenated names. We have a couple. Goodlette-Frank, named for once upon a time county commissioner Richard Goodlette, and Ed Frank, a businessman who started the famous swamp buggy races. I wonder if Frank ever feels slighted, because nobody takes the time to say, “Goodlette-Frank”, simply calling it Goodlette? Then there is Airport-Pulling. Obviously the airport is on Airport Road, but Pulling was added later to honor a major land investor by that name. Seriously? Reminds me of how often ballparks change their names based on who pays the most money to have it named after them. Airport-Pulling goes the way of Goodlette-Frank, and everyone just calls it, “Airport”. So much for feeling important.

We have Pine Ridge Road and for anyone familiar with the state of Florida you know there isn’t a ridge to be seen anywhere on the peninsula, but I can’t vouch for the panhandle. Neapolitan Way always leaves me craving ice cream. Go figure! And we all know who lives on Wisconsin Drive and Yorktown Road….snowbirds!

Here’s my all-time favorite, No Name Street! How awesome is that! What, just ran out of creativity? No more names came to mind? I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere and apparently it was at this poor street. Sorry, no name for you!

In La Plata County, where we came from, they have twelve roads named Aspen, seven Oak, five Columbine, five Cottonwood, and three Bear Creek. Good luck UPS and Fed-X. If your mail gets delivered to the wrong address, you have only yourselves to blame! Someone get them a flora and fauna book so they can branch out !

There lacks a certain creativity when roads are numbers instead of names. Are those people boring, or just too busy to be bothered? Then there are those towns that are just way too creative. They can’t settle on one name, so instead they choose two for the same road, like Poinciana Drive if you’re on the west side of Airport or Grey Oaks Blvd if you’re on the east side. Better yet is Horseshoe Dr. N and Horseshoe Dr. S, because Horseshoe Drive really is a horseshoe. It’s almost like we’re testing people to see if they get lost!

So, what’s in a name? Everything! Great names are remembered! They fire the imagination, make you laugh, wonder, roll your eyes, and sometimes roll your tongue trying to pronounce it.  You see shadows of people long past, brainstorming the perfect name like Tamiami Trail, Alligator Alley, and yes…Rattlesnake Hammock.

Last weekend Kim & I decided to go hunting for Megalodon teeth on the Peace River. Megalodon is the prehistoric ancestor to our modern-day Great White Shark, though some scientist think it was more closely related to the Mako. I’m not a fan of swimming with any sharks, don’t really care who they’re related to, but this great granddaddy of whomever would keep me far from any water outside a swimming pool, or bathtub.

Megalodon lived 23 to 2.3 million years ago and measured upwards of 60 feet!  The largest tooth ever found is just over 7 inches. A Great White, by comparison, can be as large as 20 feet and the largest tooth found measured just under 3 inches. Get the picture? Big and much, much bigger! Now, to find us one of those 7 inch teeth!

Mariah and Dusty were onboard. The spot we were seeking on the Peace River was only about an hour from their house. We piled into the truck, off on an adventure that started by spotting two bald eagles hanging out in their nests. The GPS guided us off the highway in search of running water. I’ve talked about the need for paper maps before in another post, and this time was no different, because it didn’t take long for modern technology to lead us to nowhere! We got turned around and guided ourselves, by our own sense of direction, and it wasn’t long before the GPS guidance system caught up with us. Sure hope our military has access to a more sophisticated satellite!

Finding what we were looking for, we set off for the water with shovel in hand. We needed a sifter, but not being able to locate one to purchase, employed Yankee ingenuity and built our own out of wire, 2 sticks and zip ties. Not pretty , but it worked. Mariah turned to me at the river’s edge and said, “You know, if this was Colorado we would be thinking right now about how cold this water is going to be. Instead, here in Florida we’re scanning the water and the shore wondering if we’re going to be lunch!” Alligators had been on my mind too, but the water was shallow and very clear. The banks were open, and though alligators might find them attractive for sunning, at least we would be able to see them. There were also a fair number of other tooth hunters nearby, and if ever there was a time for safety in numbers this was it! Our reasoning may be erroneous, but it resonated well. Yet to be sure, we were careful to maintain situational awareness and not get too wrapped up in the hunt.

We scored several fossils, some identified, some not, all interesting. We claimed three shark’s teeth, but small in nature and way too small to be even a Megalodon baby. It didn’t matter, they only served to stoke tooth fever! Kim’s sandals blew out, leaving him in the middle of the river with nothing but flapping soles and frayed webbing strapped to his ankles, virtually barefoot! The constant bending over, scooping sand and gravel, and crouched sifting left our legs and backs sore from the effort. My neck is still aching from a day’s worth of looking down into the river. Totally worth it! Megalodon had eluded us, but we’ll are already planning our return. The hunt is on!

