Still Like a Lion

Another thunderstorm came roaring through yesterday. This one's center was a bit south of us although we did get enough rain to fill the swale (yay, the moat is back!) and roaring winds interspersed with unnerving spots of dead calm.

The radio kept interrupting programming with announcements of severe thunderstorm warnings (as last time, redundant), sometimes as frequently as every three minutes. The announcing voice was robo-generated and listed, with curious and amusing pronunciation, a long and slowly shifting roster of affected counties as the storm moved east.

The tornado warning showed up about an hour into the storm warnings. By then the bulk of the storm was away south between the coast and the airport. Shortly after, the rain stopped in our area and the clouds broke.

The Christmas grapefruit tree required re-righting, again.

I didn't realize another tornado had touched down until I saw the paper today. They don't list the intensity so I assume it was weaker than the one that touched down here last week but it did manage to cause severe, although extremely localized, damage to an apartment complex and closed the airport for a while. And then overbooked the airport as the storm moved east and flights destined for Miami were diverted here.

There was extensive flooding as well and, judging by the sheer number of photographs of the fourteenth hole at the Whiskey Creek Golf Course, somebody lost their tee time and is taking it rather personally.

It also managed to chase a pair of retired snowbirds back to Ohio. Wimps.

The weather folks are trying to get ahead of the curve and are predicting severe thunderstorms with possible tornado for tomorrow.

In Like a Lion

I was watching one of the playoff games Saturday night when I realized the background sound I was hearing wasn't the air-conditioning, which has been off for some time now, but a steady pouring rain. Then the lightning and thunder started.

A cold front had come through earlier. It was sheeting down amid gusting winds so I checked to make sure all the windows were closed. They weren't but the ones that were open were only cracked a bit and not enough to let the rain in. Most of the lightning was comfortably off in the distance, but one bolt did strike close enough to rattle the entire house.

The local weather people (I do not usually watch that channel and have no idea who they might be other than a conventionally beautiful TV couple) came on during a break in the action to let us know about a severe thunderstorm warning for our area (bit late on that one) and a tornado warning (good to know but, since it's pitch dark outside, between the sound of the rain and thunder how will I know if there is one before it hits?) and also to reassure us that their continuing planned interruptions will not mean that we miss even one second of the game (we have our priorities after all).

The storm passed, and so did the weather announcements, before the game was over and it wasn't until the next day I found out, in addition to about three inches of rain, we did indeed have a tornado in town.

Most of the "tornadoes" we get occur during the summer and are little more than glorified waterspouts coming in off the gulf. Mom did get pictures of one once that came ashore and tossed a few cars around.

This was a real tornado. EF2. The news said it covered a distance of over three miles but, if so, it must have started offshore and worked its way through the coastal swamp first because the affected area seems to be only a mile or so long and is only about three, maybe four, miles away from our house as the egret flies. Most of the damage appears to be roofs, trees, cars, fences and power lines although even that they're totaling out at over $6 million. No deaths, fortunately. No serious injuries. Not impressive for any plains folk but, still, it's the biggest tornado in over 60 years here.

As for us, the storm knocked over the grapefruit tree I gave my brother for Christmas but that doesn't count since he hasn't gotten around to planting it yet and it's still sitting in its bucket just outside the lanai doorway. And for the record, yes, I did take the two seconds to tip it back upright again.

Storm Watch: The Tempest or Much Ado About Nothing?

Our local newspaper and NPR station have begun issuing storm "notices" regarding tropical storm Erika. "Notices" has to be the least threatening, most benign sort of warning possible. Essentially, they're tracking the storm giving expected arrival times along the predicted path: US Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic. They have not yet predicted a landfall on the mainland.

I understand the early concern. It's been almost exactly ten years (minus two months) since the last hurricane, Wilma, hit Florida and there are literally tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of newish arrivals here who have never experienced any sort of cyclonic storm before.

Erika is supposed to be off the coast by Miami sometime Monday. Current projections call for a northward turn that might take it up the coast (either on or off land). If that's the case, we should see some winds and, probably, a fair amount of rain although we've been getting plenty enough of that on a daily basis anyway, thank you very much. For the last couple of nights we've been directly under small, short-lived but incredibly intense thunderstorm cells with continuous close lightning and wall rattling thunder.

