Fourth of July Reflections

 
Summer’s major holiday, July 4^th has come and gone, yet perhaps a bit of reflection surrounding our nation’s birthday is due. With a multitude of historical documentaries bombarding the airwaves reminding us of the sacrifices made, all in the name of freedom, one question need be asked: Did we learn from our mistakes and those of others? Simply put, is history destined to repeat itself?

As a product of the “anti-establishment” hippie generation, we were the people that sought answers to this question. Moshe Dayan, an Israeli military leader and politician, who became a crusader for peace once said, “Freedom IS the oxygen of the soul.” Quite the profound statement and a true testament to ALL mankind. A mirror image of our great country, America, freedom in all its grandeur, has many faces. The United States, our country, our community, is a unique mass of inhabitants with dreams, hopes, opinions and beliefs just a diverse. We live, work, worship and socialize where we choose, we speak without fear of condemnation, we heartily disagree with those not sharing our views, but will defend their right to do just that.

As we gathered together this recent July 4^th, sharing laughter, food and a lively round of golf, a sense of warmth consumed my inner being. Not the kind of warmth associated with this tropical paradise, but a warmth akin to pride. “There is something magnificent is having a country to love” says American born poet James Russell Lowe,. We say “thank you, Mr. Lowe, that goes for community as well,” and by the way, Happy Birthday America!

Fire up the Ark!

Fire up the ark, the parched and deeply cracked soils of the dried ponds, lakes and streams are once again breathing life, gulping in the torrential rains of this unruly, unpredictable and lazy tropical storm, known as Debby. The earth is alive with activity, the skies as well, with clouds traveling at dizzying speeds, dumping deluges of water and spawning tornadoes wrapped within the menacing storm clouds. This normally quiet, passive tropical paradise with its endless nighttime skies, alive with shooting stars, warm summer breezes and brilliant moon lite nights, its silhouettes of graceful palms, swaying gently in the warm humid air of a tropical evening, is currently in a state of madness, a frenzy, a definite cleansing!

Flooding of "biblical" proportions has covered the area. We are thankful not to have beachfront property, although as I look out my kitchen window, water is lapping at the edge of the yard about fifteen feet from the house. The beach is coming to us! Luckily the yard is pitched so it is doubtful the water will arrive anytime soon. What has arrived is the mass migration of creatures living within the flood zone, otherwise known as the tropical preserve, with is rainforest canopy no longer protecting the residents. They search for the elusive dry spot...........don't they know, I am not into sharing my spot!

Two small children of a very ticked off Mother Nature, are welcomed. They zoom, they flit and fly about between the pounding rain, seeking refuge and food. Having found both beneath the roof covered driveway of our yard, these adorable ruby-throated hummingbirds zoom from one potted flowering plant to another. If in the world of little hummingbirds, there is a lottery, they have just hit the jackpot!

Earlier today as cabin fever began to lead to a mushy soaked sogginess of the brain, we ventured out into the neighborhood. The roads overflowing with water and critters primping, preening and playing in the coolness of the cloud covered skies. If only for a moment the rains subsided, the trees and grasses breathing, soaking in all this freshness, seemed to instantly turn a sparkling and radiant emerald green. In all it's fury, the howling winds, the pounding rains have washed the landscape, it is renewed, most of it has survived unscathed, perhaps with a few less leaves in their canopies.

Mostly it is the material children of the earth that have been battered. Those that did not heed the warning to "batten down the hatches"will begin the process of cleaning up the results. For the most part, this community was spared. Water, water everywhere, but no trees succumbed to the winds. Others less than a mile or two west of us, hit with a smaller tornado as a reminder of what could have been much worse!

As evening set in, the airwaves reporting the entire region again under a tornado watch! Rains for the moment have subsided, winds still gusty, clouds still menacing, Debby refusing to leave, she too "in love" with this tropical paradise or perhaps she seeks revenge on those that have abused her Mother, Nature that is!

A Different Approach

Is it always human deaths that are the cause of sorrow? Beloved pets are sometimes mourned as deeply, they too leaving an emptiness hard to fathom. A childhood playmate, a constant companion, a faithful friend, pets become a part of our lives, asking for nothing but food, shelter and love. As they pass away, most certainly a tremendous void can be left.

