Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Jump in, the water's fine!

My love of the outdoors, my continuing fight against aging, and my stubborn, competitive streak led me to take up surfing in my forties. Lucky for me, Florida is a fabulous place to learn, beaches are sandy with no rocks and the water is warm most of the year. 

I say most, as the winter these past two years has been especially unfriendly to us kooks out there.  But if you would have told me two years ago I would willingly get up early on a weekend,  put on a thick form fitting rubber suit and get into chilly water, I would have asked what you were smoking. 

Early hours, cold, damp Florida weather and chilly water were not completely foreign to me.  My husband and I are avid fisherpeople, and he swears that the fish don't bite, and the boat doesn't run, unless you're on the water before the sun comes up.  However, there's a huge difference between flying along on top of cold water and actually immersing yourself into it.

Yet I also learned quickly that surfing is a highly addictive sport.  One taste of standing atop a board riding a wave and I was hooked.  Two boards purchases later, I began to feel guilty about missing a third of the year in the water while my hardier friends were out chasing waves. 

So this fall I made my most important surfing acquisition, a wetsuit.  Not just any wetsuit, a 4/3.  Thicker--and warmer.  With the addition of booties, I could brave the 50 to 60 degree water in comfort, if not necessarily in style.  The booties are probably the most expensive footwear I've ever purchased, and also the most ugly.  There's nothing flattering about black rubber split-toe booties, but I wouldn't trade them for ten pairs of summer sandals (and I do love my sandals).

Soon I will be able to shed the wetsuit, and those lovely booties, and enjoy warm sub-tropical water temps.  I won't miss falling off my board and the slap of cold water to the face.  But I wouldn't trade a thing. 

If you've ever thought about surfing, go for it.  You too will rock your split-toe booties.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

I don't do winter well.

If the thermometer dips below 70 degrees for more than two days in a row, I will complain.  So all you who love this time of year, I'm warning you now.

Our weather here in Central Florida has been unusually cold.  Unless you count last winter, which was also unusually cold, meaning we endured entire weeks of under-70 degree weather.  Brutal. 

You might hear me say that I don't mind cold weather.  But the truth is I just like to wear my winter clothes. Sweaters and jeans are a nice change from shorts and flip flops. (I have been known to wear my flip flops all winter long. At least the ones that I can wear with socks, of course.)

I'm tired of getting dressed and undressed each time I walk from indoors to the chilly outside.  Not only does it take too long for this time-challenged gal, I'm constantly having to backtrack to find where I've left my coat.  I can barely be trusted to have my car keys in hand when I leave the house.  Add in a coat and scarf, and it's a guarantee I'm going to be late to wherever I'm going.

So let me apologize in advance for being whiny this time of year.  I have to go outside now so I can cover my plants with their winter wardrobe of mismatched sheets and blankets.

Now where are my flip flops?

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Don't look a gift crab in the mouth

Years ago, holidays meant large gatherings with extended family. Usually, these were held at the home of my great-aunts, sisters who lived together in their home near the river. The feasts they prepared were traditional; turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes.  Nothing fancy, but well prepared in quantities to feed the small army of family and friends.

Once in a while our relatives from up North visited during the holidays.  It was a tradition to take visitors on the requisite boat ride and fishing trip.  The goal wasn't to catch anything, except envy from the visitor who couldn't believe it was warm enough to go boating in December.

My brother took our brother-in-law on one of these outings on Christmas Day. They had been warned by our mother to be back in time to arrive in time for Christmas dinner at our great-aunts' home.  We waited and waited for them to return, and in the time before cell phones, this could be a frustrating exercise.  An hour passed and my mother announced we were leaving and they could catch up with us there.  Thinking back, I wonder why she wasn't worried about them, but I guess she was used to my brother, then in his early twenties, being on the water so wasn't concerned anything had happened to them.

We arrived at the party and were busy socializing with the rest of the family when my brother and brother-in-law finally arrived.  My brother-in-law had a large stack of newspapers in hand and my brother carried a large stock pot.  Much to the chagrin of my great-aunts, the boys proceeded to cover the dining room table with layers of newspaper and placed the large pot in the middle.  Family gathered around to see what was going on and my brother proudly opened the pot to reveal several dozen freshly caught steamed blue crabs.  The smell of the crabs seasoned with Old Bay and beer wafted through the house, instantly overpowering the turkey which had just came out of the oven. 

The boys were quite proud of their catch and invited everyone to dig in.  It didn't take long before every chair around the table was full with the rest of us standing around watching as claws cracked and shell fragments flew.  My great-aunts did not participate in the feast and returned to the kitchen in a huff after cornering my mother and giving her a brief lecture about how my brother had "ruined Christmas dinner." 

Everyone around the table witnessed our aunts' departure. There were a few smirks and guilty glances among the pickers, but no one got up from the feast until every last one of the crabs were picked and savored.  The mess was cleaned up as quickly as it had appeared, and soon family members went back to their prior activities while my mother and cousins headed to the kitchen to "save dinner" and smooth over ruffled feathers. 

Soon the dining table was full again, this time with turkey and all the trimmings.  In deference to the matriarchs, everyone filled their plates and stuffed themselves silly.  My great-aunts seemed pleased, although one of them couldn't resist telling us how blue crabs were "bottom feeders," which I'm sure in hindsight was a veiled insult directed at the boys. 

Our family has grown and changed quite a bit since that memorable feast.  I'm often the chief cook now and would be thrilled if  any of my guests, invited or not, would repeat the crab feast at our next holiday.  Just for old time's sake--not so I could get out of cooking dinner.  Really.  Any crabbers out there?

Saturday, December 11, 2010

No complaints, please!

Fall comes to my yard
Florida is divided into two camps: those like me who grew up here, and the rest who moved here after they became adults.  I have several theories why we are so outnumbered.  First, it takes a hardy breed to make it in a place where alligators, sharks, and weird weather often dominate the nightly news. Some of the very same things draw the masses here to enjoy our unique wildlife, watersports and wintertime warmth. 

I don't mind the newcomers.  I admire their intellect in their choice of a new home state, and certainly appreciate their additions to our cuisine.  Most of all, they are a source of endless amusement. 

There's nothing funnier than watching a newcomer scream like a baby piglet when they come face to face with their first palmetto bug-a supersized cousin of a northern cockroach, or leap in fear when a harmless chameleon crosses their path.  When I stop laughing long enough to wipe the tears away and tell them that the chameleons are what keeps the palmetto bugs at bay, they're usually reaching for the phone to call the movers. 

If they make it through the first six months, they are usually hooked on their new state and settle in well. Their tales of critter encounters become badges of honor and award them celebrity status with the folks back home.

The rub comes somewhere in the first year when they begin to complain about Florida's climate. Instead of noticing the lack of snow blowers at Lowes, and that no one here knows where to find  something called an ice scraper, they begin to whine about their new home.

"I miss the changing of the seasons." 

If ever you wanted to show your rookie stripes, complain about missing the colorful fall leaves.  We natives know.  The first cold snap will bring us colors as beautiful as anything you'll see up north.  You just need to know where to look. 

Keep whining and you'll begin to hear your more settled neighbors muttering under their breath about heading back to where you came from. We're tolerant of a lot of your foibles, but don't pick on our home.  You chose to come here and if you don't like it, we'd appreciate it if you choose to head back where the leaves change on demand and the snow piles up to your rooftops.

And don't try to explain to me how a perfectly good credit card can be used as an ice scraper. That's just crazy talk.