If, however, Erika doesn't turn, it will cross the peninsula directly toward us and we could be on the receiving end of a small but very real hurricane.

Flag(pole) of Our Father

My brother recently bought a flag pole to replace the one our Dad installed when he and Mom bought the house.

What Dad installed could be called a flag pole only in the technical sense that it was indeed a pole and it often had a flag attached to it. It was a plain metal tube sticking ten feet out of the ground with holes drilled into it through which lines could be run and tied to the flag's grommets. The one my brother bought is anodized metal, extensible to about 25 feet, with a goldish finial on top and two preset snap hooks for attaching the flag.

Of course the snap hooks turned out to be one inch too far apart to mount the nice new flag my brother bought to replace the worn one that started this whole project so he'll use the cheap, lightweight, printed flag that came with the pole (and fits) until it fades and then drill a new hole for the lower snap hook.

Yesterday, despite 95F temperatures, 95% humidity and almost 100% cloud cover and thunder rumbling on the horizon, we went out to install the new pole.

Dad was a firm believer in over-engineering projects. In his opinion, the pyramids were done a bit slapdash. And so, of course, the old pole turned out not to be ten feet long but rather fifteen with five buried firmly in the ground. We finally wrestled it out with much cursing and sweating and dug a new hole about a meter further back from the street to avoid the overhead power lines to which the new pole, when fully extended, can come dangerously close. Our hole was not nearly so deep mostly because we used concrete to secure the base and not just earth.

I refilled the old hole with rubble from the new and made sure the shovel, carpenter's level, etc., were all put away so this doesn't qualify as a redneck 70% project. We'll refrain from hoisting the new flag for a few days until we're sure the concrete as set fully.

It never did rain although there were a few bolts of lightning later in the evening.

Miscellania: Deep Sea Edition

I came home last night to find what I thought was a rather large fish all wrapped up in the refrigerator but when my brother returned home he explained it was actually two fish that, while large for the refrigerator, were actually fairly smallish representatives of their species. It seems a friend of his has a boat and goes out in the deep Gulf (900 feet/275 meters) which is where he caught some tilefish. Our chilling tilefish are each almost two feet long; full-grown adults are often up to five feet. So it looks like this Memorial Day grilling will be seafood.

Not my brother's friend. Just
an example of  a largish tilefish.

So far Rainy Season has been hit or miss and the construction workers across the way have managed to dodge the occasional storm to finish installing doors (except the garage door), basic plumbing including vent pipes, basic asphalt shingle roofing and, possibly, basic electric. Some interior walls are up. Last week, one guy on a family roofing team across the river was killed by lightning and one of his brothers injured when they thought a storm had passed and went back up to continue their project. Two other brothers were there but unhurt.

This last platelet donation went reasonably well. Only a few complaints from the machine and none from me. I turned down the T-shirt, the penlight flashlight and the coupon for lunch at the hospital commissary but I did accept the $25 gasoline gift card which I gave to my brother. That's not a regular perk but something they offer based on cumulative donations although I don't know what my total is at this point except it's not whatever I thought it was.

Tomatoes and peppers are coming along nicely. The mangoes are starting to overwhelm. I seem to always have 8-10 on the counter at any one time waiting to be processed. Mango salsa for the tilefish!

Steal From My Brother Once, Shame On You. Steal From My Brother Twice . . .

My brother has the learning curve of a lizard.

The police rang our doorbell at 4:00 this morning to let him know they had found his truck. (He was already up having been called by them a few minutes earlier to announce their imminent arrival. I woke up at the sound of the bell.) When they saw who was at the door, the cats all took off like the Angel of the Lord was come to take them to their just reward. We didn't see Paribanour or Mittens again for about six hours.

At first, this particular service--waking people in the middle of the night to notify them of the location of their property--seemed a bit, I don't know, superfluous, since the truck was in the driveway when I went to bed. (Apparently, I don't process too well upon first waking unexpectedly.)

The truck was not in the driveway.

It had been stolen.

It had been stolen and used as a getaway vehicle on a crime spree lasting several hours before being left in a ditch behind the town high school a couple of miles away. Several vehicles in our neighborhood (including, it turned out, Neighbor Dan's truck but not my car) had been entered and pilfered but it was my brother's truck they stole.

