I'm mad as a hatter and I Can't Take It Anymore

I'm mad as a hatter and I Can't Take It Anymore
Hatters, Mad as... They used to use mercury to form felt hats. I'm not sure how the mercury was used, but, I'm menopausal, my personal mercury (temperature-wise - that is, is off the charts.) I grew up in south Florida. We lived on the edge of the Everglades. My Miami playground included rock pits, cow pastures, and HaulOver Beach. I don't know how this beach got it's name, but, from childhood, I do remember getting tar-balls stuck on your feet, or worse, on your swimsuit. There are a few things that stick in my mind about that beach: First, that you parked away from the beach and went through a tunnel under the road to get there; Second, that there was a fishing pier at the beach, and one of my earliest memories was of a shark caught at the end of the pier - that was brought up and displayed on the pier with a beer can in its mouth (beer cans in the 1950's were made of steel and made a good support for a shark's mouthful of teeth); Third, that my parents always set their blankets near the pier and we always swam in the water near the pier.

Beaches in Florida are unique from place to place. The sand is truly different - wherever you go. At HaulOver (and South Beach) the sand is comprised of crushed shells. Miami's sand is sticky and salty. In Daytona, Ormond, and Cocoa (areas in the middle of the east coast) the sand is more compact, dense, so you can drive over it. On the west coast, south of Tampa, the beaches along the Gulf Coast are silkier, less sticky, and in some places - like just south of Sarasota, are so soft and fine, it's like walking in powdered sugar. For the record, best places for shelling are anywhere from St. Pete Beach (south end) to just south of Sarasota.

I love my memories of Florida. I believe I have been very blessed to live in and see some of the most incredibly beautiful places on earth. But, my world has changed dramatically. Over the last five decades, I've seen our home become more and more like northern residential areas; zero lot lines, condominiums crowding public beaches, paradise lost.

I will be an expatriate soon. I just hope those who follow appreciate what is left.
But, they will be drilling for oil, just like Texas, off our coast soon.

i cAn't TakE IT anymore

Lawrence Ferlenghetti wrote...

"Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck creches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
and German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody's imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carollers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest of
Second Comings."

This is my sentimental favorite reading in lieu of The Night Before Christmas.

I also love Ferlenghetti, for his "Dog" poem that starts out, "The dog trots freely in the street and sees reality..." It's another lengthy piece but certainly worth reading.

I think Ferlenghetti's first line about Christ climbing down from his bare tree, is almost painfully evocative and poignant.

I really love those writers from the "Beat Generation."

A Good Man is Hard to Find

"A Good Man is Hard to Find" - Flannery O'Connor

Flannery O'Connor is one of my favorite writers. She grew up in a small town, and - maybe because of small town characters, or maybe because of small-town happenstance, she realized that anything could happen. A criminal meets a small town family dominated by a mean-spirited grandma. Whooo-wee, Helzapoppin! The crazy grandma leads her family into a confrontation with a criminal who has nothing to loose. The grandma has an epiphany, but it comes, it's simply too late. She realizes (ironically only after she has led her family into a death trap) that the criminal could have been her own son, "Bailey boy." I love this story, especially the part where she smuggles her cat into the car.

Flannery O'Conner. She was born before her time.

What Christmas Means to Me - Kittens up a Tree

News of the Weird From Florida

The following was was taken directly from the Metro Section of the Tampa Tribune, January 1, 2006.

"LOXAHATCHEE - Years of sneaky visitors cracking open car windows in hopes of an intimate encounter with the king of beasts has caused Lion Country Safari to finally erect a fence between visitors and residents.
Roaming lions, warning signs and admonishing keepers couldn't persuade visitors to stay in their cars with their windows rolled up at the drive-through wildlife park. Some visitors even got out to feed the lions.
Officials at the Palm Beach County park have considered a fence for years, fearing a serious injury or a lawsuit. In November, they erected the barricade, the first in the park's 38-year history. It encloses the beasts where they can roam free on a 660 foot long island.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..."