Twice a year, in the wee hours of the morning between Saturday and Sunday, most of the country changes their clocks by one hour. Forward in the spring, backward in the fall. The trickiest part sometimes is remembering which way you’re going. There can be a lot of grumbling over this exercise, but we get ‘er done, and within a week all is forgotten and life resumes as if nothing ever happened.

70 countries around the world and every state in the U.S. participate in Daylight Savings Time, with the exception of Arizona and Hawaii, because they like to march to the beat of their own drum. Within Arizona there are exceptions to the exception. The Navajo Nation, most of which lies within the borders of Arizona, chooses to observe DST, but the Hopi Nation, which is completely surrounded by the Navajo Nation, does not. Which means that in one state there is a time zone, within a time zone, within a time zone. Confused yet?

Technically you can’t save daylight, whether you change your clock or not. We can just control which specific hours of the day enjoy natural light. There are people who hate the time change and others who embrace it, but love it or hate it, what most struggle with is the adjustment. I think the best way to deal with the malaise is to stop converting! We spring forward and when the alarm sounds in the morning at 6:00 we say, “But it’s really 5:00! Ugh!” In the evening we note that the clock reads 10:00, but say, “It’s really 9:00, so I can stay up another hour”, which is why at 6:00 a.m. you are back to “Ugh!”

We treat Daylight Savings Time like the metric system. When I was in elementary school somebody decided that it would be a good idea if we learned how to use metric. Their nefarious goal may have been for a complete conversion, but it never really caught on. We Americans like our feet and inches and when we’re faced with a kilometer, or celsius we want to know what that means in miles and fahrenheit. However, there are several professions that use metric or other forms of measurement. My son, the pilot, uses centigrade, nautical miles, and knots. My son-in-law, the paramedic, uses milligrams and kilograms, but what they don’t do is convert. They use the measurement as is, without changing it to what we’re familiar with. Therefore it’s normal and natural to them. Right now it’s 3:00. Just 3:00, not “really” 2:00!

It’s been awhile since I’ve spent the morning at the pool. You know how it is, you get busy with tasks, obligations, the requirements of living on the planet, and the next thing you know, you haven’t taken a mental health moment in who knows how long. This morning was going to be my moment.

While I was gathering a towel, beach bag, and water bottle I noticed the lawn maintenance crew had shown up out front. Before I could change into my swimsuit I could hear lawn mowers working outside. Okay, not ideal, but they probably won’t be long. Our apartment complex is large, and they always start with our building first, so I figured a few moments of disruption and they would move on.

By the time I had descended the stairs and rounded the end of the driveway I had encountered the leaf blowers! In my opinion this is a useless tool. You blow leaves from one side of the driveway to the other, wait a week, so the wind can have a chance at them once more, and then show up to do it all over again. This is the top-tier in job security! These machines are seriously loud! What’s more, these guys work as a team, so you don’t have one leaf blower, you have four! That number sends the decibel count into the stratosphere!  Heavy sigh, but they shouldn’t be long.

As I approached the pool gate I noted the wind was a notch or two above breezy, yet significantly lower than a gale. It’s not cold out and in fact, the wind would shoo away both humidity and the heat of the Florida sun. Since the pool isn’t heated, this time of year it takes a little grit to get into it. The wind was welcome and would keep me from overheating. However, we live at the end of the Naples airport runway. Once upon a time there was plenty of commercial traffic in here, but that has long since gone. Now we have mostly small planes and private jets, but don’t misinterpret private to mean modest. They are good size! Most of the time, we hardly notice the airport’s proximity, but when the wind is just right those planes use a different runway and then it becomes a game changer. Today they are taking off with their tails toward me, running up their engines as they go through their paces, increasing to that deep rumble as they throttle up while galloping down the runway. Though I don’t mind the sound, this morning I was seeking a serene experience, not an exhilarating one.

I lay my towel across the lounge chair, position my beach pillow, put my water bottle where I can reach it and figure that the planes are probably there to stay, but at least the groundkeepers will soon be working farther away.

Wait! What is this fresh hell that has just arrived upon the scene? A street sweeper? Seriously! They are there to clean up the mess in the driveway left by the city water guys who fixed the water line yesterday. “Beep, Beep, Beep” as he backed up, pulled forward, and backed up again, and again, and again!

