So who's next?

Seems like everyone takes to moving around the summer, right when the peak of fun should begin for the tropics. Every other northerner looks at winter as travel season, however Florida finds that time to experience even more garbage driving, loss of parking spaces, and clean up after partiers who throw up on their lawns. Sigh and take a deep breath.

But I digress.

SUMMER. Summer. summer.

It's been hot enough in Southern Florida to roast most of our flowers not xeriscaped(look it up if you don't know the term; desert climates know what we're talking about.) I think I watched an orchid retreat once it realized it wasn't going to compete well with the shade. Poor creature.

Summer. summer. summer......

Well, is here before it needs to be here. But we embrace it. Time for bathwater warm oceans. Time for snorkeling where there's not much to see. Time to slather on the sunblock to avoid lobstering--but lobsters come later in the summer down here, so we'll get to that another day.

And then there's moving. Lots of people move during the pre-summer summer. College students return home to free laundry or move into their first place, singles & families are trying to finalize closing on a home or renting a place to start the next school year, those with work opportunities prepare to box up their lives and compete with storage or U-Haul's for the next endeavor. Bittersweetly, we watch them prepare, sell off what they want, give what they can't sell, struggle with what they cannot give and pray code enforcement won't think they are disposing trash on the curb that is perfectly good for someone else's apartment.

What is forgotten in these moves is the help needed to get there. I have moved a number of times, maybe not cross country like some adventurous folk on a frequent, but by myself, without any assistance until one human has one day they can spare, if that. I've moved with articles in my hands and only a backpack and a few dollars. I've seen my life fit into one vehicle and be grateful it will only be that one load to avoid paying for more gas. I've seen my life in a cargo van and complain why I had so much stuff for a place I'm not always grounded to.

Keep in mind: we may all have the dearest friends but not all with the most compatible schedules. And some friends cannot bear the thought of packing up your life or watching you dispose of memories that once made you happy.

Moving has to be one of the most miserable experiences to overcome. This is a relative series of small losses. And yet, in the process of moving, in the midst of all the crap, we stumble upon items that make us happy. The moment of rediscovery that we didn't lose that book, or those pictures, or that thing we had to turn in for a project that just went missing at the last minute. I had one friend find the title to his car in that "safe place." BUT THEY ARE THINGS, and those things don't always make us happy, just of a different time.

What's worse for me is when I discover how much I want to downsize that I have to get rid of things I promised I would keep to show my future self or family later. How absolutely beautiful to find memories and souveniers, but to also see that it can mean nothing for over 50-100 years until someone outside our heads finds it valuable. And if you find something that you love and want it to go to a good home, you pine for not worrying it will get into the wrong hands should you want to visit it later. It's a trap, lets face it! Even the knick knacks. Even the art.

I'm angry at myself sometimes when I don't see pictures of the places I've been or the people I've met because I was too self conscious to take a picture because of the extra weight, the crooked smile, the bad lighting or other excuse. I miss those accidental photographic moments. But I can only have so many of them in print before it becomes excessive, and then those turn into junk you can't get rid of. Digital may have done us a favor for something, anyway.

So may impermanences we try to bind as permanent. Talk about stressful. I used to pride myself on that car load full of stuff as my life should I lose everything. I keep thinking if a war were to break out and I would have to flee, can I really move on at the last minute without making excuses for what I need? Do I need to pack my emergency maternity bag for nuclear fallout? How stressful!

Moving is different than vacation insomuch as there more stuff to take with you. The reality of "HOME" seems like a destination unto itself. Some never make home. Others make home everywhere. It's our desire to attach or feel welcome, really.

Venturing off means relationships can begin, end or be placed in limbo. My favorite is the never ending relationship, where limbo doesn't exist and "being" is perpetual and fulfilling. We are lucky when we have those. We are fortunate when we can connect. It is a shadow visible in clear skies and cloud cover. It doesn't bother us when its there and can exist in our worst moments. One does not have to even think about it, for it is there and it is beautiful.

Maybe that's more what we need in a move. Who, what, where, when is future, barely certain. How is journey, the point of "being" whether planned or not. And that should be OK, regardless the outcome, not karma defined in justice. It just what you get sometimes.

