Suzy Says

In Florida, your life is in your car. Here are all the necessities:

– Cell phone (in case of more roadside emergencies);

– Sunglasses (in case the sun is sunny in the Sunshine State);

– Cigarettes (my friend’s. Really!); and

– One of them iPAHDS. I’m now officially saved from the three types of radio stations available:

1. “Classic rock” – how many times can you listen to Foreigner in one day? Not to mention the obnoxious announcers hollering their station identification (“The BONE…Bone…bone!”)

2. Talk radio

3. Religious programming.

Instead, it’s all Suzy, all the time. At least in the car.

My father’s birthday falls on St. Patrick’s Day, with the result that I have always thought of it simply as Dad’s birthday, mostly forgetting about the Other Reason for celebration that day (a remarkable oversight, considering that it seems to be mostly an excuse for drinking). The fact that my Dad was the most English of gentlemen and born on the most Irish of holidays has always amused me, particularly since he was never an ardent fan of the inhabitants of Eire. Sample quote: “How do you solve the Irish problem? Replace the Irish with the Dutch. The Dutch will pump out the bogs and make Ireland valuable farmland, and the Irish will get drunk, let the dikes leak, and drown themselves.” I’m sorry to say that he actually trotted this one out at a dinner party with, yes, you guessed it, Irish guests. In his defense, he did apologize (but only after my stepmother told him to).

It’s been four years since his sudden death, and although I think of him every day, I think of him more on his birthdays and deathdays, marvelling as the number of years we have survived without him gets higher and higher. As faithful readers know, my mother has been fighting a valiant battle against cancer for the past few years, and though she has managed to survive – miraculously, in the true sense of that mostly over-used word – I can’t help but fear the loss of my remaining parent. I don’t think anyone is ever old enough to face being an orphan unafraid. And the fact that she has proven the doctors wrong on at least four different occasions when they were sure she was wiping her feet off on death’s doormat means that when she really does go, it will be almost as great a shock as my father’s death. Maybe even more.

I’ve been thinking about what it will be like if I can’t get up there in time, just as I couldn’t get to London in time to see my father’s body. My sisters, stepmother, niece, and brother-in-law did, but he was autopsied before I could get to London from San Francisco. I really wish I’d had the chance to say good-bye. My younger sister actually climbed into his hospital bed after his death and put his arms around her, resting her cheek against his stilled chest. He was still warm, he still smelled the way he always had, his hair was still soft. You could almost imagine he was still there. Almost. She says he looked incredibly peaceful, and for that I am thankful. She had been through so much taking care of him that she deserved that final gift, but I have to admit to a sneaking envy that I could not have shared it.

So I hope I will be able to say good-bye to Mom one last time, so it won’t be as if she, too, just vanished off the face of the earth. Other than that, I don’t know what to hope for a woman who will be 73 next month and has cancer throughout her bones and tumors on her brain. Maybe I do: the least amount of pain, the most happiness, the most dignity, the most love, and the most peace.

This was voted the fourth most beautiful beach in the entire US of A. If this is the fourth runner-up, I can’t even imagine what Miss Beach America looks like.

The only way to reach Caladesi Beach is by boat – either ferry or your yacht – so you feel like this is a private island paradise. I was greeted by an armadillo, looking like a small, armored dinosaur. I had no idea they lived in Florida; I tend to think of them as desert creatures. But there they were.

The shore is fringed with mangroves, trees which actually remove the salt from the sea water they grow in to water themselves. There are jungles of spiky palmetttos. The sand is as white as sugar, warm and soft in the bright sun, scattered with pink and purple shells.

The sun was beginning to set in absurdly Technicolor pink and violet as I left the island. An osprey, starkly black against the incandescent sky, followed the boat back to port. On this day, just a few hours before my late father’s 74th birthday, I felt his presence strongly, as if he and the magnificent bird he so loved were one.

Who would have thought Jim Morrison could look so, well, Floridian?

I don’t think I’m cut out to be a Floridian. Among other disqualifying characteristics, I’m extremely car- and driving-averse, and you have to drive absolutely everywhere here. To the grocery store. To the beach. To the post office. To the ballpark. To the gym!! It gives “driving me crazy” and “driving me to drink” a whole new meaning. I feel like I’ve been sentenced to endlessly drive up and down Highway 19 (or Alternate 19) like the Flying Dutchman. These highways are not all scenic, consisting mainly of strip malls (including one where there’s cosmetic surgery right next to a fast food place: “Would you like fries with that face lift?” I don’t think I’d have a lot of confidence in any kind of surgeon operating in a mall), car dealerships, trailer parks, and fast food restaurants.