Our beloved Fred the Dog, passed away as he approached, by human standards, his teenage years. Truly an "old man", crippled by arthritis, many stomach ailments, failing eyesight and numerous other afflictions of old age, Fred's quality of life, long gone, yet in our hearts and mind, a distant happy memory. He was our boy, the happy go lucky puppy, a beloved family member, whose passing tore at our heart strings and left an emptiness in our lives. We vowed, "no more pets, this is much too hard!". We have been true to our vow, yet freely talk of our fun times and fantastic memories of Fred the Dog.

It is only now we joke of our children's first pets. The good Lord put gold fish on this earth for a reason. It can teach a child responsibility. Having a living thing in your bedroom, staring at you through the lens of a fishbowl, can either bring companionship, or in the case of a young child living in fear of monsters in the dark, that google-eyed orange monster, can create midnight paranoia in the most stable of households. It is no wonder, their deaths are easily accepted, a quick flush and burial at sea is completed.

The local funeral home was located across the street from our residence, affording the kids a front row seat of just what "calling hours" entailed. As youngsters having to stay within the boundaries of their own yard, peeking through the fence, they watched the solemn procession of families and friends of the deceased. Questions almost always arose: " Mommy what is in that big box they just took out of that long black car?" "Mommy, why are people crying and why so sad?" Answering these questions, not wanting them to be traumatized in their thoughts and understanding of death, was a challenge.

Yet they understood more than I gave them credit for. True to form, their deceased goldfish's final resting place was not a quick flush, but a proper burial, with miniature casket and final farewell prayer, in the "backyard cemetery." At one point, funeral home processions became their obsession! One weekend jaunt to Gramma's house required carrying one's suitcase as though there were a corpse in it, much to the dismay of the old ladies in the neighborhood. Those sweet young children, that always visited and listened to those older ladies gossiping their afternoons away, we're suddenly viewed as evil, disrespectful and rude, although never a mean word was uttered! They must of all been related In some way, shape or form, to my great aunt, "the casket thrower!"

But my kids will always be just that, my kids.  They fondly talk of their former pets with love and happiness, death at the time was heart-wrenching, yet with each year that passes, the long ago emotions have mellowed, their bitterness waning and evolving into precious and comforting memories.

Just Sleeping?

Mom was crying, Daddy trying to comfort her. For a time, I associated the late night phone call, with sadness. It had made my mother cry! Big Memere, had died. At that early age of seven, death had never crossed my path.

Big Memere, as she was affectionately called by my sister and I, was our Great Grandmother. Although she spoke only French, she understood everything we said. Whenever she saw us, a big hug and kiss and with the thickest of French-Canadian accents, it was always, " oh babies!". Mom and our Memere, Big Memere's oldest daughter, would then carry on in French. Although they assumed we didn't understand, these visits were frequent and through sheer repetition, we could almost always get the gist of the conversations.

Although my Mother's immediate family was just her mother, her extend family was huge. Big Memere and Pepere had sixteen children. With multiple sets of twins, survival of both babies born in the first two decades of the twentieth century, we're slim. By the time my sister and I entered this world, Big Mem and Pep had only had eight surviving children, four boys, four girls.

Our Memere had been married, we never knew her husband and no one ever spoke of him, unless we missed that part of the French conversation. Hmmm, could of been a good thing, all we knew was that he was mean and had left our Memere and Mom. Mom's brother Roland died at age ten, during the outbreak of polio in the 1930's. Mom and Memere missed him dearly, their words were always so kind when his name was mentioned.

Now, my mother's sadness was the result of her grandmother's death. After much deliberation it was decided, although young, I would be allowed to attend big Memere's wake. Thinking back, I can still visualize my great grandmother. Hands folded, rosary beads intertwined amongst the arthritic looking dead fingers, every wrinkle on her older than dirt face covered with makeup, this did not look like the Big Memere, who welcomed me with open arms, let me sit on her lap, as she sat rocking in her chair next to the old green kerosene stove. Not the best looking woman I had ever seen, but her smile always radiated warmth and welcome.