Because he left the keys in it.

He left the keys in it! After having his wallet stolen out of the truck only a couple of months ago, he left the keys in it!

So we stood in the driveway, under the eaves of the garage, in the dark and intermittent pouring rain with lightning crashing nearby and the tip of one of Neighbor Dan's palm trees rubbing against an electrical wire in the wind, arcing and sending sparks flying, filling the air with the scent of ozone and burning wood while my brother filled out a criminal complaint form and answered the same questions to each of the three officers who eventually showed up one by one.

They warned him that, although they would try to get the truck back to him as soon as possible, it might take a while if the forensics crew decided they wanted to look for DNA or fingerprints. Also, at the moment they were using the truck as bait, having staked out the area in hopes the perp(s) came back.

As it was, they called at seven to let us know we could come and retrieve it. It was stuck in the ditch, bogged down because of the rain. Neighbor Dan ended up coming by and pulling it out.

The truck works fine and, at first, my brother thought he hadn't lost anything, himself, but on further inspection a diamond ring that belonged to our uncle, of mostly sentimental value, and a check he had out to pay the utility bill, necessitating a visit to the bank to change account numbers, were missing. He added those items to the complaint form. Neighbor Dan may have lost a (full) cash deposit bag from his business. The problem with living in an area as safe as ours is that people get careless.

Let's hope, for my brother's sake, that third time's the charm.

(One of) The Many Ways To Die in Paradise

We're not quite Australia when it comes to killing off our residents and visitors, but we're not bad at it either.

One way we do it is with free-range electricity. While we don't get a lot of people that way in absolute numbers, we are the best in the nation when it comes to surprise, unsolicited (non-judicial) electrocutions.

Last week, three people were struck by one bolt of lightning on one of our barrier islands. An older guy, his teenage niece and her teenage boyfriend. The uncle apparently took the bolt directly to his head and, rather unsurprisingly, died instantly. The same bolt then jumped to the young man burning a hole in his chest and temporarily killing him, too. (Rescue workers, and his girlfriend were eventually able to revive him but he'd been out for almost an hour and, although he is now in the hospital and expected to live, the doctors are pretty much hinting that brain damage is a given.) The young woman escaped physical damage but, even with counseling, the psychological scars and probable PTSD may never go away.

They'd gone out strolling on the beach when it was clear but the clouds rolled in fast and they were heading back to shelter when they were struck.

One Close Call

Holy Shit!!

I never want to be that close to a lightning strike ever again!

We're back in the cycle of afternoon thunderstorms and some of them have been pretty intense. Yesterday, I was coming out of the library as a storm approached (actually I was just stepping out long enough to make sure I had my car windows rolled up). The sun was still out although there were massive clouds gathering all around, including right over head. I looked up just in time to see the flash.

It forked into two main branches with a number of smaller ones splitting off even further. One branch arced over the library and the other came pretty much straight down. The crash of thunder shook the building and everything around about while the after-image was still burning into my retina. I could feel the concussive effect of the collapsing air pocket, much like standing close in to a fireworks display.

The crew of Mexican gardeners working on the lawn and the plantings at the base of the palm trees didn't react at all, but then they were all wearing industrial strength earphones to deaden the roar of their own equipment. I'd say that's a testimonial to the headgear's effectiveness.

We had another storm last night, after I got home, which moved directly overhead and was intense enough to freak out the cats. And another one is rolling in as I type. Still, I can't imagine I'll ever get that up close and personal with a lightning bolt again.

Chutney, Anyone?

We haven't had a storm like this weekend's one in over a year. I could tell by the way the cats freaked out.

It was a pretty good one, too. Came up out of the Gulf with howling winds, lashing rains whipping horizontally off the roof, lightning flashing all around and thunder rattling the windows. The kids didn't know what to make of it. They'd never experienced anything close to it in their short lives and sat in the middle of the living room shivering and crying softly. I tried to cuddle them but it didn't seem to help. They couldn't make up their minds if they wanted to be held or left alone.

Their mom, on the other hand, new exactly how she wanted to deal with it, although I didn't figure that out until after the storm was pretty well over. When it had died down to a mere downpour, I went into the kitchen and, while I was chopping tomatoes, the pantry door opened. There was Jasmine. When the storm started she'd managed to open the door, climb inside the pantry and close it behind her. She rode it out in the dark, but at least she was in a confined, dry place which made her happy. If we ever do get flooded out and have to evacuate, at least I'll know where to look for her.

