The Ongoing Daily Apocalypse

Seems a rather large sinkhole has opened up near Disney World swallowing a largish building or two and effectively destroying an entire resort complex.

(It is an ex-resort)

No injuries reported, so that's good and the resort has given spending money to guests who lost their clothes and wallets and such in the collapse.

Meanwhile, closer to home, a Texas company is seeking permits to drill fracking wells in a housing development next to protected panther habitat near the Everglades, a process that will use tens of thousands of gallons of water. Never mind the toxic chemicals used to break up the rock, that water has to come from somewhere. The state Department of Environmental Protection notes that "heavy ground water pumping, [and] diversion of natural water flow routes . . . may accelerate sinkhole formation." What could possibly go wrong?

(Locals protest fracking as the Google Street View car rolls by)

Meanwhile, a twelve-year-old boy over toward Lake Okeechobee has contracted brain-eating amoebae, probably from swimming in a canal full of warm fresh (but contaminated) water. The brain-eating amoeba is rare, but of the couple hundred known cases there has only ever been one survivor.

Meanwhile, over on the east coast, a large bloom of slimy, fluorescent green algae is closing the St. Lucie and Indian rivers. Officials are warning locals not to even touch the water.

Just another day in Paradise.

Kind of puts the pythons and bears and lion fish and tegus and 48 species of mosquitoes in perspective doesn't it?

Mangomania

Our mango tree is doing something I have never seen before. The east-facing quarter of the tree (only) is producing a second crop of fruit.

The entire first go-'round ripened and fell and was gathered by us, or was eaten by the squirrel, birds and insects. But now, this one section of the tree is producing again. And the mangoes are glorious. They're huge, plump and heavy. A couple of them have fallen, mostly due to wind and rain, but my brother has taken to actually harvesting them so we're getting them store-quality with no blemishes.

Somewhere, he found a long-handled sickle (12 feet (4 meters) long and which I have never seen before in our collection of tools) and has taken to going out almost daily to gently swipe at the ripest looking fruit. Sometimes he has to climb a ladder first. If they're ready, they fall. If not, he'll try again in a day or so.

Three mangoes, peeled and cubed, filled two quart containers yesterday. (I quit after three because I managed to stab myself in the palm.) There are close to a dozen more on the counter awaiting attention (and the availability of more containers) and still there are a couple dozen more on the tree.

Meanwhile, Neighbor Mike's tree is now overflowing with ripe fruit, too, although his are golden yellow all over where ours turn orange/red retaining green undertones. None of his have fallen yet, but neither have we seen him picking any.

Payin' It Out, Old School

I got on the phone yesterday to pay my semi-annual auto insurance bill and received a surprise. A human answered.

There was a weird kind of electronic hiccup while the phone was ringing, a hesitation of sorts, while the system apparently switched from the standard automated routine to human back-up. I was so startled to hear a real person I blurted out, "Oh, I was expecting the computer," when she said, "Hello."

She seemed a bit taken aback, too, and not aware their system was down. Nevertheless, she took my policy number, confirmed my name and birthdate, and asked if I wanted to pay the full amount with the card they have on file. I said, "Yes." She said, "Done," and gave me my confirmation number.

The whole process took less than half the time going through their automated phone tree does mostly because the robot voice offers repetitive descriptions of its intent and actions and demands constant confirmation of mine.

I'm sure the robot is cheaper but the human was way more efficient. And nicer to talk to.

My Back. Let Me Pat It.

I received my 6 gallon certificate from the hospital blood services department today. That's 48 pints or approximately 24 liters. I donated another 43 units or so back in Salt Lake City before moving but the Red Cross doesn't give out prizes like the local hospital here does. (I have enough blood related T-shirts to last the rest of my life already.)

And that's almost all platelets, too. I switched from whole blood to platelets back in SLC when they asked me to do a directed donation for the children's hospital. Even though my blood type is common, for some reason, I am part of the 1% that does not carry the common cytomegalovirus making my otherwise plain vanilla blood suitable for people with compromised immune systems.

Before that I gave in both Connecticut and New Jersey when I lived/went to school there but I wasn't nearly so conscientious then. I think that may have something to do with a bad experience at school in New Jersey when the Red Cross did a drive and everyone I went in with was all through and done and the next batch was finishing up while I was still on the table because my vein had collapsed and nothing was drawing so the doctor in charge pulled the needle from my right arm, walked around the table, and jabbed it into my left arm. Now a days, the slightest thing goes wrong they pull the works, stop the process and trash the lot but back then there was no HIV/AIDS or BSE and very little concern for hepatitis or any of the other horrors now on the questionnaire and that doctor was not going to just walk away with a half-full bag.