Big Memere, the matriarch of this clan, had helped raise my mother. Some of her younger children were within a couple years of my Mother's age, making them more like siblings than her aunts and uncles. Mom was devastated by Big Memere's passing.

As we made our way to view the body, a small kneeler had been place alongside the coffin. Mom and Dad knelt down, instructing my sister and I to stand on either side of them. Looking back the quietness of the moment disturbed me. Hearing quiet heart wrenching sobs, I carefully turned to see it wasn't my Mom, she had composure. Mom whispering softly to Dad, "she looks wonderful, beautiful, she is at peace. Yikes, Big Memere had a heart, large, open and beautiful, her inner peace, gorgeous. To say she looked beautiful, it was then I realized, death made Mom blind, if only for a few days, my Dad as well, he agreed with her! At least at age seven, that's the way I had perceived the moment.

Those heart wrenching sobs heard above the soft murmurs and prayer within the room, coming from Aunt Anna. Actually my great aunt, she was one of Big Memere's surviving children, her outward appearance left no doubt she belonged to Big Memere! My sister and I always thought of her as somewhat mean, the total opposite of her mother. Years later we dubbed her the "casket thrower," as she always made a scene, sobbing uncontrollably, "throwing" herself atop the casket or so it seemed. Most seemed to ignore her, although I do remember a stern look from my grandmother and a few short words in French, not meant for our ears!

Trying to remember that event more than half a century later, few things stand out. Fact of the matter is, she looked as though she were sleeping and certainly not any "prettier!" Aunt Anna, not by choice a middle child, tried to steal the show and my first "brush with death" certainly did not scar me for life nor did I have nightmare following this event!

Death, Dying & Taxes!

When I decided to ask friends and acquaintances about death, dying, it's effects on them, their memories and perceptions, I truly did not grasp the scope of my project! The response, outstanding for the most part, the memories, so forthright, honest and amazingly poignant.

Over the course of time, this project will reveal, stories, memories, the grieving process, coping and understanding the meaning of these feelings locked within. For some, it is an emotional roller coaster.  Many cope, while others have locked their secrets and loneliness within their hearts. Perhaps understanding each or all of these feelings, whether good, bad, indifferent or overwhelming, allowing them to surface, may for some, be a re-birth into life. Not meant to be a cure, but a means by which we realize, some of what we perceive to be abnormal or dark inner feelings, may quite possibly be normal. By chance this is not the case, releasing and sharing what consumes your thoughts or breaks your heart, how you perceived certain events , in this case dying, may just surprise you.

In all it's morbidity, death and let us not forget, taxes are inevitable. If we look at the multitude of processes that seem to be part of our lives, many things are inevitable or as I prefer to call it, uncontrollable.

For argument purposes only, we can, to a certain extent, prolong dying. As we know it, this event is inevitable but perhaps a bit controllable. Taxes on the other hand can be controlled, are inevitable and even after death, they loom!

A very poignant thought comes from a wonderful, smart and beautiful young woman, Jessie, affectionately known as Boo, who at times, has a wisdom beyond her young years. "Attending the funeral of my best friend's father, I saw people weeping and sobbing, with horrible painful expressions. At that moment in time, something, as if a revelation appeared in my mind, flooding me with optimism and hope. I suddenly saw death as a good thing , the human body as a portal, carrying our soul, death occurring, when the body was no longer needed. Leaving it behind, we continue our journey. I saw myself as a light, an energy that never dies. It is at that precise moment, I realized, if something is inevitable, then it must be a good thing. In the beginning it may be misconstrued as we are unaware of the ultimate reason, we cannot answer the question, why? My heart and mind tell me, it is good, it has to be good, whomever or whatever created this universe, in my opinion God, left no room for deliberations!"

It isn't Just About Hitting that Little White Ball!

Recently the question was asked, "is playing golf just about hitting the little white ball?"  Confused, my first thought was, "that's a stupid question!" Wanting to give a more politically correct answer, I suppressed that first thought, grinning through clenched teeth, prohibiting the sarcastic answer from flipping off the end of my tongue.  I've noticed in recent years, I lack self-control when I surmise a stupid question had been asked.  Hopefully that lack doesn't extend to other body parts as well!

