There'll Be No Toys in MayanLand This Year - or How the Apocalypse Almost Ruined Christmas

It’s December 22, 2012 and we’re all still here.  I guess it wasn’t time for the end of the world, as the Mayan’s, and some guy standing on the corner of Peninsula and the South Causeway with a sign “REPENT, it’s finally here,” predicted.  I have to admit, this time I was a little nervous.  I didn’t worry about the Hale-Bopp Comet in 2003, or the false prophet Harold Camping’s dire prediction in 1994, why this one I wonder. 

The Apocalyptic belief isn’t shared by everyone, however.  Lowe’s, for example, won’t lower the price on their artificial Christmas Trees until the 24^th, whether we (and/or the trees) are here or not!  Believe me, we tried.  Home Depot, too!  Even WalMart is holding off.  Oh they say they’re “Rolling Back” the prices, but I haven’t seen any pre-Apocalypse sales!

Every year it’s something.  Huge snowstorms in parts of the country, affecting the merchants’ “bottom line.”  Extreme heat in the south hinders the shoppers “Christmas Spirit.” Now the Mayan calendar just abruptly ended!  I don’t know about their calendar, but I saw lots of calendars for sale, in every store.  They all went on for another 12 months, at least.  I bought one – my world will continue!

Did we really need this now? It’s bad enough every store window has a sign warning us how little time we have left to get that very special gift for that very finicky person!  Every year I, and about 14 million others, say “Never again!”  I’ll start early, maybe on summer vacation; I’ll make my cookies in November and freeze them; I’ll have everything wrapped and shipped by December 1^st.  Yeah! Yeah!  Never happens!  So somewhere in mid-December, a feeling of martyrdom settles into our souls and it doesn’t leave until December 26^th.  The gift expectations hang around our necks like a heavy Christmas wreath, which we lug around all during the holidays.  There’s so much to do, so many people to buy for.  Why did I insist on making personalized ornaments and king sized afghans for everyone?  What was I thinking??? Was it really necessary to hand wrap everything myself – Bealls has a great FREE gift-wrapping service.

Then, on Christmas Day, we wonder if everyone liked what I bought.  Did that cute pair of jeans fit my tall and willowy granddaughter?  Did my grandsons get everything they really wanted? Did my husband really like all that sandpaper I bought him (even though he asked for it)?  Did the cookies I mailed to NY arrive mauled and crumbled?  Did the token batch I made in November taste freezer burned?  It’s no wonder everyone loves Thanksgiving so much.  All you have to do is show up and eat!

Every year I think I’ll do better, and, if truth were told, I think I’ve improved a little.  I do start earlier; I try not to take on too many handmade, personalized projects; I do get my packages mailed earlier; I’ve limited my cookies to 2 or 3 varieties.  I’ve tried to stop worrying as much – I do the best I can.  After all, that’s really all we can do!  I know I definitely appreciate the gifts I receive 100 times more than I did as a kid.  I know firsthand the effort and love that went into them.  Whether they were bought out of love, or affection, or friendship, or respect, or a combination of any of those things, the fact that someone thought enough of me to go through all the hoops required to plan, shop, buy, wrap, mail anything to me truly warms my heart. 

My husband and I still buy lots of things for each other – but the rule is nothing expensive!  We just love opening “stuff.”  This is where the afore-mentioned Bealls comes in – for him.  I love their merchandise, both personal and for the house, and he loves the free gift wrapping.  So, to keep in our true traditions, I may get a set of potholders, each wrapped separately in lovely paper and ribbon.  Slippers are usually kept together in one box, but dish towels, placemats, PJs, are often separated and wrapped accordingly.  The big joke is that when you add up the boxes, gift wrap, bows, and tags they probably cost more than the gifts enclosed.  I do the same thing for him, but I do the wrapping.  Bealls doesn’t carry sandpaper, drill bits, or fishing lures. 