Anyway, if I totaled them all together I'm probably somewhere around 20 gallons, lifetime. So now I've got my certificate and I'm scheduled again for the 15th.

I feel so noble.

Sign of the Times

Pulled up behind a truck towing an enclosed utility trailer at a traffic light yesterday. The back of the dark maroon trailer had a large headline that read, "Ten Simple Rules" across the top with the list appearing below in rather fine yellow print that was difficult to read without tailgating.

At first I thought the trailer might be a rental and the "Rules" were instructions for proper usage. As I eased up closer, however, I could finally decipher that small print and recalled where I was.

Ah, yes. Not "Rules." The Ten Commandments. Written in contemporary ("You must not . . .") rather than traditional ("Thou shalt not . . .") style. The trailer might still be a rental, though. Sometimes this place is south New York. Other times it's just deep South.

In the Fullness of Time

This weekend my brother planted the orange tree I gave him.

For Christmas.

The poor thing has been sitting in its pot either in the lanai or out in the back yard since December 26. Who knows how long it sat in the nursery before that. (Best guess: Not nearly as long.)

At first he wanted to wait for the weather to warm up, which made sense. It would do no good to plant it if there was a chance of a freeze. Then, for a long time after any possibility of a freeze had passed, I don't know what the excuse was except the redneck tendency to never quite finish (or start) any project. At first, he said he didn't know where he wanted to put it. Later it was too hot to work outside (frequently true), then too rainy (sometimes true). Then he needed to buy fertilizer first. That took a month or so to get around to. Then he discovered irrigation pipes tangled in the roots of the (stunted) lemon tree which he originally intended to dig up and replace with the orange.

Yesterday, as I was looking out the sliding door to the lanai, I noticed the orange tree was no longer parked next to the lemon but was back in the far corner of our property past the smaller of our coconut palms. And it was in the ground. And while I was looking my brother took a gallon of water out to it. Knowing his green thumb, it will probably thrive. Of course, the tools he used are still stuck in the ground next to the tree and will be until they are eventually needed somewhere else.

I hadn't said aloud that I would never by him another plant again, but maybe he sensed it anyway.

And maybe I will reconsider.

Miscellania

The kittens (a term not to be used much longer considering their sizes) insist on pushing their toys under doors then doing various gymnastic moves in vain attempts to retrieve them. Considering the typical Florida open plan layout of this house, I am surprised how many closed doors there actually are around here (my room, my bathroom, the front closet, the laundry room,  . . .). No matter how many times I rescue the catnip mouse or stuffed fish and place them in the middle of the living room, the cats inevitably end up playing right next to a door, with predictable results. The next round of toys will have to be bigger than the gap between floor and door.

Paribanour has darkened up some and her chipmunk stripe has blended in to the point of near invisibility. It's now noticeable primarily as a glossy line down her back as opposed to the matte gray of the rest of her fur. She has, however, developed a raccoon ring tail in the meantime.

There's some sort of bug I have yet to see that bites (or stings) without warning leaving a swollen spot similar to a mosquito bite that turns into a red patch the size of a thumbnail and lasts the better part of a week itching like hell the entire time. It's gotten me four times now, three of them either through or under clothing.

Our sweet red peppers and cherry tomatoes are coming along nicely although my brother tends to pick the tomatoes before they're fully ripe in an effort to keep local varmints from getting at them. It works but we're missing out on some juicy ripeness as a result.

Speaking of cherries (the real kind), the cats love them. They're perfect for batting around and playing kitten football. Even in season and on sale, they're expensive enough down here for me to take them away and rewash them. At least the tooth and claw marks are merely indentations and not punctures. The show no interest in the grapes or tomatoes even though they all share space on the counter.

Our mango tree is generating a second crop for us. The new mangoes are limited to the eastern quadrant of the tree but there are maybe a couple dozen decent size ripening up there. Neighbor Mike's mango tree is full. He likes ours better. When we first gave him some of ours a few years ago, he enjoyed them so much he ran right out and bought his own tree, but it's a different species he doesn't think is as sweet.