The First Boomers to Bite the Big One

The face that launched a million whacks and the whacko that launched a thousand inappropriate sleepovers.

How awful for her, totally trumped in death. The New York Times had the photo of Michael above smeared all over the top of their online version while Farrah is a thumbnail the size of a postage stamp below.

Within the hour they replaced the red one with a younger one of Michael in white, arms raised against a backdrop of stormclouds. Way better choice.

Farrah had a valiant battle against death while Michael had always had a valiant struggle with life. He's poster child for what can happen when you're raised in the crushing repression of a fundamentalist household*.

The only one who comes out on the sunny side of all this is Governor Sanford; nobody cares about him or his mistress now. We'll be busy watching reruns of the infamous Farrah/Letterman interview and Michael's amazing Thriller video.

*Like me, Michael was raised Jehovah's Witness.

Bad Heir Day

Shawn and I engage in a classic pre-photo gut-suck.

On Father’s Day I reminded myself of that old country song where the guy doesn’t know whether to kill himself or go bowling.

Since I don’t bowl, I decided to go to the Big Cypress Flea Market. I’ve never been, have been wanting to go.

Thankfully, I have a car again! One great thing about a crap economy, you can actually find an honest mechanic on Craigslist - someone who will come out, tell you it’s not nearly as bad as you thought, go buy the necessary parts and come back and fix it for you; all within two hours.

DESTINATION: BIG CYPRESS FLEA MARKET

So yesterday I headed out and the car drove like new. NPR was on the radio, the sun was shining and I was starting to relax as I turned off I75 at exit 101 to Marco Island. Two panther crossing signs on Collier and I was hanging a left on 41 towards the everglades.

It was so hot the blacktop on south Tamiami shimmered like pools of liquid silver. The local weather folks are describing the temps as “soup”. (I have the AC set to 83 degrees; when I return to my condo after a walk, it’s like stepping into a meatlocker.)

Locals are crackers and imports who are proud of their ability to endure jungle heat without bitching too much. Snowbirds are a bunch of pussies.

When I was a snowbird I went to the flea market in downtown Fort Myers once. It’s a hot, dirty maze of crap and not-so-crap. The layout is manic.

Big Cypress in Naples is just the opposite - air conditioned, new and orderly. Shoppers were pretty darned sparse for a Father’s day and I couldn’t help noticing an unsettling desperation among most of the vendors.

I make jewelry; a hand-made Swarovski crystal bracelet that had to cost $30 to make was on sale for … thirty dollars. And the couple that owned the lovely little shop was desperate to sell something. Anything.

In the food court, one happy, talented entertainer was playing to approximately nine people; this area had the capacity to seat hundreds. I’m sure in six months, as new dealers sign on, Big Cypress will offer people enough merchandise and activities to become a great way to spend an afternoon.

It deserves community and snowbird support! http://www.bigcypressmarketplace.com/

Unfortunately, I was MORE depressed after leaving the flea market.

Snowbirds are up north, people who can’t take the heat are staying inside … and almost everyone is worried about spending money.

SUCKS TO BE HEIRS

I thought about Father’s Day … the best father I know is my son. (Photo above.)

I was thinking about that on the drive back … my son … my heir. Before I got Lyme Disease, I would have had plenty to leave him and his family. Now I'll have nothing to leave but photos and memories.

If things don’t turn around soon, the baby boom generation will have produced more descendants than heirs. Think about the difference. I was. I talked myself into a deeper depression.

Part of me said GO HOME AND HIDE; my higher self said WHEN YOU’RE SAD AND LONELY, GO WHERE THE HAPPY PEOPLE ARE.

They’re at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar on Fort Myers Beach.

THE USUAL SUSPECTS AT THE USUAL PLACE

I took exit 116 to Lover’s Key; what an incredible stretch of roads, bridges and islands. I started wishing I had my kayak …. there are so many wonderful beaches and coves, you can pull over and put in almost anywhere.