You can tell you’re in Florida because in addition to the usual billboards threatening you with Hell if you don’t straighten up and fly right into church right now, there are lots of them for cataract surgery, macular degeneration surgery, and treatments for other age-related ailments. And if all else fails, there are also lots of billboards for funeral homes. On-site crematoria seem to be a big draw, though somehow that seems slightly undignified to me, like it’s a drive-thru or something. My favorites are the one with the laughing, very young lady with the slogan “Celebrate Life!” followed by the name of the funeral home, and the one that says, “Preplanning – the gift that keeps on living!”

Slothful Suzy is quite challenged by the neighbors. All of them.

Everyone gets up ridiculously early. The birds take over from the juvenile delinquent crickets, who yell all night at the top of their voices. When they punch out in the early a.m., the birds take over, squawking and hoo-hooing and cawing at the top of their voices and ensuring no interruption of annoying noises to keep you awake or get you there (I’m beginning to have sneaking sympathy for those folks in France who merrily massacre songbirds and eat them, too). This sets off the senior delinquents, who come out of their “estates” and start hollering good morning to each other. Why they don’t just walk right up to each other and converse in a normal, non-annoying-to-Sleepy-Suzy tone of voice is beyond me. Maybe it’s a sport: lawn hollering. All you need is a yard and a loud voice. Hearing is optional (and undesirable, as far as I’m concerned).

Not only do the oldsters get up really, really early (presumably so as not to waste what little time they have left), they find it perfectly reasonable to mow the lawn and use power tools at 8 in the morning or even earlier. No sleeping in for Suzy. I have to admit that it has made me go to bed earlier, and get up earlier, though filled with resentment instead of caffeine.

And it makes me feel all youthful, despite being 30-12 going on 30-13. I actually got asked for ID in the Kash N’ Karry liquor store yesterday! I was floored and told the guy how old I am – not something I normally care to admit. He didn’t believe me, so I showed him my driver’s license. He squinted at it, put on his reading glasses, examined it carefully, and gave it back, saying, “I shore do ‘pologize, ma’am.” Hee.

Complaint du jour: Don’t talk to me while I’m watching TV. I have the attention span of a particularly capricious two year old, and can’t pay attention to two things at once. If I’m watching Gilmore Girls, you are not going to win this contest. Wait until the commercials. That’s what they’re there for. In fact, I will love you more for distracting me from their dullness and/or vulgarity.

Now back to your (ir)regularly scheduled programming.

Yesterday, I went to the first home game of the Blue Jays’ Spring Training. The ballpark is charmingly high-school scale, unlike Pac Bell Park, and the crowd was enthusiastic. I’m sorry to report that the home team lost 8-4 to the very nearly home team Tampa Bay, whose team has two ex-Blue Jays, Kevin Cash and Josh Phelps.

Seen at the ballpark: VP. We’ve all heard of VPL*, but this was the full-on VP. The woman in question was wearing sheer white trousers which revealed the entire vast expanse of her flowered grannypants.~shudder~

Heard at the ballpark: “Git yer ass outta my beer!” I hasten to add that mine was not the ass in question.

Seen outside the ballpark: A 1958 Edsel station wagon! Pretty much this color, too. And pretty. Much-needed aesthetic relief after the VP (and who knew that a VP could be more repulsive than Cheney?).

*If you are fortunate enough not to have heard of this particular fashion felony, it stands for Visible Panty Lines.

Have you been wondering where all the glama is in this neck of the woods (or palms)? I’ll tell you where it is: the delightfully named Weeki Wachee Springs, home of the legendary mermaids.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted to see the mermaids.* I think when I was little, I actually believed that they were real mermaids. But then again, I’d believe almost anything. My grandfather had me convinced that he put up the moon every night, and it was on a spring, which is why you could see it on both sides of the road. I still have a surprisingly high gullibility factor for a girl of my vintage.

I never thought I would see the mermaids, because they were in distant Florida and I never thought I’d go there. Now was my chance!

It was completely fabulous.

The mermaids have been performing in their natural spring since 1947. The audience watches them through a huge glass window in the Mermaid Theater. They are gorgeous and glamorous in their glittery tails, their long hair flowing in the water. They do wonderful production numbers under water (I loved it when all of them swam together in a ring), and can even drink underwater (now, there’s a skill I could use!). The finale was a tribute to the US of A, complete with patriotic swimsuits and an underwater flag. If Kerry had had the mermaids with him on the campaign trail, he’d definitely be President right now.

I’m now accepting donations to Send a Needy Suzy to Mermaid Camp.

*I spoke to one of the mermaids, and she told me she had wanted to be a mermaid since she was four years old. So it was her dream come true, too.

Sporty Suzy lives!

The sun was sunny again in the Sunshine State, and I learned that the Toronto Blue Jays do their spring training in this very town (actually, it’s spring training central, since the Phillies and the Evil Empire also train nearby). And anyone can go and watch them practice!