Our low spot out back flooded as per usual but drained away again almost immediately. The only real down side to the storm (aside from a few broken branches in the street) was that it knocked down over two dozen mangoes--none of them anywhere near ripe, yet.

I collected them all once the rain tapered off to a drizzle and they're on the kitchen counter but I doubt more than half a dozen will ripen enough to be salvaged. Fortunately, there are still about twice as many still on the tree.

In the meantime, I'm off to find recipes for unripe Alice mangoes.

A Midsummer Night's Light Show

When I returned home yesterday evening the sky was overcast (we're back in a cycle of clear, bright mornings and rainy afternoons/evenings) so I settled in to watch the Rays lose another baseball game and didn't think about the night sky until I went to take the trash out before going to bed (about 1:30 a.m.).

The clouds near us had all gone away and the nearly full Moon was so bright it turned the sky a dark pale blue. Despite the glare, Mars was still visible just to the west and Saturn just to the east of the Moon. It was too bright to use the telescope on them, though.

However, the best part was much closer to home. Although the sky overhead was clear there was a huge arc of cumulus clouds along the horizon from south to west, all illuminated by moonglow. In addition, both ends of the arc were lit up by lightning. I couldn't really see the detail off to the west, only occasional flashes, but the thunder cell to the south was continuously active with streaks and bursts of light chasing across and around the clouds, often behind but sometimes with lightning bolts in front arcing across the sky and looking like nothing so much as an animation of nerve impulses racing through a brain.

There was no breeze and the clouds were far enough away (about 50 miles, or just south of Marco Island. I checked the weather radar later) that no thunder could be heard. Just a silent, unending, living light show under the Moon and planets and motionless palms.

I stood there for a good half hour just enjoying this awesome world.

Saturation Point

Yesterday's thunderstorm may have put us over the edge.

It came on very strong with violent, close lightning (the power went out--briefly--before the thunder hammered through) but didn't last all that long. Nevertheless, it poured while it was here and, for the first time, we have some semi-serious flooding.

Our property does not abut a canal, but there is one at the end of the street. That end of our street was flooded and the entire next street over was as well. I don't know how deep because I had already driven through an intersection which I had never believed to be in a depression of any sort but which was covered by a 50 foot wide temporary lake that rose over my axles and I wasn't about to tempt fate again.

A couple of the canals near us were topping their walls and flooding onto the lawns of the houses backing up to them. The swale around the front two sides of our property has become a moat and the low spot in back is now a pond of sorts. Virtually all of our cherry tomatoes are splitting due to all the water being taken up after the fruit sets. (They still taste better than anything in the store.)

This morning, the streets were clear and dry again although low-lying grassy areas are still covered in standing water. The canals are back within their banks, barely. The ground is squishy to walk on.

One thunderstorm has rolled through already this afternoon but it was a light one. Another one like yesterday's just might be one too many.

Downloading Plans for an Ark

Well, the rain keeps coming down in torrents despite promises otherwise by the weatherfolk. We get occasional breaks, long enough to drive to the store or the library usually, but then the skies blacken and the lightning returns and the thunder rolls over and we're back under water again. The mango tree was starting a second crop and between the rain and the wind a half dozen not-quite-ripe mangoes have been knocked down so far. They're salvageable.

The canals are all full to the brink (but they have been for a while now) and we are under a flood warning. The swale around our property and the lower part of the driveway are under water as is the low part of the back yard. Some roads have been flooded although not near us. The swales, ditches and low spots by the sides of the roads, however, are all wet and rising.

The local paper reminds us that we are the lightning capital of the country. A sheriff's patrol car was struck by lightning out on the Interstate yesterday damaging the flasher light assembly on the roof. I'm sure it got the deputy's adrenaline flowing, too.

Also, the mosquito control agency is warning everyone that the continuous storms are not only creating standing water everywhere that will invite increased breeding of our 48 different species of bloodsuckers but are also preventing the spray planes from flying. So, we're on our own for now.

At least the birdbath doesn't need daily replenishing although no one visits it now, either. I did see a dove bathing in the driveway.