But I had no kayak, so I kept driving. In 15 minutes I had parked my car under the bridge and was maneuvering the pebbly path to the Lighthouse Tiki Bar.

It feels like home. It’s my neighborhood bar, my Cheers where I recognize other locals and vice versa.

On Sundays the Diane Russel band KICKS ASS. http://www.myspace.com/dianerussellband
It is NOT POSSIBLE to remain glum. Apply beer and tap to the beat ...

Soon tourists were behaving badly. Bimps were strutting around mostly naked, manmeat was walking around shirtless; one was peppering his nipples.

By 7 p.m. half the bar was in the pool - some against their will. A large gentleman proudly rose to the surface with his beer upright. One pretty blonde pattered back to her barstool soaking wet in white (suddenly see-thru) shorts & no undies.

The bathrooms became a Noah’s ark where ladies entered two by two...

I sat in back to watch the happy madness with a married friend who knows everyone and everything. He apologized for transitioning from southern gentleman to redneck in the course of three strong cocktails.

It was a hoot. I met new people and had a really nice time.

Note to self & everyone else … when times get tough, go where the happy people are.

Krappy Karma

I GIVE UP!

I quit Match. Everyone who could be appropriate is either back up north or here hiding like me, watching Scrubs reruns and getting acquainted with The Dog Whisperer. On the bright side, my bitches are finally walking on the leash now! Behind me no less!

I finally get it - THESE are the relationships that matter. They’re loving, cuddly and low maintenance!

Match has been an effing nightmare. Some people assign mystical qualities to computerized matchmaking. Every once in a while I’ll get a hopeful email from some nimrod saying “I was matched to you!”

Well yeah, I have a pulse and I’m in your zip code.

I have met guys who were TWENTY YEARS OLDER than their photos. (I felt so sorry for one old geezer I bought him lunch).

A guy from Pine Island said "I look just like my photo, don't I!" Yeah, except that his hair had gone completely white since it was taken.

One bragged about his tennis and could barely make it off a curb without my hand supporting his elbow.

Another guy posted two photos - in one he looked like the father and the other a son. Yeah, they were both him.

I met an English guy who looked like his photo and was as much fun as I expected; but then - rather than give me a POLITE kiss good-bye - he stuck his dry, round tongue in my mouth.

I am STILL grossed out.

OTHER SLIPS OF THE TONGUE

A few days ago it was coverage of the helicopter pilot who crashed into a pool house in Naples and had to be “excavated” (extricated) from the wreckage.

STAY OFF THE RAIL FOR CHRISSAKES

Our local anchor says it seems like we’re getting more and more of these stories. Another woman “fell” off a cruise ship 70 miles from shore.

They called her a 50-year-old grandmother; based on the photo they flashed, she was a pretty blonde lady who looked like she knew how to party. One shove after multiple cocktails … so much cheaper than a divorce. Or maybe she just got stupid drunk; cruises can do that.

Did we ever find out what happened to Natalie Wood?

RESCUING NATURE’S LEAST POPULAR CRITTERS

Local channels and NPR are covering this one … yesterday five 10-to-12 year old kids were tossing, playing with - and kissing (I don’t make this shit up) - a Brazilian bat on Fort Myers Beach.

I find it encouraging that a good Samaritan stepped forward to rescue the bat. He or she then drove it to CROW - the Center for Rehabilitation of wildlife - on Sanibel.

Apparently CROW sent the bat off for testing and reports came back positive for rabies. Now this town has to track down and rescue the kids who were playing with it. They found two - they need to find the other three. Hopefully it will be local kids and not tourists who may already be thousands of miles away.

Crow is an amazing place, totally dedicated to wildlife. Check it out - http://www.crowclinic.org/.
Last year at the ad agency we rescued a vulture that had been hit by a car while dining on a roadside carcass. He eluded us for two weeks, then finally weakened to the point where our sorry asses had a chance to grab him.

