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.

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.

Jumping the Gun

It's three days before the special Republican primary election to select one of the candidates (and, given, the hard conservatism of this district, the likely winner) to replace our disgraced coke-headed Tea Party congressman and the local newspaper has done something I don't recall ever seeing before.

Their dead-tree edition has a front page story, covering the top two-thirds, effectively calling the race for one of the candidates based on a poll conducted earlier in the week. The headline reads, "ALL CLAWSON," with a picture of the candidate about twice as large as the others. (I think the size of the photo is equivalent to the per centage of favorable responses in the poll.) Clawson is an "outsider," a Tea Party darling and something of a carpetbagger, just like the last few congressmen from this district everyone is so embarrassed about.

The poll was conducted over three days and limited to registered Republicans (it's a closed primary) who claimed they were "certain" or "likely" to vote. There were 669 respondents. Further breakdown reveals that 91% were white, and 50% are over 65 years old. Another 36% are between 45 and 65. There's no telling how many of the remaining 14% are real close to 45 but as the Tea Partiers and other far right conservatives die off around the country, this will probably be their last stronghold.

Meanwhile, the actual election is still in progress. Early voting has been going on all week. Absentee ballots have reportedly been received at the county clerk's office in near record numbers. And the official election day isn't until Tuesday.

The cynic in me wonders if this is not a ploy by the newspaper (which is actually fairly moderate on political issues) to make Clawson supporters believe the election is in the bag, thereby lowering their turnout on election day and getting the followers of one of the also-rans fired up to go vote. Politics is dirty enough around here that it's possible.

We're Bombing in New Haven

In American theater, there are several degrees of importance. There is, of course, "Broadway." Major venues that are not literally on Broadway but still within the theater district are, logically enough, "Off Broadway." Those even further out but still in Manhattan (or at least New York City), and frequently experimental, are "Off Off-Broadway." And then there is "Off Off-Off-Broadway, sometimes also known as "New Haven."

We have the same thing with elections. We have elections around here every year for something or other. The big ones, of course, are the even-numbered year quadrennial presidential elections when we enjoy months of vicious mudslinging advertisements, day-long lines in the hot sun, eight-page ballots crammed with ridiculous proposed constitutional amendments the legislature was too craven to pass on their own, hanging chads, miscounts, recounts and court challenges. And the unrelenting attention of the national news media. This is our political "Broadway."

Two years later, in the intervening even years, we have our off-year elections when the federal House of Representatives, the state legislature, governor and the rest of the elected state officials, and the occasional U.S. Senator all stand for office. Fewer people show up for this one than the presidential elections but the governorship is important enough to attract a fairly decent turnout most years.

Then there are the off off-year elections. The odd-numbered year elections. The local races for mayor and city council and county commission and other even more obscure positions. The offices that generate the largest volume of most passionate, florid, ill-considered, barely literate and unintentionally hilarious letters to the editor of the local newspaper. This year.

Today.

And no one shows. I voted today. I went to my precinct just before noon. I thought I saw someone leaving as I entered but it could easily have been a poll worker taking some air. I was the only voter there during the time it took me to cast my ballot. There was a "guard" at the door, three people at the table where I showed my ID and received my number, another to trade me my number for a blank ballot, still one more to stand by and instruct me how to insert the completed ballot into the machine if I didn't know how or had forgotten since last time and two sitting attentively at another table watching the whole process. And that doesn't count the three people at the refreshment table on the way out offering to reward me with coffee and pastries.

I was outnumbered eleven-to-one.

People will bitch and moan about the president and blame him for things over which he has no control and are the Congress' responsibility. But they don't bother to vote for representative or senator. They complain about the governor but never vote against their state legislator. And for the politicians and offices that have the most effect on their taxes and day-to-day lives, the people who determine the property tax rates and manage the police and fire services, who run the sewer and water department and repair the roads? They don't even bother to vote.

But the letters will still be in the paper tomorrow.

The Frightful Day Approacheth

The local newspaper has officially announced that Rainy Season ended last Wednesday. They may be right. We haven't had a drop of rain since then and hardly a cloud in the sky.

Let the games begin.