I opened my eyes to see an idyllic landscape of swaying palm trees, sunshine, and water. I closed my eyes and heard only a cacophony of assaulting decibels. I had chosen poorly! I should have stayed upstairs! I have a book to finish writing, and taxes to do. No quiet meditative, re-energizing moment was to be had. Instead, I laughed! Good medicine, either way!

When we arrived in the parking area, which was small and primitive, I noted that we were the only people there. I wasn’t complaining. I like having the trail to ourselves. All the better for an opportunity to see some wildlife. We were faced with a 10 ft fence, topped with barbed wire. Gates were locked with heavy chains and padlocks. Signs were fixed to the fence, making it clear that you were not to drive your vehicle any farther, if for some reason you thought to storm the gate! There were two walking opportunities. The one to our left was only .3 miles, called the “Memorial Trail”. I hope that wasn’t meant to be prophetic. The other was 1.3 miles, called the “Panther Trail”. Naturally we chose the Panther Trail. There was a door that served as a gate in the fence that opened to the trail. The door was on a hinge, so that it would close behind you, if you were careless enough to leave it open. As we walked through to the other side, I felt as though I had just entered the T-Rex paddock in Jurassic Park! Suddenly, this didn’t seem like the great idea it was last week. I am always bravest in my living room! 

I thought it would be fun to visit the National Florida Panther Wildlife Refuge that isn’t far from where we live. We’ve driven by the sign many times on our way across Alligator Alley. Time to check it out.  What’s the first thing you do when going to a new place? Review the website. That’s what I did, so I knew beforehand there was limited access to the area, only open from dawn to dusk, that it was unlikely that we would see a panther on our visit, but just in case, keep small children close at hand. There was a short list of what to do in case of an actual panther encounter and that was about it.

The Florida Panther is believed to be one of the most endangered mammals in the U.S., with an approximate population of 120-160 cats. Once roaming the southeast, they now only live in south Florida. The Panther Preserve provides 26, 400 acres of safe refuge and protected habitat for them. The preserve is securely fenced, but I don’t know if all of it is, or only part. I don’t know if the fence is to keep the panthers in, or the people out, or both. Panthers clearly live beyond the confines of this refuge, recognized by road signs throughout Collier County warning, “Panther Crossing”, and the headlines that all too often report that another panther had a deadly encounter with a car. I would love to see a panther in the wild and was ready to explore a very small portion of panther territory, or so I thought!

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t quite it. Most walks we have been on in south Florida are on raised boardwalks, primarily because they span water and dense foliage. Those boardwalks offer a false sense of security. A barrier to all things wild, when it really isn’t, but you come to feel that way. The Memorial Trail afforded wheelchair accessibility, and though I’m not sure it was actually paved, it certainly was wider than what I currently faced on the Panther Trail. Shortly beyond the gate the trail narrowed to single-track, with the swamp encroaching to within arm’s reach on both sides. It was dense and dark. I found that my eyes were darting from one side to the other and even toward the treetops, because though I was told that it would be rare for me to see a panther, I wasn’t so convinced that it would be rare for a panther to see me! I longed for a little more elbow room, and suggested to Kim that perhaps we should keep talking. You know, make our presence known. He said I should feel free to sing. I laughed, while my brain searched for an appropriate tune. 

We may have walked 20, possibly 30 yards when I asked Kim to stop so I could take a picture. He did and was suddenly swarmed by mosquitos! Three were lined up on his leg for a quick snack, and two just landed on my arm. We didn’t even think about bug spray this time of year! It may be the dry season, but this is the Everglades! We were being devoured, and at this rate in a mile the only evidence left of us would be our clothes. We retreated at a fast clip to our car! “Go, go, go! Drive!”, the windows down to chase out those winged vampires brazen enough to follow us into our safe haven! We vowed to come back wearing long sleeves and long pants, doused in the pungent smell of DEET, and having swallowed a big helping of bravery as we once again enter the lion’s den !

 

I was on my way to I-75 the other day, when I saw one of those portable flashing road signs that the police use to warn you about how fast you’re driving before you get a ticket, or that road construction crews temporarily erect for a small repair job, alerting you at the very last-minute that the lane you are driving in is closed in less distance than it takes to stop a bicycle! This sign, however, was flashing with this mandate, “You Must Stop At Red Lights”, followed by “Do Not Run Red Lights”.  Really? Are people actually driving around out there that don’t know this?!

This is south Florida, and though we have a deluge of snowbirds and an inordinate number of foreigners, I’m pretty sure that red lights have a universal meaning, except perhaps in Rome, where they really do seem to be merely a notable suggestion.  If this sign is necessary, perhaps the practice of renewing our driver’s license online, without a quiz to see if we remember the rules should be revisited, rather than an on-the-road, behind the wheel refresher! On second thought, perhaps it isn’t such a bad idea.