Cast of characters included me, the writer - Rachael the media buyer - Tiana the Account Exec and Anthony, the other Account Exec (and biggest pussy of all). We were running around the concrete and glass office complex trying to corner this giant bird, screaming like six-year-old girls. The people from the other offices are probably still talking about the lunatics at the agency.
So we cornered the vulture in an entryway, got him into a pre-prepared box with holes and stuff (Rachael thinks of everything) and edged the box gently into the back seat of my car.

I knew driving him to CROW was going to make me late for an important meeting, but this feathered soul was more important. And there he was behind me, thrashing and stinking all the way.

I imagined him breaking out of the box and pecking my eyes out; I imagined running off the road and drowning in a slough*.

But I (we) made it. The woman at Crow thanked me and said “not many people are brave enough to capture a vulture.”

Back at the office, the boss wasn't mad at me for what I'd done, he just looked at the four of us like we needed prescriptions for whatever made us this way.

We named the vulture Carl and worried about his welfare.

A few days later I got a call. Carl had eaten a few meals and received good care, but his injury was too severe. Infection set in and he didn’t make it.

Say what you will, vultures are beautiful birds. Their feathers are the color of mink and the wingspan is incredible. They eat our roadkill.

I like bats too. They eat bugs.

NOTE TO PETA ... speaking as a person who lost three years of her life and everything she owned to a tick bite ... someone who NOW walks around with an anaphylactic shock medic alert bracelet on her wrist and liquid Benadryl in her purse in case of bug bite - President Obama was TOTALLY righteous in smashing that fly to kingdom come**.

Peta, you need to lighten the $%& up.

LEXUS’ AGENCY HIRING DISCOUNT TALENT?

Are you as grossed out as I am every time they play the Lexus IS commercial? That’s the one where the guy throws his head back with driving ecstacy, opening his mouth so wide you can see the fillings in his upper teeth.

You’d think this client has enough money for talent with enough money for cosmetic dentistry. Not that I’m in any position to even THINK about a Lexus ever again for the rest of my life.

Or cosmetic dentistry, for that matter.

CARMA

I try to be a good Buddhist. Right now my life is utter SHITTT with THREE Ts so I’m thinking I need to do some selfless things to bring it all back around to GOOD karma. (No, my name is not Earl.)

Two years ago a southern gentleman suitor gave me a vintage white bike. (Never gonna happen … this guy is the cheapest man on the planet.) I used the bike for a while, but you fry after 9 a.m. in this heat and … well, I’ve been staying up half the night and waking up around Ellen.

The white bike has been chained to the rail of my front steps like it’s trying to escape.

Last week someone on Freecycle asked for bikes for kids and I told her she could take the bike. OK, one small chunk of good karma should come back from giving away a bike I might have needed if my piece of shit car ever broke down.

That same week I also went through my closet and started removing things I haven’t worn in a few years. Even stuff I liked a lot. I was going to find a women’s shelter, but I know of a charity that does nice work in Cape Coral.

Today I had to meet a client briefly - and it was out that way - so I put the bags in the car.

It was one of those days where you're proud of doing things you've been putting off. I was giving stuff away, I was organizing my life, I was in the zone - so I decided to do one more thing I didn’t want to do; I called my ex-BF to see how he was.

When I first made the call, I was driving. The man never shuts up. I sat outside CVS for 20 minutes while he told me all about how he was and how his life was and how his business was holding on just fine and never once asked how I was.

I felt like there was something else I wanted to say, but I needed to pee; I told him I'd call him back.

I was in CVS (nice restroom!) when I remembered what I wanted to ask. “Do you think my piece of shit car would be safe enough to drive the 1400 miles up north to see family?” Cool, I'd call him back after I went through the toll booth and dropped the clothes off.

My Saturn SL is 12 years old with about 86,000 miles. It gets GREAT mileage.

It nearly died in the tollbooth. It started screaming, so I turned off the AC. (The heat was about 96 degrees at that point.) Then I noticed the battery light was on.

I made it to Goodwill without incident, but realized I was getting really stressed. There are three expenses I fear most - needing to buy a different used car, needing a new computer, and having the AC in my condo die. All are "about due."