Trite as it may sound, it really is the thought that counts.  So on this Christmas Day, if you’re worrying about the gifts you gave – STOP!  Quit cleaning up after the kids and go lie down on the couch.  Eat chocolates and watch the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree.  Enjoy the day.  You did the best you could, we’re still here and the world keeps turning.  Please God we’ll have another year ahead of us to plan next Christmas!!!  

SURVIVAL TIP FOR TODAY:  If Aunt Prissy doesn't like her fur lined Snuggie, remind her of all those people who would love to have a warm place to sleep and a full stomach for Christmas.  If little Johnny thinks he didn't get enough toys from Santa, tell him about the pioneer kids who were happy to get an apple or a knitted pair of socks (Yeah, that will work!)  But, most important of all, take some time to remember the real reason for the season. 

RECIPES FOR LIVING...

I am blessed with many wonderful friends – among them, the Publisher and Editor of the Tampa Bay Magazine, Aaron R. Fodiman.   He is a big, warm, fuzzy, incredibly insightful and very funny bear of a man.  I absolutely love his outlook on life and I adore him and his beautiful wife, Margaret.  Recently, he wrote the following column under “The Publisher Postulates” section in his magazine.  I felt so strongly about his message that I asked permission to reprint it here on my blog!  I received a big, booming “YES! ABSOLUTELY!”  I’m hoping you will enjoy it as much as I did. 

“We are all born into this world without a recipe book to tell us precisely how to live.  If we had been given one, things might have been much easier.  So, although it is late in the game for some of us, I thought I would review some of the recipes I have found helpful in my journey.  My basic concept about life is the age-old instruction of “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  The best part about this recipe is that you don’t have to interpret what it means, as we easily understand how we would like to be treated.  We seldom are in a quandary about what we would do if the shoe were, so to say, on the other foot. 

          One of my other favorite recipes is the simple and straightforward, “Do the right thing.”  Unfortunately, that can sometimes be a difficult decision to make.  I generally find myself referring back to my first recipe of what would I think the right thing to do would be if it was being done to me.  It is interesting how often your thoughts may vary, depending on whose bull is being gored.

          Along with these two basic recipes, there are thousands more, but of those, my favorite is the Serenity Prayer that advises to let me accept that which I cannot change and change that which can and should be changed, provided that I have the wisdom to recognize the difference.  Now, there is a challenge for you.  If you can determine which is which, life certainly will become happier for you and those around you.

Aaron R. Fodiman

          If you are wondering why, at my age, I’m still looking for recipes to help guide me through life, it is because life is all we have; and, therefore, I believe anything we can pursue to make it better, more fun, easier or more rewarding is definitely worth the effort.  Simple statements, such as “Never eat yellow snow,” or “Measure twice, cut once,” are helpful, but refer only to certain types of limited situations, whereas I’m constantly in search of those thoughts that can be applied almost universally, despite the circumstances.  Such is the case with the concept of treating others as you would want them to treat you.  Strangely, another recipe that has held up for me throughout my life is, “There is no such thing as a free lunch,” and the idea that if it is worth having, it is worth working for.

          The nice thing about these recipes is that, much the same as in cooking, you can modify them to your personal taste; but you must not deviate too far from the principle behind the list of ingredients and preparation instructions.  Life is something we learn about as we go through it.  Our lives, like our meals, are what we make of them; and since we are limited to one life, it’s up to each of us to make it the best that we can.  Just follow the recipe.  I try to. "  

 Thanks, Aaron!

SURVIVAL TIP FOR THE DAY:  I love to try new recipes, but maybe we need to review and reevaluate the old ones.  I intend to – starting with the oldies but goodies – the ones written on my heart!

THE CHICKENLADY...

In my last blog, about my feathered friends, I briefly mentioned our experience with chickens.  I began remembering things about those few years, when I was known as the ChickenLady – we had 27 at one point.  Our kids thought we had totally lost our minds.  We were not “farm” people – we didn’t go out into the back yard and choose our dinner for that evening (YUK!) We went to Publix!  But we did have a lot of fun and I thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane with me.  It all began with my husband came home from our neighbors’ house one afternoon.