In light of numerous political debates, which leave you wondering what the hell the question was in the first place, I will answer the question: "is playing golf just about hitting the little white ball?" NO! Expanding on that emphatically answered NO, one must understand competition.

For the sake of naysayers, all this malarkey is for professional golfer wannabes, reasons for excluding the "big guys/girls" also known as PGA professionals, will soon reveal themselves.  Almost a quarter century back my wonderful husband decided to take up the game of Golf.  One year into his project, he poked, prodded and pleaded, "please play golf with me!"  Thinking I'd rather watch paint dry but loved the idea of being outside soaking up all the Vitamin D, I relented. Alas, we are hooked, but there is so much more to golf than just smacking the little white ball!

Brain vs. Brawn:  Golf is a game of mathematics.  Clubs have certain degrees of loft, they are made that way for a reason!  Standing, gripping and ripping (John Daly's famous swing), keeping one's head down, letting the club do it's job, understanding stance, are just a mere "tap in" compared to the complete game of Golf.  If you are agile, understand all the above, then perhaps your game is both brain and brawn working together much like a fine tuned machine.  Knowing what you are supposed to do and how far you can hit each club, tends to be more brain power and self-control.  Constantly hitting a long and wrong shot, using a club as a projectile when your "game" has left you, leads one to believe, all brawn no brain.  However, we all have bad days!

Wardrobe:  Well, you've got to look good!  Pockets and lots of them are a necessity!  Unlike my usual playing partner who sticks his pencil under the edge of his hat, loosing it each time he removes said hat to wipe his sweating brow, I prefer to carry one either in a back pocket or just leave it in the cart if we are riding the course.  Preferring to walk, most Florida courses require riding, speeding up the game!  Once out of the Starter's sight, my walk begins.  Pockets are a must!  These days, it's all about comfort and cotton.  Loose fitting breathable clothing always wins out over "looking good!"

Ball hawking:  for those unfamiliar with this golf term, please read on!  If hitting the ball "long and wrong" seems to be your normal approach, subconsciously you are a ball hawker.  This unique form of golf requires patience, a fearless approach, love of bugs, reptile (snakes) and high tolerances for pain, as thorns and vines wrap around you legs and any open skin available.  Another type of ball hawker requires navigating ponds and the purchase of special equipment; a fine example of re-cycling would be a clam rake.  Again a sharp eye and quick reflexes are just a few of the skills necessary to perfect this aspect of the golf game.  Here a twosome is preferred, one to do the actual raking of the water's edge, the second would be the reptile spotter (snakes and alligators!)

As they meet at the 19th hole for a recap of this versatile game, much like a trade deadline in the major leagues, bartering begins: "I'll give you a sleeve (3 balls) of Bridgestones for just one of your Titliest ProV1, PLEASE?" "If you tell me your favorite spot to ball hawk, I'll consider it!"  This is going to be a long afternoon, let the games begin!

Florida's Highways and Byways!

Although gas prices seem to be on the downhill track of a very steep roller coaster ride, they are still "up there!" probably shouldn't whine about it, in the blink of an eye, the ascent could once again begin. Taking advantage of the recent decline, a five hundred mile road trip to southern Florida was just completed. We have been fortunate that over the years, exploring our vast country has been a great opportunity, others may never see. Five hundred miles round trip, not particularly far, in fact, in this case, we were still in the same state, Florida!

Having lived in the northeastern climates much of my life, usually meant driving westward to seek out new and exciting places. As a former resident of New England, we had a tendency to think of the area as one big state, saying "I lived in the Connecticut section of New England." in fact some states in the great country are larger than the entire New England region. It's all relevant, two hours of driving on the interstate in Connecticut could mean stuck in the gridlock of the major metropolitan corridor, while here, two hours on the Florida interstate system, traveling to another of its larger southern metro areas, might mean you've covered over one hundred forty miles in the blink of an eye, especially if I am driving. Open road, all windows open, radio blaring, pedal to the metal, Mr. Bill "white knuckling" anything he can hold on to, we are heading south!