---
A very profound statement was declared randomly into the world reflecting on this supposed Doomsday: The world comes to an end when you die. So very true. I knew that things were right with the world when I was driving to pick up a shoe recently repaired. I witnessed a number of sign holders down the road going south on US-1 that asked us to believe in God to repent sins and all would be forgiven, and then right in front of me was a license plate on an SUV that read "BEOWULF" over a sunflower logo. An old text that so few would remember the battle against Grendle. If that is remotely prominent, we are not done yet.

This Town: The dichotomy of Miami

When you are told that nothing else happens anywhere else in America but in Miami, obviously you consider this childhood brain washing until you start travelling. My family started us on our travels very early (3 years old) around the state of Florida and the rest of the United States, primarily by car. The classic road trip has many perks in learning what life is truly like across America.

Be that as it may, it also brings up the point that living in a major city, particularly one that does not embrace one language fully, neither is greatly religious nor is immensely patriotic, can be questionable to the public school education most have endured, placing your hand on your heart and knowing that certain things will be shared all across America.

Miami is uniquely overwhelmed by everyone's version of what this town should be, and many priorities are in line with only the next big group that swoops up the real estate and actually attends its events and visits its establishments. The fact that we agree on the dollar as our currency feels like a minor miracle.

However, we get lucky by some established groups who resiliently cling to their lifestyles - the early birds, the coffee drinkers, the cash-only business. Mock them we may, but sometimes that little criticism places egg on our faces when we need them.

This series is dedicated to describing these little dichotomy that makes this town unique.

1. Sunday morning plumbing - small towns and religiously dominant towns will generally not be open on Sunday, and if they are, it's a matter of when the latest worship service will finish. Little Havana still has the earliest open hardware store in town, where you can find yourself a wall mount faucet still under $50, in stock, and for purchase starting at 8 a.m. This is particularly convenient considering your work shift fashions you between the hours of every other location AND when your leak has turned into a gusher, forcing you to turn the water off at the street level to avoid your dog floating on top of furniture by the time you arrive back.

2. Cuban coffee at any hour - you will find at least one joint open at some point in town that will serve Cuban coffee before the American pot of coffee has been cleaned and prepared in a drip maker. Typically, the spot where it is guaranteed may look like it has the shadiest characters, but don't let that fool you--some of these are hard laborers that finally can get some alone time and chat up a storm about politics in a country they will not return to. And they run around with $100 bills in their pockets, wadded up for use at the moment a lady places an order in a clingy sheath dress. It's fascinating, too, because the candy and the cigars encased next to the espresso machine look 20 years old, but apparently are still consumable when everyone else is getting their sobriety on at 3 a.m.

3. So when do you stop selling alcohol? - Minus bars that require half an hour before closing to stop serving, any other store in Miami can sell alcohol at any hour it's open. I'm serious! Want a beer at 10 am? It's there. Want a mimosa for dinner? If it's for sale, it's yours. I tried to find the law that prevents this, and I remember at one point they tried to pass this and enforce it, but someone must have gotten drunk and forgotten it existed. Any many people I know are grateful.

4. I know a guy that can do it for you cheap - This seems to be the phrase everyone hears and knows that something illegal is gonna happen, but people still keep saying yes to them. The little old lady down the block has internet on her laptop with large font thanks to the guy that she paid $150 to. His promise? She won't have to pay for it but that one time. Apparently cable, internet, phone service, and even electricity are not immune to this crisis. As for the companies that provide service, well, let's just say that some neighborhoods go untapped for service calls. Apparently we can "trust" the guy with the one time service charge if it's a utility.

5. Bars on your windows used to be a fashion statement - I'm dead serious. Many communities in the City of Miami at one point were targets of crime by many sources, culminating at the time of the Mariel boat lift and the 1980's drug trade. At one point, crime seemed inevitable, so people placed bars on their windows. Some had enough money to elaborate their protection: twisting, spiraling rounds or curving tulip points of wrought iron. It was even a challenge between neighbors who was going to get the bars that swing out in case of a fire, since the majority of the first ones were solid structures. People didn't just protect windows; they went for full front gates at the property level topped off with porch protection. These tacky structures became obsolete when criminals got in the house through jalousey windows or just made friends with the guy inside for $100. Remember, they were installed from the outside, not making them impervious to the most viscious tampering. The sign of crime rates reducing is the removal of these creatures as permanent fixtures.