Here are a few signs I wouldn’t mind seeing on the road.  “Driving more than 5 mph under the speed limit makes you a road hazard!” “Driving 10 mph over the speed limit also makes you a road hazard!” “Changing lanes without using your turn signal assumes we’re all mind-readers!” “This is not Daytona, and you are not that good!” “Texting while driving makes you a special kind of stupid!”

Driving is probably one of the most dangerous things we do in ordinary, daily life. It is not a contact sport and it is not a race. We all need to practice a little patience and human kindness, and if we all get to where we’re going without “boom, boom, crunch, crunch”, we all win. If you need to be reminded to stop at a red light, immediately pull over, turn off your car, remove the keys and then throw them as far as you can. You really shouldn’t be driving!

 

 

Friday night Kim and I were having supper on the lanai. It was a splendid Florida evening, with an ever so gentle breeze that carried the scent of some mysterious and sweet blossom in the air. The air was warm, but not hot. While friends and family, in other states, shuttered behind windows frosted with snowflakes and ice crystals, or at least adjusted the thermostat to take the chill off a winter evening, we sat outside in what can only be described as near perfect paradise.

It was so wonderfully delicious to the senses that we lingered over conversation and coffee. Peaceful and perfect when suddenly Kim sat upright and in an eager, yet low tone noted, “We have a visitor!” So much for peaceful! Visitor as in how big? Predator or prey? Outside the lanai, or in? All good and important questions, and from Kim’s posture I’m thinking crucial as well.

Our lanai is screened in and on the second floor. Just beyond the screen are two palm trees and two large laurel oaks, so I knew I wasn’t going to look over my shoulder and see an alligator lurking there. Beyond that it could be anything! This is south Florida and we are only a stone’s throw from the Everglades! In the crook of the closest oak tree sat a cute masked marauder, a raccoon! How cute…and a sigh of relief!

Patches, our cat, was sitting quietly enjoy the evening on the lanai as well. As they spied each other it was intriguing to watch these two predators face off. Patches sat very still in a crouched, though not pouncing, position. She was alert, and her eyes never wavered from the raccoon. The raccoon’s stare was equally transfixed upon the cat, but unlike Patches, he would lean out from the tree, presumably to get a closer view, and then rise up tall on his hind legs to show Patches just how big and scary he was! If Patches was impressed she didn’t let on, but she wasn’t turning her back either.

Kim wanted a closer look too, and for a moment both he and our masked bandit rose on two legs; Kim to walk closer to the screen, and Mr. Raccoon to assume a more aggressive posture. Alas, Kim won the biggest predator challenge and the raccoon scampered higher up the tree. Patches had seen Kim before and wasn’t impressed by his size. She remained firmly seated on the lanai, but her eyes followed that ringed tail up as it disappeared from our sight. Yet, I suspect from a higher branch in that solid oak, eye shine from two predators met each other in the darkness.

 

Now that Christmas is over and we are three days into the new year, it’s time to take down the decorations, straighten things up, and forge head long into the question of how to get that artificial tree back into the box it came in?  I know it came in that box, but it is clearly a foot and a half too fat to go back in! Why? The branches fold up on themselves. I alternate directions, the same way you find a new pair of shoes, and it’s still overflowing the top of the box! I wonder if the tree was originally packaged by gorillas at the San Diego Zoo jumping on it until the top of the box can be easily closed, but I’m sure, if I look closely, I will find that the tree is made in China. China! A country where only 1% of the population is Christian, and few celebrate the holiday. Serves me right! Maybe an adorable panda could be put on loan to assist me?

I have five, yes five, plastic storage crates full of Christmas decorations. Though things didn’t get put back exactly where they came from, they are nestled inside those crates, and though I needed to firmly press down on a couple while trying to snap the lid closed, closed they are! Now back to that tree!  I don’t know why I keep looking at it. Looking at it won’t help.

Topping off the tree conundrum is the large envelope that arrived from our CPA just prior to the new year. It’s our tax planner to be fill out. Happy New Year to you too, Mary! I can’t be the only person who hasn’t drawn up a chair in front of the mailbox to excitedly await the arrival of the W-2. Surely I am not alone in not having neat piles of bank statements, investment records, 1099’s, and 1098’s, 1090-whatever’s, W-2’s, sharpened pencils, erasers, calculator, and the IRS hotline number on speed dial just waiting to go January 1st!

Can we all just take a moment!? Enjoy the breath of fresh air that comes with the new year? I promise I will get right on that tax stuff…just as soon as I figure out how to get that tree back in the box! I have until April 15th, right?

