The Beginning of Autumn

In the last couple of days, we've noticed a distinct climate change. Humidity has dropped. The air feels more inviting, and the sun less punishing. At night, we enjoy the cool air as it breezes through the porch windows.

The fireflies are starting to visit us again. We see them in the distance, flashes of light in the forest. They provide hours of entertainment for the cats.

The cats, meanwhile, are spending more of their time lounging on the porch, usually perched on the jacuzzi cover, carefully aligned with the sun's beams, and generously donating their furballs to the hopeless cause of vaccuming.

The grass doesn't need to be cut every 4 days. The flowers are not shrinking in an attempt to minimize the sun's impact. Instead, they are blooming in all their glory. This makes for happy butterflies and hummingbirds.

I can now go for walks through the woods, without fear of sunstroke or attack by mosquito squadrons.

I can start to light off some of the hundreds of candles that have been accumulating in the house. Every time I go to the mall, three or four more follow me home. It's a conundrum.

I can start enjoying a cup of hot cocoa in the evening while watching the fireflies.

I can dust off my telescope and go outside to watch the comets, asteroid showers, and autumn moon.

I am a happy camper.

Our House Doesn't Like Us

Our house is only two years old, and already it's falling apart. Well, maybe not falling apart, but a lot of things have broken down in the last two weeks. First up was our A/C, when a faulty drain plug caused water to leak all over the garage. In trying to fix the plug, the A/C company broke the drain pan. A new one was ordered and due to be installed today. In the meantime, the A/C has been on scaled-back use, which generally means temps in the house have been around 85. In September. In Florida. Ugh.

Next up was our dishwasher. We started noticing a strange smell, which we took to mean that a pipe/tube was clogged or there was some food still stuck in the drain hole. So we tore apart the dishwasher, cleaned everything out as much as possible, and put everything back together. Still smelled. Was about ready to bite the bullet and call the repair guy when Big Dave noticed something. The geltabs we were using actually smelled pretty bad (he accidentally broke one when trying to fill the dishwasher). So we stopped using that brand, and the mystery of the smelly dishwasher has been solved.

Then the drains in our master bathroom and kitchen sink seemed to be getting stopped up. Ordinarilly this would be a job for Liquid Plummer, right? Well, no. You see, when you have a septic system, you have to be VERY careful about the chemicals you use around the house. Everything must be septic friendly. So off we went to Lowe's and Home Depot to find the elusive pro-septic drain declogger, which we finally found after a 6-hour tour.

Our master bathroom has a shower leak, which has seeped under the linolium. So now we must tear apart the bathroom trying to discover the leak, and redo the linolium (which has already been redone twice).

The fan in the porch is not working, and I'm suspecting a faulty wire.

But at least we still have a home.

The neighbors across the street are in the process of being foreclosed on. They built their dream home, with the intention of retiring in 5 years. But, like many homeowners, they have seen their equity disappear as home prices continue to drop. They owe more than the home is worth, so they are walking away from their dream.

Compared to that, I guess we still have it pretty good.

What Not To Wear At Aquatica

Big Dave and I celebrated our anniversary this week with a trip to O-town to experience Aquatica, the new waterpark. All in all, a very enjoyable outing. The weather was just about perfect, the rides fun, and the lines short. Can't ask for more than that, right?

Well, yes I can. And I will. : ) While Big Dave got an eyeful of young PYTs in their skimpy bikinis, I was treated to the retina-burning sight of middle aged. beer-bellied men wedged tightly into speedos. My eyes will never be the same.

Where were my cute, tan, well muscled frat boys with form fitting suits? Where were my young, impressionable 18-year-old farm boys with cowboy hats and manly staggers?

They were at Adventure Island, that's where! They probably took one look at the pasty-white, pot-bellied English guy in the thong bikini briefs and decided to go elsewhere, just in case the look happened to be contagious.

In the park, there are signs EVERYWHERE with rules about what you can and cannot do. I thought it might be a good idea if management put up additional signs about what people can and cannot wear in the park -- something like this:

1. If you cannot see your toes because your big belly is in the way, do not attempt a speedo or a thong.
2. If you resemble Cocoa the gorilla because of your hairy arms, back and stomach, you must wear a t-shirt.
3. Make sure your suit is the correct size. No one wants to see your whole package.
4. Butt cracks are not a fashion accessory. Pull up your pants.