So Sporty Suzy came out of retirement in her retirement community. It seemed like forever since I’d seen any baseball, and we all know about the disgrace of the NHL. No sports for Suzy since the surprising, and brief, World Series. So it was high time for Sporty Suzy to get her sporty fix.

So here they are, warming up. I was hoping Alex Rios would give me a kiss, but alas, I just got a smile. And my sporty fix.

It wasn’t my beloved Giants, but it was gooood.

Advice from the catching coach: “Balance is key. Keep your feet under you.”

It’s the Florida State Fair!

Where you can get anything on a stick. Besides the usual meat suspects (no domestic farm animal went unrepresented here), stick delicacies included:

– Frozen bananas (plain or “p.nut”)

– Key lime pie (this is a bit of a misnomer, since there’s no crust and the frozen pie filling is coated with chocolate, like an eskimo pie)

So you knew you were somewhere tropical.

In addition to the stick foods, I discovered that you can deep fry just about anything, and candidates don’t have to start their lives as vegetables (onions, corn, ‘taters). They can, and do, deep fry:

– Oreos

– Cheesecake

– Snickers bars (battered first)

– Cake batter (they call it “funnel cake” – once it’s done frying, you can add toppings!)

I went on the Ferris Wheel and feel that EB White is full of shit. In the delightful Charlotte’s Web, Fern dreams of kissing Henry at the top of the Ferris Wheel at the Fair. Even if I had someone with me who would volunteer for the task, it’s all unnerving and wiggly up there and kissing is about the last thing on your mind. It’s not even in second place to how far down the ground is and how easy it is to fall out of those perilously rocking seats.

Back on the ground, I went to the petting zoo to play with the animals before they were put on a stick. I got to hold a baby duck and a baby chick! They were so soft you could hardly feel them. And I petted a baby goat, too. I tried and failed to milk a cow, but then, who am I kidding? Can you imagine Farmer Suzy?

News you can use:

Miss Aim&eacutee has a cool new look for her blog….

…and my nephew Ben, who is teaching English in China for the next few months, has a brand-new blog.

So go on over and say hi. Visit Florida and China without having to deal with the horrors of car or air travel!!!

Florida Lessons Learned So Far:

– Not only did I finally get my sass in a glass, but I learned the Truth About Grapefruit Juice. Normally, only the unattractive grapefruit get made into juice, so the ones you buy whole and unjuiced in the store are the Miss America (or at least Miss Florida) of the grapefruit world. But all those storms last year mean that there just aren’t that many grapefruit left, so the caste system has been temporarily suspended.

– Never leave the car windows open. Rain can appear at any time, soaking everything and then running away giggling, like a naughty kid ringing a neighbor’s doorbell (not that I would ever do such a thing). I learned this the hard way, and the following day was damp and uncomfortable. I think I got butt pneumonia, and will possibly end up with the rare ass arthritis.

– Although geckos running across your living room can be a little surprising, they eat bad bugs, such as mosquitoes, and therefore are our friends. No eeks required.

– However, palmetto bugs are big, tropical cockroaches and should be treated as such. Eeks definitely required.

– Sunscreen can’t completely cancel out the sunshine of the Sunshine State. I have so far avoided my customary sunburn, but am now the rarely seen in winter Great Speckled Suzy.

On Tuesday night, I went to the Mardi Gras celebration downtown. How appropriate for Supersized Suzy* to attend the Fat Tuesday party! It was a balmy night with about a million stars, and seemingly the same number of partiers. There was a parade, and I collected my fair share of beads and refused to give any away. You know how acquisitive I can be. Not to mention how I love the sparkly!

Overheard at Mardi Gras:

“Walt gave me one of them i-PADS and I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

Teenage girl: “You are such a bitch, Crystal!”

Crystal: “You suck. Remember that.”

*A board of experts has estimated that consuming road food, known for its high grease content, three times a day, results in gaining approximately five pounds a day of ugly fat (is there any other kind?).

I don’t know why I was surprised at getting lost and/or going the wrong way en route. I mean, no matter where I am, I spend half my time looking for things (especially glasses, very challenging when you’re as blind as the proverbial bat without them), and the other half losing them. Sometimes I think my place is the apartment equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle, where things disappear, never to be seen again.

But yes, it developed into quite the little talent, joining the elite ranks of the few, the shallow, that I already had (whining/complaining; shopping; picking the best thing on the menu and the right wine to go with it). Even the brand-new road atlas couldn’t save me from unscheduled detours, including the infamous twice in one day.

Theoretically, all I had to do was stay on the same road (I-75) and I’d end up in Florida. Of course, it didn’t work that way. The road atlas had not taken into account the Suzy Factor.