                                *    *    *   *   *

"Honey, you've got to see the baby chicks next door," he said, with a big grin.  They're so cute." 

"Mom, Mom don't make me go."

I figured this had to be some kind of a trick.  For twenty-two years, this incredibly patient man had been trying to keep me away from "cute" animals.  You see, I’ve always had an uncontrollable need to adopt anything "cute."  Here he was telling me to go and see them.  Something was fishy, but I went anyway.  

 "Cute" didn't begin to describe those little brown fuzz balls with double black stripes around their eyes and teeny-tiny feet that ran a mile a minute back to Mommy hen.  I guess Mother hen was pretty, as hens go, but their Daddy rooster was abso­lutely gorgeous.  He was a perfect example of the beauty that mother nature lavishes on the males of the bird kingdom. 

Our neighbors told me what fun they were having watching the daily antics of their new brood.  The best part, they said, was that these chickens were practically maintenance free.  They had simply laid an old tool box from a pick-up truck on the ground, put in a little hay, set out a jug of water and a handful of chicken scratch, and the chickens were comfy-cozy.  Searching for and eating bugs in the woods was their all-consuming passion.  They were totally independent and self-sufficient. 

"Seriously, we can you go away for a day or so without making all sorts of chicken-sitting arrangements?" I asked.

"You can go away forever for all they care," was my answer. Three days later we received a chick delivery--two-week old Lucy, Ricky, Fred, & Ethel.  We settled them into the basic, split-level, starter chicken condo that my spouse had hastily thrown together and went to bed dreaming of hens and roosters and chicks and fresh eggs.

The next morning I received a phone call from our neighbor.  He had two very interesting bits of information for me:  (1) the chicks needed to be kept very warm for the first few weeks (usually not a difficult thing to do here in sunny Florida, even in February) and (2) a cold wave was to arrive that night with freezing temperatures and worse for the next week or so.  And so the “maintenance” began.

The Southern Oaks Chicken Condo - Phase I

A 100-watt bulb was installed in the condo; all cracks and openings were caulked; timers were set and thermometers were strategically placed to insure the proper temperature at all times, day and night.  We walked miles that week, back and forth between the house and the coop, checking on our new charges.  The cold spell passed and they survived.  We, however, caught colds from tending our brood. 

Day by day they grew and each developed a very distinct personality.  Fred was the nosy one, into everything, and pushing quieter Ricky around at every opportunity.  Lucy was shy and demure.  Ethel was coop-wise and one of the boys. 

My home improvement specialist made frequent modifications to the condos, upgrading the flooring, fencing the area for their protection, installing storm doors with screens, altering the roof-line for better runoff and fitting it with a ridge vent for ventilation.  He built perches everywhere, indoor and outdoor, for their entertainment.  They seemed to love it.  Each night they slept in a different bedroom of the condo--huddled together like newborn puppies.

The day finally arrived when we set them free to roam.  They took their first steps outside their yard and promptly flew onto the roof of the coop.  Over the next few weeks they explored. At first, they remained within sight of their home; slowly they branched out.  Each evening, though, as darkness approached, they made their way back to the condos.

Every morning, after I had let them out of the coop, all four would half run, half fly to the fence outside our bedroom window where Fred and Ricky would hold a crowing competition.  We would be the judges.  The girls would practice their clucking nearby.  The adolescent squeaky voices learning their chickenese were hysterical and we found ourselves thoroughly enjoying the entertainment.  Laughter is a wonderful way to start the day.

"Boy, he's got everything in here! Ricky, you check for axes!"

They discovered every nook and cranny of my husband's workshop, inside and out.  They roamed our woods and found all sorts of hiding places.  Hours would go by, and I would swear they had been eaten by some wild creature--but they always came home, safe and sound. 

In late April, I began thinking about the coming hurricane season and the need for additional covered protection for our pets.  We designed an addition to the coop which included a large covered area with a high perch, ridge vent, and a larger outside run with screening on the top and sides.  We intended to keep them locked in this shelter when a storm was approaching. 