Neighbor Dan took an early lead by laying out several of his inflatable Hallowe'en displays over the weekend but he has yet to inflate them. I suppose he's just positioning to get a feel for balance and composition but he has also not mowed his lawn in over a week and his grass is already shoe-top high and raggedy. If he leaves the displays staked as is he won't be able to cut and will be close to knee deep by the time the big evening rolls around.

My brother, on the other hand, mowed yesterday afternoon. At least, he mowed the front lawn which, after all, is where the decorations go and the only part visitors will see. Actually, in best Redneck fashion, he mowed most of the front lawn, ignoring under the live oak and bougainvillea and around the coconut palm on the logical assumption that neither decorations nor visitors will go there and it will be dark anyway, after all, so who's going to notice.

I've only seen one other house with any decorations and they've been up since late September but the house is nowhere near us and their display consists entirely of smallish inflatable Disney characters leaning heavily on the theme of Mickey as Sorcerer's Apprentice. Not even also rans.

The Place Where I Live

A couple in this county but a few towns over recently had a safe stolen from their home. It contained $100,000 in gold and silver bars that they had just removed from a bank safe deposit box in order to buy a house. I'm thinking either first generation immigrants untrusting of banks due to experiences in the old country (although, why then use a bank's safe deposit box?), or drug dealers trying to keep income off the books (although, I can't imagine customers buying with gold and silver so somewhere along the line cash must have been paid for these bars so there's a record somewhere), or--and this seems most likely to me--idiots.

Considering all of the advertising on TV and in the paper pushing gold and silver hedges against a falling dollar, junk mail touting collectible coins and medallions and right-wing ranters extolling the virtues of hoarding hard metal for the end-times, I'm not surprised someone thought this was a good idea.
______________

On a totally unrelated note, the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commissioners remind people that it's not just a bad idea to hunt alligators with a handgun, it's also illegal. Handguns are, apparently, perfectly legal when hunting Burmese pythons, as long as the coup de grace is administered correctly.

But do not share with bears. Or the feral hogs.

Happie Days

I was going to write about receiving in the mail my sample ballot for the upcoming primary election and noting how it has a space for the Democratic primary which absolutely no one has mentioned since there are umpty-gajiliion Republicans running against each other and only one challenger to the incumbent Democratic U.S. senator and how in some races independents and even Democrats can vote in the Republican primary because this is such a conservative area (despite Florida being an almost-evenly-balanced swing state) that, in some local races, there are no Democratic opponents thus making the primary effectively the general election but . . . hey! Happie, the local 3-year-old skateboarding Nigerian dwarf cross goat, just made the Guinness World Records!

The story itself is pretty cute (Happie does tricks like a dog, too) but what originally got my attention was the delightfully irrelevant caption which accompanied one of the photos in the newspaper article.

While teaching Happie to skateboard, Melody Cooke
was also accepted to the Wharton School of Business.
/ Lindsay Terry/news-press.com

Is Melody perhaps feeding Happie the remains of the acceptance letter?

Anyway, politics some other day. Today: Happie, the world record holder!



Mom, A Life: Part Six

Mom, A Life: Part Five

Life With Father

Mom had apparently been in love with Dad for a while, since before his truncated failed first marriage even, although she would never discuss the gap in time between Dad hitchhiking to visit while she was a nursing student before 1947 and their marriage in 1949. The thing she did know about Dad was that he was artistic, a good dancer and something of a dreamer.

Dad always thought of himself as something of an entrepreneur, an independent small businessman. When the family started to grow and they bought their first house in East Haven, Dad set up a one-man advertising agency in New Haven, using his artistic talents. It struggled at first, and money was tight, but that did not stop the romantic in Dad from buying an upright piano for Mom for an anniversary present one year. She was furious. (I only found out many, many years and many, many piano lessons later.) Mom was always the practical, accountable partner.

Mom and Dad both loved to socialize and throw parties especially if Mom could come up with a theme. They held costume parties, luaus, scavenger hunts and hallowe'en get togethers. One party in the 50s was a hobo gathering where each guest (in appropriate raggedy costume) was given a large can full of stew and a smaller can for drinks. One scavenger hunt, apparently in drag, covered five towns and may have involved the police. (Rumors vary.) There is a photo, which I have seen but can not put my hands on just now, of Dad wearing a German pickelhaube helmet from WWI, three sizes too small, and blowing a bugle of the type used by postal riders back when there were postal riders.

