It is that time of year in the world of evil government school teachers with hidden agendas, in which everyone involved in education can feel the end coming, but we're not quite there yet. Everyone involved is pacing the cage somewhat ... except for the parents who will have to be around their little darlings for a few months.
The next few weeks will be a blur of end of the schoolyear awards ceremonies, baccalaureate, exams, and graduations. It will pass like a ride on a roller coaster and soon that magical day will come when an entire summer spreads out before you like an endless sea. That 2:30 bell on May 25th is a singular moment where not a second of summer has been used yet, it's all out there waiting for you.
Remember being 12 at that moment? Remember the possibilities?
Here at Pure Florida, we will have yet another graduate as my chicks insist on growing up. Emma will graduate on May 19 ... she's exempt (all A's) from her final exams, so tomorrow is her last day ever of k-12 public education.
After Emma, we get a break on graduations as Junior will just be a sophomore next year. I read somewhere that "sophomore" means "wise fool". Hmmm ...
The flycatchers are singing (howling at the moon?) this morning as I type. They are incessant chatterers, even in the heat of the day, they go on. The clear blue sky above has worn out it's welcome and we want grey,stormy, rainy weather to replace it. Spring is always dry here, but this one seems especially dry.
Last night, I went to Walmart and ran into Fred my reclusive neighbor who cleans his forest floor too much. He told me I was looking younger and whatever I was doing, I should keep doing it. (I had just gotten a much overdue haircut and trimmed down that Groucho Marx moustache). We discussed his failing vision,the deer we share, and the lack of rain and then he moved on.
When I exited Wallyworld, the sky was full of cumulonimbus clouds and looked promising. By the time I got home with my groceries, the wind had picked up and it was thundering and flashing.
I had not seen lightning or heard thunder since late 2006.
I clicked on WeatherBug and sure enough, there were severe thunderstorm warnings for my area. To the point where the NWS specifically mentioned Otter Creek about 7 miles away. "Watch for strong winds, flooding rain, hail, and deadly lightning" ... isn't all lightning deadly?
Anyway, it seemed like a sure thing rainwise, so I settled in for a good storm and a netflix movie, "Fastfood Nation".
The storm promptly blew somewhere else ... not a drop of rain at Pure Florida HQ. Arrrghhh!!We really needed that rain. Between the drought and the deer, my garden is struggling, but I can pick beans and squash this week. Tomatoes are palm sized but still green.
Sweet potatoes, peppers, and watermelons have all been deer cropped so they have to releaf.
It's a challenge ... this gardening thing.
My usual mail routine is to grab the mail from our oversized rural mailbox at the end of our sandy drive and deposit it in a messy pile on the kitchen table. Last week, my hands were full of mail, laptop case, camera, Bubba the mug, and keys, so I just tossed it all on our bed.
A little while later Mrs. FC came home and went into the bedroom to change out of her scrubs. She wasn't in there long before I heard a squeal and a "Come here right now!" command.
She was pushing down on the pile of mail when I walked in. "There's a scorpion in the mail on OUR bed!"
I told her to just keep pushing and went for a jar to capture him for a blog pic.
I found a jar, she lifted the mail, and I slid him in. He stayed in the jar all night in the kitchen and the next day I took him outside for a pic. These little scorpions are common under loose bark on dead trees and under fallen logs around here. The sting is pretty wimpy ... like a small wasp sting. I had one crawl up my jeans once while kneeling down putting in fence posts. Not knowing what it was , I swatted my pants leg when I felt the crawliness and he stung me about 3 times before dropping out of my pants. (He stung me on my calf ... since you were wondering)
After the picture, I took the little arachnid out to a dead tree and let him go.
"And now for your moment of Zanne" as John Stewart might say if he were a blogger.