I’ve been noticing some disturbing articles in the news lately. They seem to always pop up around Christmastime when some individuals think it’s the best time of year to interpret the 1st Amendment incorrectly as freedom “from”religion, not freedom “of” religion. First there was the Climax Mine in Colorado that removed a lighted cross from the mill building where it has stood as a beacon at Christmastime since the 1930’s, and in spite of the outcry from the townspeople. The owners decided to instead choose something more secular, to be more “inclusive” of their employees. It’s little wonder that most of us have come to realize that “inclusive” is code for “excluding Christians”. Then there was the town in Indiana that was sued for placing a cross atop their city Christmas tree. Apparently one man in town contacted the ACLU about it, saying that he was “harmed” by having to look at that. Harmed was an interesting choice of words for a cross on top of a Christmas tree. Perhaps he really meant offended, but he couldn’t sue for damages, which he did, if he were just offended. Last night I saw a report on the news of a pentagram placed in a park in Boca Raton next to the nativity scene. The man who placed it there wouldn’t comment to the press about why, but in accordance with his 1st amendment rights he applied for a permit to do so, and it was granted. Good grief, Charlie Brown and Bah Humbug!

Let’s be clear here, Christmas is a Christian holiday. It is the day when Christians celebrate the birth of the Christ child, hence the name Christmas. Few Christians have ever said that you can’t celebrate Christmas if you’re not a Christian. That leaves room for Frosty, Rudolph, and Santa. And since we’re speaking of Santa, Santa is a caricature of St. Nicholaus, a 4th century saint known for protecting children and giving gifts. But, if you don’t need to be a Christian to celebrate Christmas, why do some people insist that Christians have to be “non-Christian” about the way they celebrate it?

Somehow the greeting of “Happy Holidays” has also come under attack, but this one by Christians themselves. I’m not perplexed by this, but I am bothered by it. I know that some people use “Happy Holidays” when wishing Christmas greetings to people they are not familiar with. Perhaps they are Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Agnostic, or whatever. Most of us have a desire not to offend when wishing someone a greeting or happiness. What a lot of Christians have done, though is take this so far as to mean you are taking Christ out of Christmas. The word “Holiday” is derived from “Holy Day”, and Christmas is absolutely a holy day, so to say, happy holiday is not a secular greeting, even if you mean for it to be.

You see, the idea of stealing Christmas is impossible. The Grinch tried to do it. He thought that by stealing the presents and the trees he could make Christmas disappear, but in the morning, when all the Whos awoke, sure they were disappointed, but they still gathered, they still sang, for Christmas was in their hearts. The Grinches of this world can take down the crosses, can erect a pentagram, can ban nativity scenes from being erected in public parks, but on December 25th the sun will rise on Christmas, just like it did in Whoville, for wherever Christ is, there is Christmas.

So my friends, I wish you all Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. May Santa be good to you and Christ be your Light.

While a great deal of the United States is experiencing icebox temperatures, snow, and ice, Florida can’t make up its mind how it feels about December. A cold front passed through and dropped the temperature into the 50’s, but a few scant days later and we’re looking at the high 80’s. Warm for even the sunshine state, so if you need hot chocolate, a roaring fire, and falling snow to make it feel like Christmas you need to be somewhere else but here.

I’ve heard it said, “It doesn’t feel like Christmas!” What does Christmas feel like? I’ve spent Christmas in Indiana, Arizona, Wyoming, California, Colorado, and Florida. The view outside the window in each of those places during the month of December are vastly different from one another, but in each one I have “felt” Christmas. Half of the world celebrates Christmas in summer! Now that’s weird! Whether colored lights adorn pine trees, palm trees, or cactus; whether you have to bundle up with hats and mittens, a light sweater, or a t-shirt will do, Christmas is everywhere, because Christmas isn’t what you feel outside. It’s what you feel inside. 

Christmas lights, colored or simply white, whatever they adorn, make me feel happy. I’ve never known anyone who can resist singing along with Christmas songs, and if they can, I don’t care to know them. I drink peppermint mocha even if I’m not cold, because peppermint mocha just tastes like Christmas.

December can be a hard time of year for a lot of people. Finances, grief, and distance from family can be heavy burdens that are suddenly heavier as we near Christmas. I remember the year my son was living in Maui. I refused to listen to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.” Not only was he not home, he was alone! Not every Christmas is perfect, not every Christmas is happy, but in every Christmas there is magic!

Close your eyes and listen to the music. Open your eyes and see the lights. Reach out to your neighbors, your friends, your family, a stranger…offer a smile, a handshake, a hug. Suddenly it feels like Christmas!