If A Vote Fails To Be Counted, Is It Really a Democracy?

Several articles have appeared in the news concerning the electronic voting machines. Among them:

http://www.oxfordpress.com/hp/content/oh/story/news/local/2008/08/28/hjn082808voting.html

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/08/16/eveningnews/main4355733.shtml


"Premier Election Solutions (aka Dibold) recently conceded that the problem may not be caused by anti-virus software, but may be an error that has existed in the machine's code for more than a decade."

This is the same company who has refused to allow outside independent testing of it's code. The same company who has insisted for over a decade that there was nothing wrong with the machines, and that all elections counted by these machines were legitimate and safely conducted.

And only now, because various states and voting municipalities are starting to sue, has Dibold started to admit maybe these machines are not as reliable as once thought. After the federal gov't has spent millions of dollars buying and implementing the machines. After states have spent millions of dollars on maintenance. After several close call elections that may or may not have been counted correctly.

For our last election 2 years ago, we had to use the electronic machines. Our poll workers did not know how to run them. They got confused. They kept crashing the system. When I questioned whether my vote would indeed be counted, they got huffy with me. "Well of course it will," said the election supervisor. " Our government would not spend the money on them if they weren't thoroughly tested and proven reliable." Uh-huh.

I recently voted in the primary. Our new voting system was a felt tip marker pen and the ballot. You filled in the bubble next to the candidate's name. No confusion, no crashing, no fears of hackers breaking into the system. And there's a paper trail, to verify the votes.

Makes you think. Newer technology isn't alwasy better. Sometimes a pen and paper will do the job just fine.

Uninvited Guests After the Storm

Tropical Storm Faye reached us on Friday, hitting us with 40 mile per hour wind gusts and dumping several inches of rain on our property. We survived intact, for the most part, and other than having a few small tree limbs to pick up, we were relatively unscathed. We lost power for about 4 hours on Fri, but were back on-line in the evening.

Thanks to Faye, however, I discovered some uninvited guests. While clipping some broken branches from one of our oak trees, I noticed a yellow jacket buzzing around. I ignored it, and kept trimming. Fortunately, it didn't take me long to finish my task. The yellow jacket, however, was still buzzing around the tree trunk. So I took a closer look. I noticed that the tree trunk was moving. Cautiously, I looked again. Apparently, an army of yellow jackets decided to invade our tree. They had found a hole created by a woodpecker, and had built a nest inside the tree. I was no more than 2 feet from them while trimming, but I didn't get stung. Since my ability to get stung is known far and wide, I called for back up in the form of Big Dave, and he came to the rescue bearing a HUGE can of hornet/wasp spray. He sprayed the affected area once yesterday, but he'll have to keep applying it for a few more days, as the nest appears to be pretty deep.

Big Dave is the official insect killer in the house. But it's not because I'm squeamish about bugs. It's because I'm the one who will be stung/bit/attacked. I can't tell you the number of times I've gotten stung by scorpions, stung by wasps, bit by spiders, or otherwise suffered a physical assault by insects. I'm not the one who kills them, but I'm still the one who will get stung. Where's the fairness in that?

Oh, and you should see Big Dave when he's in insect attack mode. He fears nothing -- not a pincher, not a stinger -- nothing. He will walk right up the nest, poke at it with a stick to make them come out, then spray and laugh his demonic laugh. It's absolutely hilarious to watch. The fact that they DARE invade his yard is reason enough for him bring on the Napalm. Watching a grown man wage a battle against a hive of insects -- now THAT's entertainment.

Why I Need Adult Supervision At All Times

1. I am fascinated by shiny metal objects. Take, for example, the metal scrapers that waiters use at fine restaurants. You know, the ones they use to clean the bread and food crumbs from the table cloth after every course. For some unknown reason, they amuse me to no end. Big Dave first noticed this phenomenom in Orlando when we dined at an upscale steak joint. I was the only one jumping up and down in my seat whenever our waiter came to our table and pulled out his scraper. Don't ask me why. I don't have an answer. All I can tell you is if you're ever in a nice restaurant, and you hear someone squeal "Goodie!" when the waiter starts to clear the crumbs, chances are, it's me. Come on over and say Hi. I'll even share my bread with you.