Observations on a doctor's visit

Regis seems to be my host every bi-weekly Monday morning. The visits to the dr's office have been strategically scheduled to begin at any point between 8:30 - 10 am, making Regis my narrative companion. Sure, Kelly is feeling left out, but she's an accessory to the experience. The entrance to the cavernous orthopedic office has a struggle in the parking lot, like spaces going out of style or a vehicle repossessed by days end, and then pursues to the 50 person seating area where bleu hair entertainment is in full force with sensational news. Apparently a power struggle for midday softcore can only please so many.

First week down the Surgical Road

Part 1 - One week of lightly grueling improvement. I must be grateful as I only partook in arthroscopic knee surgery. In the scheme of things, I have it easier. However, quite fascinating that standard practice includes getting me off crutches and medicine within the first week, as tolerated. 

I'm irritable, frustrated, unbalanced, and yet coordinated enough to make it room to room, up stairs with a plate of food in my hand. I can't say much for the condition of the plate once its put down, but trying over here. It seems I should have stapled a roll of paper towels to my back as the cozy clean-up tool with a trigger spray finger. 

I've reacted poorly today, and saw the inevitability of a manic disorder when I get my next knee fixed. You would like that being injured as a human would be less volatile than the animal kingdom. It's predicted that an injured animal can bite. An injured human should be above this, but somehow it sneaks up on you. Stealthy bastard these irritable feelings. 

I've said things that have been hurtful enough to cause emotional damage to others--things I would never let my parents get away in my feistiest moments. The concerns are well-understood, but the method is undesirable. Looked up a research study today that looks at mood changes to patients that even undergo arthroscopic. It was a comfort that the reason I'm like this is partial to the weight gain while inactive. The other is perception. 

http://www.springerlink.com/content/t5u8rp23q8261v27/fulltext.pdf

Still not an excuse, but enlightening that it still exists even with less intense surgery. 

Coming home to roost

Negligent as I have been on this site is an understatement. I am looking at refocusing my history of blogs as well as starting my newest ones in order to have some outlet for the fanfare in my mind.

I'm moving all my old blogs of personal interest here and also going to add the story of knee surgery recovery and the actual bike accident that started this all.

I WILL RIDE AGAIN.

Right after the docs clear me. I'm not crazy, you know?

Easter can be a fun day

So everyone has their Easter traditions in a different fashion. Mine, when I was a practicing Catholic, included the early morning Easter egg hunt, followed by a rousing effort to get to chuch in the morning, and then returning home to bake incessantly all day. Because we were kids, the whole cleaning house process was reserved for the Saturday before. 

So picture: house is clean, kids are theoretically clean, egghunting in little Buster Brown sandals, grandpa and parents happy that the day is a low maintenance frill. 

Now, the baking part is the one that I like the most. I think that it's imperative that everyone in a household take part. Not only is the ritual therapeutic, it is also a test of skill. See, when preparing ingredients, you have precision measurements and timely expectations of how the mixture will form. When in the final bake/setting process, you have the patience game. But nothing prepares you for the decorating part. One person happens to have the dominant talent, and if that's not you, one can easily feel inadequate. You should always make an effort to be artistically inclined, but its always encouraged to find the most talented person and ask them  to  create if you feel they will bring the most justice. 

It's a practice that most people may intuititvely feel abused for their power, but they will understand when the praise and appreciation comes. 

Intro to the masses

Hidee ho there, neighbor. Here we be, putting things together as if the pieces made any sense in the first place. The best and worst part is having a puzzle with absolutely no reference to then see how our minds create the picture. That's essentially the summary of my life. Welcome to the first blog posting for me, Barbalootz. I'll hope to make both you and me laugh, cry, think, wince, and just look plain quizzickly. If you expected anything less, shame on you. Now soon awaits my journey to the semi rural regions of Buffalo, NY-- a place where i find it humorous that a steer can run loose and the neighbors call on a local with a helicopter to find it before it humps a barn full of cows. Alas, I must depart until we meet again, which will be relatively soon.