Jasmine and her daughters are not fans of thunder especially when the strikes are within a quarter mile of the house as they were all night long the night before last. They're not as bad as a dog would be in similar circumstances but they do huddle together in one big soft, fluffy pile of nervous energy.

And still Bartleby prefers being under the lawn chair beneath the live oak to the comforts (and dryness) of the garage.

An Offer Not Likely To Be Refused

So I'm in the local library at the moment, on the library computer, researchin', and the librarian lady announces, "Just so you all know, we're under a tornado warning right now and it's hailing outside (lightning has already knocked us onto emergency power twice) so if we come back and tell you all to move into a hallway real quick, please move into a hallway real quick."

You got a deal there, librarian lady.

Wonder if I can even get to my car for the trip home right now.

On the Effectiveness of Warding Talismans

So Isaac passed us by. It's not surprising seeing how well prepared we were.

It's seems the more actions taken in anticipation of an event the less likely the event becomes, almost as if the preparation itself is a kind of shield.

We had stocked up on non-perishable, pre-cooked food. We pulled out our flashlights and candles and filled water jugs in addition to the bottles of various juices already on hand. We rummaged through the garage in a successful search for Sterno so we could, in the event, heat the food that needed no cooking anyway. We pulled in the lawn furniture, snugging it up along the picket fence leading to the front door, and and pushed the trash bins against the garage weighting the lids with spare tires.

And Isaac came on.

The county removed the tolls from the various bridges although I'm not sure why since they're paid one way only, and that westbound, meaning anyone evacuating the barrier islands or the Cape eastbound crosses for free normally anyway. The county also closed all government offices, courts, libraries, etc. The cities closed schools. The county ordered mandatory evacuation of the islands and some mainland beach communities but was generally ignored.

And still Isaac came on.

I think what finally did the trick was my brother getting up early Sunday morning to go out and buy 25 gallons of gasoline for the generator. Within hours of his return, Isaac gave up and took a jog out to sea.

In the end, nothing happened. Sunday was overcast. Only after dark did the wind pick up intermittently with a smattering of rain. Three transformers blew up in the neighborhood but down here virtually every telephone pole also carries a transformer so, except for the actual explosions, the effects were negligible. Monday alternated between gray with moderate winds and occasional squally rain and bright sunny calm blue sky. There was a heavy cloud bank off to the west out over the Gulf and some thunder and lightning up north but nothing near us. In all, we received barely two inches of rain. The Atlantic coast and Lake Okeechobee (further away from the storm) received anywhere from three to ten times as much.

My brother expressed relief he didn't waste the energy boarding up any windows. The way the talismans worked, both ours and the county's, if he had, Isaac might just have evaporated away.

Bartleby Victorious

Bartleby's subtle and clever plan of inaction has come to successful fruition and she is proud of herself for it.

Bartleby is now an indoor cat.

Most of the recent monsoons have been accompanied by thunder and lightning and a couple of the cells have passed directly over us with literally house-shaking consequences. Unlike, say, a dog which is not ashamed to admit its fear of natural forces, Bartleby pretended not to be afraid of the storms. It was, of course, sheer coincidence that, during said storms, the only comfortable place to take a nap was wedged tightly in behind the slider-rocker in the lanai. (Any other time she'd be sprawled across the highest point she could find: chair back, table top, etc.)

My brother took pity upon her and got into the habit of bringing her into his room during the worst of it and then kicking her outside again afterward. (Actually, I was the first guilty party, bringing her in during the tornado warning.)

Last week, however, something happened. My brother had set up a fancy enclosed litter box for her in his room along with food and water and during a particularly vicious storm had let her stay with him. This suited her at first, but now she refuses to go into his room so I have brought her food and water into the hall outside his door. Meanwhile, Bartleby has appropriated a small throw rug in the middle of the walkway between the kitchen and living room where she sleeps 18 hours a day forcing us to take giant steps over her.
Pretty much her sole activity consists of sticking her head in the refrigerator and enjoying the cold air whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Actually, now that she is confident she can come inside whenever she wants, she is more willing to go outside. Yesterday, she knocked on the glass door of the lanai to go out and half an hour later came to the front door to be let in again. Despite the heat and humidity she's taken to sleeping under my car again which is pretty much full circle from when we found her.