"Not bad.  Do you think our rent will go up?"

While the construction was underway, they acted like side­walk superintendents; and at night, while we were having dinner, they inspected every inch of the new addition.  The paint had barely dried on the new wing of the condos when I had quite a fright. 

We had developed a bedtime routine.  They would play outside the coop for a while--a few games of leap-chicken in the branches of the live oaks that shade the condos, a snack or two (cracked corn and a few ants or beetles), and then they would put them­selves to bed.  I would go out later in the evening and lock them in for their protection.  Our woods are full of creatures who would like nothing better than a free, fresh, tender chicken dinner.  This particular night, I lifted the lid to see which bedroom they had chosen and who was sleeping with whom (nosy thing that I am).  Empty!  No chickens!  Oh my God!  Just then I heard the clucking.  It seemed to be coming from over my head.  They were still in the trees and no amount of pleading and bribery could coax them down.

"The chickens are where?" my husband asked.

"Up in a tree!" I exclaimed.  "The coop is empty, and I can't get them to come down."

"You're kidding, right?  This is a joke."

"I wish it was," I stammered.

 I wasn't sure exactly what to think.  After I got over my initial shock, and after I had convinced my mate that I wasn't playing a sick joke, I tried to rationalize the situation.  Most likely, they were safe from predators up there.  They looked comfortable, I guess.  They were still near the condos and their water and food.  They hadn't left home; they were merely camping out (or up) for the night.  The next night these ungrateful fowl did the same--and the next.

Maybe it was the altitude; or maybe their new sense of freedom, but Fred and Ricky's crowing improved tremendously.  They took it upon themselves to awaken the entire neighbor­hood every morning at the crack of four o'clock.  All four of them became very vocal with a varied vocabulary.   They seemed happy!  

"Why didn't they do this before I spent $55.00 on that new shelter?" asked my disheartened spouse.

"Don't worry dear.  The new addition won't go to waste.  The feed store just got some adorable baby turkeys in.  I've heard that turkeys aren't very bright so they need a lot of protection and security.  They do get pretty tall, though, so you might have to raise the roof--just a little; and you may have to lower the perches a fraction--I hear turkeys are afraid of heights.  But honey, they're so cute!"

SURVIVAL TIP FOR THE DAY:  Laughter is a wonderful way to start your day.  So is remembering happy, heartwarming memories.  Take a look through an old photo album - guaranteed you'll find something to make you smile.  

MY BIRDS :)

Wow!  It’s been a while since I’ve written anything.  I seem to be in a writer’s “funk” – lots of stuff rumbling around in my head, but nothing finding its way to my fingers and my keyboard!  

We’ve been having some strange weather here, much like the rest of the country – nothing quite as dramatic though, thank God!  Today it’s gray, and drizzly, with a cold damp wind blowing.  I’ve been staring out at the angry ocean and noticed something that I see every day, but which still truly moves me – my birds!    

I’ve always been a bird lover.  Wherever we lived, I managed to hang a bird feeder somewhere.  They weren’t always successful.  Usually the squirrels reaped the bounty and the birds got the leftovers.  Whatever leftover seeds the birds didn’t eat grew into grass and weeds that I had to pluck and toss.  Ants took most of the hummingbird food and scared those gentle little creatures away.  For a while we even had free-range chickens until the local fox population got wise.  Our cute little hen Lucy (of Lucy and Ricky, Fred and Ethel fame) was snatched in broad daylight right under our noses.  That’s when the “Have a Heart” trap became a permanent fixture on our property.  I once found a bird tangled in our neighbor’s badminton net.  I untangled it, nursed it for weeks and, when I finally thought it had a fighting chance, I took it to a local vet. Supposedly, he was a specialist in wild birds!  He stretched the poor little thing’s wing all the way out and, while it bled on his table, pronounced him too far gone to save!  He died in my hand on the way home.  At least he had a few weeks of “home cooking.”