2. I love flame. My husband would call me a pyro, but I'd rather consider myself a amateur candle-enthusiast/fire pit afficienado. There's just something about a controlled flame that's soothing and reflective. That, and my bro was a firefighter, so I'm guessing it runs in my gene pool. Hence, I have no control over this particular weirdness.

3. I hate to cook. It is takes me more than 15-20 minutes to prepare a meal, it will inevitably get burned and/or ruined. Or I will burn myself. I do not have the patience to stand over the stove for an extended period of time. Baking, however, I can do. Probably because I can set the timer for the estimated time frame needed, and come back to check.

4. I can injure myself if given sharp, pointy, or otherwise dangerous objects. Like a butterknife. Or a spork. Somehow, someway, I will accidentally stab, cut or maim myself. It's a sure thing. Acutally, I'm surprised Big Dave hasn't taken over the chore of cutting up my meat. This seems to be a particularly dangerous activity for me.

5. I am not good with directions. Whether putting furniture together or following a recipe, I will at some point ignore the directions. Not good. Sometimes, the results turn out fine. Other times... well.. let's just say it tends to look like a project semi-completed by an idiot. Which reminds me of my favorite idiot joke:

A group of people are gathered in a room, attending a weekly Idiots Anonymous Meeting. One man walks up to the podium and begins the meeting. "Hi, my name is Bob, and I'm an idiot." The rest of the crowed dutifully answers, "Hi Steve!"

6. I'm not as young and spry as I used to be. Let's just say that my coordination and center of gravity has changed over the years. This leads to some interesting events, such as tripping over my own feet, or rolling over my toe with the computer chair (while I'm sitting in the chair). Once, I even managed to hit my head on the inside of the dishwasher. (Don't ask. It's a painful memory). Once, while walking through the living room, I took a nasty tumble and fell flat on my face. Naturally, Big Dave was concerned and rushed to my aid. As he helped me up, he asked what happenend. I told him I tripped on the carpet. He frowned, then said, "But we don't have any carpet in the house." I said, "Well, since it was my face that made contact with the floor, we'll use my version of the story. And I tripped on the carpet." Being the wise man that he is, he said no more.

7. I get excited by the simpliest things. Finding one more cookie in the cookie jar when I expected it to be empty. Watching my cat(s) snore. Finding my favorite movie playing on cable. Big Dave bringing my favorite candy bar from the store. A towel fresh from the dryer. Underwear that doesn't ride up. And a husband who loves me in spite of all my faults.
These are a few of my favorite things.

The Panic Before The Storm

By Tuesday we should have an uninvited guest in our area -- Tropical Storm/Hurricane Fay. Our esteemed weather forecasters are calling for 100% humidity and wind.

Ya think?!

What's really strange is how panicked people now become whenever a storm is mentioned in the news. Granted, hurricanes can be extremely dangerous and destructive, as we've seen with Hurricanes Katrina, Andrew, and Hugo. But I can't help think back to when I was a kid. Hurricanes were taken in stride -- part of a fact of life in Florida. We prepared as best we could, but ultimately understood that we had no control over what was to come. We worried, but remained calm.

Now a days our forecasters seem to predict the end of the world with even a standard thunderstorm. They can't get pictures of the downed trees and power lines on the air fast enough. They'll gleefully tell you about the injuries, the deaths (even if the storm was not to blame), the preliminary cost of damages. They seem to relish being the first to bring you news of the destruction and carnage. This is why I can't bring myself to watch the news anymore. After spending a half-hour listening to them, I'm exhausted. It's nothing but doom and gloom.

Floridians will tell you we have 4 seasons, just like everyone else. Except ours are: Fall, Spring, Summer, Hurricane. Our Hurricane season lasts from June 1 to November 1. Real Floridians will tell you to buckle up and wait it out. The tourists head for higher ground.

Homeowners look towards the sky, sigh, and wait to see how high their next insurance premium will go.