10 thoughts on ““Stubborn Shreds”

    • In the long run it is about what happens every 20 or 40 years or so…just a little bit more than I hand wanted…the tropical storms keep missing, the seabreezes fizzle and I find myself taking shade under the bottlebrush trees which hide underneath the oaks…a well-shaded site encourages the breeze. I keep a spray-nozzled hose handy and wear quick-dry swim trunks…now if only I had kept the big galvanized washtubs into which I might fit with a nearby bucket to do similar service for the container plants…I have held in abeyance a good bit of gardening, but I suspect we shall pay for the warm September and October with a brutally cold Winter…all to balance.

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    • I’ve had 90+ degree (F) Christmases wherewhen I was surfing at New Smyrna Beach. Long ago I reconciled J to Weather: I ain’t gonna change it and I found I really do like hot-n-dry, hot-n-humid and its Winterish opposites. My current contrempts(sp?) with Weather has visited before – about every 20 years or so. Hereabouts in CentFla I like to jest we get 9 months of Summer, 2 months of Winter and six weeks to six days to six hours of Spring and/or Fall. Sometimes it seems six minutes. And at most any time (‘cepting July it seems) we can accomplish the mid-40s and more often the mid-50s for our lows and near 100 for our highs. My rain cisterns are nearly depleted, but that is fine: The hose is long and I know where the water meter “key” is stored. There’s a defunct shallow well pump out back, for when this house boasted a late-1950s swimming pool, long-since in-filled, but I plan not its return to service. We well may broach the bottom end of the 70s for night-time lows, Shehanne, and already our daytime highs are flirting with the underside of the 90s. Bliss, I tells ya]. Just pure bliss (of course that “b” word-start sometimes seems misplaced – and I do find my dyslexia a delight at times.

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      • My acquaintances and pals – family knows me and knows better – constantly amazed that I still have loads of winterwear: especially the woolen trousers and shirts and coats – and socks: oh, yes, The Socks…someone should exhume the first woolen sock-maker and grant them a Nobel Prize! I never travel North of Central Florida without at least one change of me winter woolies! Likewise, take shorts and tee and flip-flopish beach sandals as well, especially if flying…arriving in Orlando or Sanford internationals wearing arctic or even sub-arctic is contraindicated hereabouts…Often I ship the winterwear and purchases home the night before via FedX or somesuch so I have only one carry-on and I can endure the stares and the chills as I exit nonchalantly from whatever surface travel I’ve engaged to take me from hotel to airport. Sure beats having to haul dead animal skins around when cotton soon will be the main attire. I love both the heat and the cold and take both the humidity and the dessication by dessert (Florida without benefit of both The Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico well might be a dessert…many if not most of the world’s great desserts are on our parallel).

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  1. Used to shock the neighbors in my apartment in Philadelphia (last year of active-duty Marine Corps) when I’d come out to start my VolksWagon superbeetle (air-cooled engine so I starting it up not to warm the engine, but to warm the heater) in flip-flops and my tee-shirt and uniform (boxers) underwear. Go in and finish dressing and by the time the car was purring and the ice was melting on the windscreens – I took the time to turn on the defroster front and rear as well – I used my spare car key to unlock said blue beetle and off I’d roar downtown to the recruiting and reserve district headquarters, freshly shaved, showered, shorn and shined. The only thing all the other Gyrenes at Broad&WAshington 4th MCDistrict headquarters did not understand was that I was entering the massive building without a coffee cup. I kept a makings for a cup of tea – just lemon – in my office and fetched the lemon from the photo lab’s refrigerator just a few steps from my domain. No one ever filched tea bags but I kept them as bait just in case…the tea was loose in an airtight canister in the bottom drawer where I kept the illegal Irish whisky.

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      • None of the neighbors ever commented: even the ones with whom I’d congregate Sunday afternoons at Murphy’s Tavern two blocks closer to U. Penn. (I lived at the borders of The Black section of West Philadelphia – so I guess crazy Irish and used-to-Southern Blacks figured white boys from Down South wearing Marine Corps Monday-Friday clothes got all the dispensations they wanted, even with ice on the streets and 40 degrees F for high temps. I wold have thought the Florida car license plates would have drawn comparison-comments, but big-city rules seemed to apply. Even now that Sanford has grown from 5-6,000 souls of my youth, 16,000 of my high school days and 35,000 of my return from University and work-a-day to the now 60,000+ and you’d expect a certain metropolitan laissez faire-edness still even strangers ask after anything they thing out-of-the-ordinary. We must have something in the air – I know something’s in the water, but I give it headaches with good American, Irish, Scots or else hootch. Preventative Drinking I call it.

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