For the 19 years that we lived in DeLand, I kept a running list of all my “sightings.”  I am certainly not a qualified “bird watcher” – just a genuine bird lover.  We had generations of cardinals born there; the robins always blanketed our woods on their annual migration; we had our own owl that wintered in our large live oak outside the workshop; varieties of woodpeckers were everywhere along with the doves and the whip-poor-wills, the wild turkeys and the peacocks.  And every spring, a family of chipping sparrows made a nest in a hanging plant, outside my kitchen window.  We watched many young hatchlings take their first flight.  As a rule, birds are gentle creatures, with beautiful voices, and such graceful movements.  As I said, I love them!

Oceanfront cafe

Back to what got me to sit down and write today.  When we moved to this 6^th floor condo, I thought my bird feeding days were gone.  I’m not one to throw bread to the seagulls and watch them fight each other – all the while trying to dodge their messy output, shall we say?  And I never thought we could possibly attract birds to a feeder on the balcony.  Where would they come from? There are no little birds around here – or so I thought.  It took a while, but slowly they came. Little chipping sparrows – first one, then three, now sometimes 15 at a time.  They fly in every morning, scatter the seeds all over the balcony and into the nearby plants, eat until they’re stuffed and return again for dinner.  We have now added another feeder on the west-side balcony and it has become almost as popular as their ocean-front dining room.  Since we’re open all day, groups come through at all hours for a snack and a little socializing.

Rear Patio Dining

During some of our recent storms, we had moved the feeders back closer to the building.  They have discovered that, if they sit in and around the feeder, they are protected from the wind and/or rain.  Several of them have spent hours and even days hunkered down, staying safe and warm in our bird hostel.  With only sliding glass between us and our feathered friends, we now have a much better view of their antics than we ever have before.  It’s not unusual to have an entire flock of 15 or 20 fly in at one time, line up on the railing, and wait their turn to eat.  They still scatter the seeds all over, but now they eat every bit off the concrete balcony.  I sweep it occasionally, but there’s no weeding required now.  The squirrels aren’t interested in climbing 6 floors to steal the food, so it’s all theirs.  This past spring, we saw the courting rituals and then the young ones being fed at the feeder.   Hopefully this coming spring, we’ll see the next generation teach their young that we are open 24/7/365 – and we even have 2 seating areas and a lovely view while they wait for a table.

I can’t write about my sparrows without mentioning my “patrol” birds – the pelicans.  I had never seen these regal, graceful, elegant birds in such close proximity.  They fly by us like they’re on patrol – watching over us every day.  They play just barely above the waves and often spend long periods just maneuvering in and around the wind currents between the buildings.  Sometimes there are only 2 or 3 in a “patrol,” but we have often seen groups of 20 or more, all in elegant formation!  It’s not unusual for them to fly within 10 feet of us while we’re sitting on the balcony.  They are so awe inspiring and amazing.  Fred calls them my “boys!”

Rockhopper Penguin

Royal Tern

I never dreamed I would find so many birds here.  I knew I’d see seagulls, which, by the way, I have come to appreciate for their own unique beauty and resourcefulness.  But I’ve found others, lots of others, that amuse us and make us laugh.  The tiny little Sanderlings who run so fast on their teeny little legs; the graceful Snowy Egrets, who I like to call “Mr. Yellow Shoes;” the beautiful colors of the Ruddy Turnstones; the Willets with their stick-like legs; the little Piping Plovers who winter here; and my special Royal Tern who reminds me so much of the Rockhopper Penguins that I fell in love with many years ago at SeaWorld!  Both birds must have the same hairstylist! 

These are only a very few of the bountiful collection of birds that we have discovered here at the beach.  I was afraid I was losing my birds when we moved – instead I’ve adopted an entire new family! 

Life is so very good!  God bless you all!

SURVIVAL TIP FOR TODAY – When you’re in a “funk” – writer’s or otherwise – search for that special something that always moves you and touches your heart.  It’s there.  You probably see it every day