Except now she's confident she has finally successfully trained us to her bidding.

Red and Yellow Boxes On the Map

In the going-on-three-years that I've lived here now, and the thirty-plus years I've been visiting before that, I have never experienced--not even during hurricanes--the intensity of the weather and the weather warnings we had last night.

Early in the evening the TV ran a crawl warning of severe weather offshore. There were two different, very specific, warnings: one for up to 20NM from shore and another for 20 to 60NM out. I've never before seen anything more than generalized high seas warnings.

A couple of hours later I could see lightning flashes way off to the west.

Shortly thereafter, the TV began a crawl warning of severe thunderstorms. The lightning came closer. The crawl warned people to get inside, postpone travel and take shelter but not in a vehicle or mobile home. Lightning covered the entire western sky and was close enough for the thunder to roll through.

The severe thunderstorm warning began alternating with a tornado warning. The instructions were to prepare to move to an inside windowless room in a substantial structure. Again, no vehicles, no mobile homes and, if you're outside (where advice from the TV is going to be useless) lie down in a ditch and cover your head. The lightning started striking nearby and rain came down.

At that point the weather people broke into programming and put up a local map. They showed yellow boxes for the thunderstorm warning areas and a red box for the tornado warning and reported rotation in the upper winds and a sighting of a funnel cloud (although no reported touchdown). We were in a yellow box but just (and I mean by a couple of streets) outside the red box. The entire county was under one or both warnings and lightning was striking continuously all around the house now.

I gathered my shoes, wallet and phone and brought Bartleby inside. Although the cat was happy to be indoors she seemed unfazed by the light show until one bolt hit so close there was no time delay for the thunder. She jumped at that one.

Despite local impressions, the storm was dissipating as it came ashore. The rotational winds were south of us along the river, heading away and slackening. The clouds were losing height (as shown on really neat 3-D radar imaging). As the trailing edge of the storm front came ashore our yellow warning box was removed form the map and the county south of us came under warning instead. They also got a tornado warning.

The rain slackened and by 2 a.m. it was all over.

The good news is the sun is out this morning for the first time in over a week.

New Directions, Assessed

Well, that was interesting.

There were 12 people RSVPed for the meeting Thursday night including me, six showed up (including me but not counting the presenter's young son, who is also a member of the group but slept through most of it). It was a two and a half hour trip and I arrived late thanks to a blinding downpour in St. Pete that brought highway traffic to a near standstill.

The main presentation, which was the theme for the evening, was very. . .ad hoc. . .but I did get the chance to meet the folks who were there and introduce myself and, although there was no time to go into any detail about my game idea, they all expressed the generalized interest in working on some game at some point. I think my best approach may be to create my own presentation and offer to do a meeting but first I'd like to see how many people actually show up to this thing on a regular basis.

At least I was treated to a spectacular lightning show over Tampa Bay and southward on my way back. Enormous arcs crisscrossed the sky both through the clouds and along their undersides with occasional ground strikes for the first half of my trip home.

And the Winner Is . . . the Cat

The cat finally got into the house. Was let into the house, specifically. As an act of ineffectual softheartedness.

We had a storm (or possible two loosely connected storms) this weekend. I could see the front approaching for about two hours Friday night, rolling in from the Gulf, all flashes and backlit clouds. Thunder arrived about ninety minutes later as it neared and finally the skies opened. Surprisingly, although the storm came from the west, the rain came from the east and I closed the windows on that side of the house. The cat spent the night under my car.

Saturday night threatened a repeat so I took some food out to her before the weather arrived. The winds hit close to 50mph and I closed the rest of the windows. I saw at least three lightning strikes in the neighborhood and the thunder indicated there may have been a couple more. The rain came in sheeting gusts. The Weather Channel showed our storm, a classic cyclonic swirl of clouds and lightning, stretching all the way up the Gulf coast.

When my brother came home from work, I mentioned I felt sorry for the cat out there under my car. He looked out the door and said, "No, she's right here." She'd followed him up the walk and parked herself just outside the screen.

