Tidbits of My Day

A woman in a bright little blue Accent decided to cut me off in traffic. I was going along just fine when she swerved into my lane without looking – had I not slammed on my brakes, we would have collided. I honked, after fumbling around for a couple of heartbeats looking for the horn button, and she gave me the finger.

We got stopped at a stoplight the next block up and she rolled down her window to tell me that I had been going too fast and if we had collided it would have been my fault. I politely told her she has to watch and signal before changing lanes. She told me that if we had collided it would have served me right. I leaned out my door, looked at her two children who were not seat belted and reminded her that the law in Florida demands children be seat belted and that a person signals when changing lanes. She leaned forward across her son in the passenger side and was getting ready to argue with me when what did she see hanging from my rearview mirror? My Sheriff’s Id complete with the quite identifiable Sheriff’s star.

Immediately she calmed down, apologized for cutting me off and told her kids to get buckled. Then she asked me if I had radioed ahead to an officer to stop her for her infractions. Like duh, am I in a police car? I told her I wasn’t a deputy but that I worked for 911 and could tell her quite truthfully that we see too many children injured because their parents aren’t paying attention in traffic and the children aren’t buckled. The light turned green so I gave a little wave and drove off – making sure I turned right at the next block so I wouldn’t get stopped at the next light with her. What a ditz.

From there I was in a ruthless mood and seriously contemplated stopping to get all my hair chopped off. My hair often takes the brunt of my irritability. It is naturally curly which means it can be unruly and even frizzy in humidity. But, I decided instead of cutting it, I would get it permed into bigger curls. I reasoned that the little curls were why it was unruly. So I got it done and it looked pretty good actually. However, my hair felt fried and I couldn’t not put conditioner on it – something I was told not to do for 48 hrs. I’m sorry but when it feels like straw, something needs to be done or the ends will split. My hair is still full of larger curls but they aren’t as tight as they were which means they won’t last as long. Guess I’ll be cutting it off short later – maybe before I move to Iowa.

My house is a disaster. I’ve been sorting, packing and getting rid of stuff and just can’t seem to do that without making the house look messy. It is driving me crazy.

The day has flown by and it is after 9 pm. I don’t know where the time has gone.

Tears in the Park

It was bound to happen – it had to hit me eventually. I didn’t expect it to hit me in the park but I guess a lot of times things come when you are relaxed and least expect it.

Baxter and I were on our 4th round when he jumped up on a park bench we were passing and refused to proceed. I sat down next to him, concerned that he was this tuckered out so early in our walk. We sat there a few minutes and I mentioned how nice the wind sounded in the palm prongs…then I burst into tears.

Baxter nuzzled me as if to assure me he was just tired, not dying. He seemed puzzled over the tears. Weeping I told him how soon we’d be going to a place with no palm trees, no green grass year round, no clear Gulf waters, no dolphins to watch for, no sharks to worry about.

I told him about the first time I jumped off a boat into pristine waters in Key Largo – how I could see all the way to the bottom, how warm the salt water felt and how big and colorful the fish were. I told him about the nurse shark and barracuda in the water with me and how, if you are just still and float, the current will sweep you along like a conveyor belt.

I told him about Mel Fisher’s maritime museum in Key West which was full of treasure he brought up from the sea. Mel was the first person who captured my interest and fed my imagination about the sea. From him came my love of sharks and ship disasters. I was in fifth grade and read a single paragraph on the man in a textbook at school…I was forever hooked.

I told Baxter about the Champaign sunset cruises, going sailing, etc. I asked him where in Iowa were we going to find good BBQ eel? Or squid? Or alligator tail? Baxter, being the fantastic listener that he is, gave a little whine of understanding. I dried my eyes and sighed heavily.

Baxter wasn’t ready to start walking again, perhaps sensing I wasn’t finished, so I went on with my diatribe. I told him how we were moving to be near family…my son in particular. I explained how it was time for my wanderer’s soul to return to it’s roots.

There are, I admitted reluctantly to him, things to do in Iowa. We can hike at the reservoir or lake, we can stroll through City Park or hike Ryerson’s Woods to the little deck that is so peaceful, we can canoe or paddleboat, we can spend our holidays with family instead of alone each year, we can go dancing (well, not him), I can visit the library a lot which I love to do and I love that library. The Arby’s there is a lot closer to downtown so he had a better chance of getting a roast beef sandwich when we go for a long walk…plus we are closer to Chicago which has wonderful museums and comedy theaters. I told him how he can play more with other dogs because just about everyone in the family has at least one. Oh, and ice cream tastes better in Iowa and the thunderstorms are more thunderously thundering then here.

As I paused, Baxter licked my hand and vigorously wagged his tail. He jumped down off the bench, barking excitedly as if to say “well, what are we waiting for? Iowa sounds grand.”

All my sadness left me as I watched him prance around. Iowa is going to be grand – Iowa is going to be the place where all my dreams come true. Florida will be here to visit but Iowa…why, that’s home.