First: Somewhere in Tennessee, failed to realize that I-75 going south had sneaked off to the right until I had already passed the exit. It’s quite difficult for the car and map challenged to both drive and read the signs. Eventually I realized that I had missed the exit, and got off the interstate. I ended up in the saddest town I had ever seen. It was nothing but moribund or dead businesses in decaying buildings. I couldn’t find anyone to ask for directions and began to get a panicky, Twilight Zone feeling (“little did Suzy realize that she was the only person alive for miles”). I finally came across a restaurant and got directions. I can’t describe the 55 cent hamburgers, other to say the look and smell of the tiny greasebombs was unforgettable. The waitress was very nice and called me “sweetheart”, which I love. Noticed that the clientele was very polite and all said “‘I appreciate it”, which was quite charming.

Note to self: should have called Aim for directions and then gone to her and Josh’s place to meet the adorable Elle. What was I thinking?!

Anyway, eventually got back on the highway.

Second: After dark, got lost somewhere outside Macon, Georgia. This was especially remarkable, considering that I only made three right turns and then couldn’t find my way back. I was quite dazzled by the beautiful mansions on the first street, but after two more turns, found myself in a much scarier part of town. The convenience store on the corner was the only thing open, so I bravely went in to ask directions. Everyone stared at me as I entered, and I realized that I was the only girl and the only white person there. I went and got a bottle of water and joined the line to pay for it. There were four elderly African American gentlemen ahead of me in line, and one by one, they all told me to go to the head of the line. I thanked them, and as one, they all nodded and looked at their feet.

Warning to all residents of Florida: Tropical Storm Suzy has arrived. Appease with pink grapefruit juice and coconut shrimp and take cover….

With thanks to the wonderful & generous Cassie B for the cool script!

I really have to stop procrastinating and get packing. Really. I mean, I leave tomorrow. Getting the suitcases out would probably be a good start.

To distract me from the horror of packing (very, very close to housework – involving, as it does, putting things away), I have a horror movie on TV. It’s the very schlocky Frankenstein’s Daughter, and so far, the scariest thing in it is the allegedly “teenage” band singing “Special Date”.

Best line: “We all miss Suzy. But she’ll have some stories to tell when she gets back.”

Update:

Inspired by Pascale, I actually did clean up the closet! I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary,other than the fact that I really have a *lot* of t-shirts. Mr. Mouse didn’t show up to help or hinder. I felt incredibly virtuous when I was finished.

“Packing” so far consists of piling all the things I think I’m going to bring in a couple of boxes. I have decided to go minimal and only bring one handbag(!), though I’m not saying I won’t acquire one or two in Florida, to help along the local economy and all. I’m also just going to wear the little diamond studs I wear all the time anyway and leave it at that for accessorizing.

The order to have bills and fan mail forwarded to me at my temporary tropical paradise is in, and I have a brand-new road atlas with maps of the entire North American continent, so if I get lost, I have no-one to blame but myself (though map-reading is not one of my few talents). Self is as groomed as she gets, so I’m pretty much good to go. And it’s only Friday!

Yesterday, I went to see the doctor to stock up on non-recreational drugs, and she mentioned that it was the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. Her mother, then in her early 20’s, was one of the survivors, and had been incarcerated in the camp for more than a year, surviving by her considerable wit and intelligence.

While working in the camp’s munitions factory, she managed to make two little charms out of lead: one a four-leaf clover, and one a little book, engraved with a tulip. These are now my doctor’s most precious possessions. They survived, along with her mother and are a reminder both of that terrible time and of her mother’s strength, faith, and spirit.

Only a week before I start my quest for Sass in a Glass. Can I get all this done before time’s up?

My To-Do List
By Suzy
Making a big to-do about nothing, as usual

1. Clean up “closet” enough to find out what clothes I actually have (“closet” in this case means “back room full of miscellaneous stuff, including clothes, shoes, handbags and mysterious crap. Probably the meaning of life is in there, along with Mr. Mouse and my long-lost virginity.”)

2. Decide what to bring (definitely both pairs of sparkly sandals, but other than that, I’m not sure).

3. Accessorize and pack. Which handbags to bring? Do I have pool jewelry? Do I need it? Should I get a spray tan?

4. Get Self detailed (Dye hair. Get waxed. Do nails (is now the time to experiment with nail art? Oh, and where are my toe rings?).

5. Get mail forwarded (can’t miss all those bills!).

6. See dr. and stock up on non-recreational drugs.

7. Get maps to minimize getting lost potential.

BTW just the thought of Florida has made my cold better, though I’m still going through an inordinate number of Kleenexes. Those who call me snotty are now both literally and figuratively correct.