At first, when he opened the door, she was reluctant to enter. She came into the entryway slowly and then into the foyer, walking daintily, sniffing around with a look of wonder on her face. She walked right past the bag of cat food and stood staring into the living room. My brother called to her, using several different names all of which she ignored. Finally, with some nudging, he got her into his room but apparently thought better of that and moved her onto the lanai, making a temporary cat box from an old plastic basin and some fine wood chips. I was concerned for the resident lizards.

Of course, as soon as she was safely ensconced, the rain ceased, the winds died and the lightning stopped.

She spent the night curled up on one of the cushioned wicker rockers and managed to let herself out through the lanai's unlatched screen door in the morning.

The lizards hid successfully and are fine.

Portent of Sounds To Come

Our warm winter (89F at the end of February) may presage a loud summer.

Last night I was sitting at the computer with the window open (despite the infrequent cloudbursts and occasional distant lightning) when I heard a loud *THUNK* on the window screen. Now, the cat knows which room is mine and will sometimes pound on the screen and complain if she thinks she's being ignored or wants something. So I glanced around behind my CRT prepared to shoo her away.

It wasn't the cat. It was a frog, pale green, almost white on the belly (which was the part presented to me), a little more than 2" long head to butt. It hung on the screen for a few minutes, looking as comfortable as if it was sitting flat on the ground, before launching itself back into the darkness.

Last year we had a bullfrog chorus most of late summer in the treeline. If the frogs are already out in February, I can only imagine how long and loud this year's concert might be.

Operation Pinocchio III: Mom's Excellent Adventure

So, I took Mom to the dermatologist today. The process began last evening.

"Remember, you're going to the doctor tomorrow."

"I am?"

"Yes. We're going back to have your stitches removed."

"I have stitches?"

"Yes. Four of them. In your nose."

"Really? Why?"

"Because last week the doctor removed a small tumor from your nose and stitched up the wound and now we have to go get them taken out. Why do you think I've been changing the bandage on your nose every day?"

"Well, I was wondering about that."

So, after a variation on this conversation this morning, and again in the car, we arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes early. After a short wait Mom was being taken back to the surgery room when we all heard an explosion outside and the power went out. It was heavily overcast and had rained earlier so the first assumption was lightning blowing out a transformer. A little later presumptive blame shifted to the construction site behind the building we were in.

Actually, only most of the power went out. Some of the lights remained on (including the ones in the room we needed) but all the computers and the air conditioning went out. As did the elevator. We were on the third floor.

The nurse (the same one who freaked out last week) removed (most) of the stitches and the doctor came in to check her work and remove the one she missed. Total time elapsed: five minutes. While she was working, the nurse assured us the doctor would help me get Mom onto her walker (which can double as a wheelchair in a pinch) and help manhandle her down stairs since the elevator was stuck with people trapped in it and nobody knew how long it would take to free them. The doctor assured me absolutely none of that would ever happen and we should just sit in the reception area until the elevator was repaired. Mom and I agreed that was the better option.

Meanwhile, the people trapped in the elevator had used the emergency phone to contact the fire department which arrived just about the time we made it out to the waiting room. Whereupon I had my brilliant idea for the day. I went downstairs and asked the firemen if they could help me get Mom out.

They could. They'd be happy to. They, in fact, had a "stair chair," a purpose-built contraption designed for this very eventuality. They just didn't have it with them in their truck. But the EMTs had one in their ambulance. Which the firemen were happy to call to the scene. They were a happy bunch of guys.

When the ambulance arrived, we all trooped back up the stairs (which are on the outside of the building accessible from a wraparound balcony) lugging the stair chair with them into the office where they strapped Mom in with a belt across her waist and crossed belts across her chest and the only thing keeping it from looking like an official straight jacket was the lack of arm restraints. They told her to keep her arms inside the chair and wheeled her out to the landing.

In addition to the wheels, a stair chair has a kind of thin, narrow tank tread device, long enough to cover at least two stair treads, that swings down from the back under the chair and acts as a slide so the chair doesn't bump its way down. It also acts, according to the firemen, as a kind of brake to keep the chair from descending too fast. With one fireman on the down side and one on the up side, two EMTs watching and me trailing behind with Mom's walker they eased her down four half-flights of stairs, around three landings and right out to my car.

Mom was delighted and thrilled and told my brother the whole story in detail when we got home. "Never rode in one of those, before!" she said. No matter how old you are, there's always the chance something new will happen every day.