Not many roads crisscross this long state,the center still being a wide open space or a watershed area, finding a direct point to anywhere is an issue, unless you live on either coast. Most small towns are exactly that, microdots in the middle of nowhere. Getting to route sixty, we head south towards the county seat of Bartow, an historic and eye pleasing, small city. Before we actually reach the perimeter of Bartow, we head east. Wahneta is a minute village, ninety-nine percent Hispanic, located on the southeastern outskirts of Winter Haven, yet it seems as though it is a village that time has passed by. You'll find this is the norm in some of the remote regions of this elongated state. Finally route sixty, not much better than the previous thirty minute drive. Having driven across the great plains a number of years ago, seeing nothing but cattle ranches, turf farms and an occasional Dude Ranch, totally brought back memories of that area. Only thing missing were the giant corn fields. At one point, we gazed upon miles and miles of perfectly manicured citrus groves. One would imagine during orange blossom season, bees and humans are in a state of frenzy as the distinctly pungent smell of sweet citrus flowers hangs heavy, creating an aroma and a state of mind simple referred to as "orange blossom intoxication!"

Yeehaw Junction, yes, that is the correct name, will be our last populated town for a while. Having passed this way before, on the way to Vero Beach, I was pleasantly surprised this area still existed. The residents, albeit few and far between, are hearty souls. Miles and miles from anywhere, on the outer reaches of cell phone coverage, only once have I seen a resident, even then, this leathered and weathered skinned older gentleman, with the wide brimmed cowboy hat and puffed jaw full of chew, might possibly have been "just passing through!"

These farm lands of central Florida are vast flat lands, receiving irrigation from numerous lakes and waterways crisscrossing the tabletop flatness, stretching as far as the eye can see. Although the preferred mode of transportation for skimming over the swamp lands and clogged waterways of the area, is an air boat, I've yet to ride in one. Speed and danger appealing to me, I will add that to my bucket list!

I find the drive along Florida's Turnpike, interesting. One meandering streams is clogged with aquatic life. The beautiful water hyacinth, with its gorgeous and delicate purple flower, looks almost like a carpet of color, floating and basking in the tropical sunlight. For all its beauty, this delicate looking flower is sinister, blocking sunlight to the waters below, actually smothering and killing all life on the stream and eventually spreading across the waterways. Boats traveling these streams and ponds, must proceed with caution. To avoid further propagation of this species, boat propellers must be cleaned regularly.

When I think of this southern state, tropical always comes to mind. Somehow the further south you go, this word, TROPICAL, is so much defined. If possible, even the flatness of the landscape, is almost submerged into the blueness of the ocean gently tickling the shores. Coconut palms, swaying in the warm breeze, suggest a way of life that is refreshing yet slow and refined by day, but as the scorching sun sets, the nightlife begins.

We are staying on the edge of the inter-coastal waterway. From my balcony, I see the vastness of the Altantic Ocean. The only things separating us from this sheer blue calmness is the waterway. Looking to my right, the inter-coastal opens up to the sea, just a mere stones thrown away. What fascinates me are the luxury boats up and down this narrow body of water. Even the smallest are sleek, fast and just "toys" for the numerous rich and famous that populate this section of the southern coastline and  extremely fun to watch. Maybe it's just me, lounging on a boat, sipping a glass of fine wine or being served dinner on deck while floating along, now that IS the good life!

Time moves forward at warp speed, it is already the next day, time to head back up the coast. Without many choices of highways, Mr. Bill not feeling in tip top shape, we shall head back the way we came. Once we approached the familiar Yeehaw Junction, we opt to go further north, our westward drive will begin in Kissimmee. Not that the scenery is different,  it's just a different way. Approaching central Florida, our home base area, the first noticeable difference, traffic! Not that the southern peninsula area wasn't busy, but the snowbirds have headed home and the highways and local roads just seem more normal and less congested. Central Florida, a tourist mecca year round, people driving in areas they are not used to, this is more like.....yikes, watch out for rubbernecking! Although this is my stomping ground, driving it every day, with gridlock more the norm, my immediate memory tells me, the further south you go, the less hurried way of life,  Miami being the exception, but if it's pure tropical sunlight, anti establishment you yearn for,  there is always the Florida Keys, that will be MY next stop!