Dad's agency grew and was successful for a while. His largest client was the A.C. Gilbert Co. makers of American Flyer trains and Erector Sets.

With the opening of the Connecticut Turnpike (I95), the shoreline east of New Haven became available for development and the family moved to a small (12-25 houses) development deep in the woods of North Madison at the end of 1961. The house was an ugly modern split level with too small windows. Mom proceeded to paint the main wall in the living room purple and used an enormous sponge to daub large (also purple) splotches on the wall of the master bedroom. She also created a large (3 foot tall) jack of diamonds playing card to hang on the family room wall. The card was lost when we moved to our second house in town, a large post-colonial sea captains house built 1798, but it was found and appeared in the local newspaper chained to the ankle of the reporter's wife.

(The garage on the left is at street level and had a flat roof. The room at right was originally a screened in porch. The house is visible only because the huge and ancient horse chestnut tree is gone.)

Unfortunately, in 1967, A.C. Gilbert went bankrupt and it turned out they were Dad's only sizable client. Both Mom and Dad tried various desperation measures to bring in income. Mom had a successful but short-lived business making pre-baked pie shells out of the house and had them in various stores along the shore line but, even with us kids assembling and labeling the boxes daily, exhaustion set in before enough capital was available for serious expansion and the project collapsed. At one point Dad sold bait to fishing supply shops along the shore. Eventually, they had to declare bankruptcy and we moved to our third house in town.

Miscellanea

The local dead tree happy news "newspaper" drops free copies twice a week in our driveway. I always thought it was a marketing ploy to get people to subscribe for the other days but the last one they left on Thursday was the same one they dropped last Saturday so maybe it's just their way of disposing of their leftovers.

It seems we are no longer the fastest growing county in the entire country. (Honestly, I didn't know we ever were. I always thought whatever county Las Vegas is in held that dubious honor.) Anyway, we are now 33rd thanks to fracking North Dakota.

Which is just as well because when the big storm finally comes along, we're all boned. It could take 70 hours to evacuate our low-lying peninsula and the surrounding county. (We're pretty much in the middle of the peninsula and we're not 10 feet above mean sea level. In fifty years it won't make a difference.)

On the bright side, we caught the rat that's been eating the cat's food. My brother had been putting peanut butter topped with cat kibble on the trap but the rat was very good at cleaning it all off without triggering the spring. A piece of hot dog proved both irresistible and immovable. The cat, who prefers to sprawl under the oak tree all day pretending to be a lion lazing under an acacia on the Serengeti and couldn't be bothered to protect her own food supply, was curious enough to come over as I was disposing of the carcass. I told her if she wanted a rat of her own she'd have to catch it herself, so she went back under the oak for a nap.

Useless beast.

The 4.5th Estate

The (extremely) local news rag in town, which started as a happy news newspaper years ago and has evolved into an echo of the "big" daily across the river has a very particular and peculiar style when it comes to crime reporting. I suspect it comes from trying to cover their asses when reporting charges. If they can be sued for any errors when reporting charges, or if those errors might affect the court case, then the easiest solution is simply to copy, verbatim, from the arrest report without editing the police shorthand.

Which gives us the second paragraph of the article below exactly as it appeared in the paper:

Third person accused in meth lab operation

March 28, 2012

By TIFFANY REPECKI (trepecki@breezenewspapers.com) , Cape Coral Daily Breeze

      A third person has been arrested in connection to a meth lab operation that local authorities busted last week at a home in northwest Cape Coral.

      Russell Wayne Baxter Jr., 28, was charged Sunday with drugs produce possess structure vehicle know drugs manufactured minor present, drugs produce methamphetamine, traffic methamphetamine or amphetamine 14 grams or over and neglect child without great harm.

Unfortunately, murdering the language is not an indictable offense.

(This was actually a pretty big deal since we're more of an Oxycontin type community and not so much with the meth.)