Financially, I am in no position for any of this to happen. Obsessing and oblivious to all around me, I immediately misplaced my purse. It took 10 heart-pounding minutes to find it.

When I got back to my car, it started just fine but it seemed like the steering was suddenly difficult. WTF? My imagination?? Sweat was literally running down my face.

I got my phone wet calling the ex back. He knows cars. He said it was probably the serpentine belt. (?) I told him I was going back to Walmart because the battery light was on and the battery was still under warranty.

Walmart ran a quick check and told me it was the transmission. (I can’t say enough about the guys who work at the auto area at the Fort Myers Walmart at 41 & Gladiolus.)

I asked “how much is a transmission?”

The nice man got a look on his face like “do I really want to wreck her day?” And said “the parts are about $100.” He suggested AAMCO near the Olive Garden.

Ignorance is bliss. I drove away thinking “OK, $100 is doable.” Double-A-beepbeepMCO was closed, so I headed home and stopped at the grocery store “just in case” my car died or something.

Smart move.

Mission accomplished, I pulled up to my condo and turned the car off. Only it didn't turn off. I freaked. The ex-BF was not answering his phone so I called the only smart guy I know down here ... well, the only one I don't work with, the only one who won't call me a dumb blonde, the only one who will be sober at 6:00 on a Friday.

Harry said it was probably the fan and talked me through it. While we waited for "the noise" to stop, I asked how he was. He sounded like different day, different mistakes. His luck is just like mine.

The way my luck has been going, I expected the engine would explode and take out my downstairs living area and upstairs bedroom; but Harry was right - the fan went off after about 10 minutes.

I told Harry I had hoped to go to the beach tonight but obviously THAT wasn’t going to happen. He said he could stop by on his motorcycle and take me. I said “cool - we can both die in a fiery wreck.” (See my biker blog about four blogs back.)

Harry joked that without transportation, I’ll have more time to write. Which explains why this is my longest blog ever.

I am carless.

I am VERY upset because I will probably miss yoga tomorrow. It’s so hot I’ll pass out if I try to walk.

I could ride my bike … but I don’t have one.

Fortunately, I chose a condo in a piece of paradise that is WALKING DISTANCE to everything I need.

If I can stay away from the buttery deliciousness of the Marie Callendar all white meat turkey pot pies in my freezer, I’ll be ok.

I don’t have the stamina (or inventory) to become a drunk.

*Slough rhymes with "new". Known as a deep ditch up north, down here a slough has the potential to become a watery grave with snakes and alligators; or not. I am so paranoid sometimes.

**I met a Tibetan Buddhist monk a month or so ago and we talked about this thorny BUG issue. He said he's allergic too. He said some monks are able to achieve a level of oneness where bugs do not bother them. I don't think I'll be achieving that level anytime soon.

Stupid People

BUY A DICTIONARY

The news just reported that a helicopter crashed into a pool house in Naples. In describing the crash live by remote, the reporter said the helicopter had collapsed on impact and the pilot had to be "excavated".

King Tut had to be excavated. I imagine this pilot had to be extricated.

THE SINS OF SEAFOOD

Peta is on the bridge to Fort Myers Beach today protesting fathers who fish.

I'm blonde, I don't fish for fear I'll catch one worth eating and be asked to help clean it.

I'm Buddhist, I don't fish for fear I'll catch one and hurt it. Even in a catch and release scenario (like relationships), there is danger the fish won't survive.

PETA members are carrying banners that say something like "Fathers - spare the rod." Why on earth would you wave banners intended to make fathers feel guilty about HOW they spend time with their kids? Even if you did get them to stop fishing, will they suddenly decide to go vegan? DOUBTFUL.

I was reading a Buddhist publication a few weeks back. One article explained that it's inappropriate to condemn the butcher if your family eats meat.

WORLD'S WORST MILITARY MOM

A local woman on a Fort Myers freeboard is giving away her son's cat "because he's in the Marines and I can't take care of it."

She posted photos, so I decided to look and see how old and feeble she is that she can't take care of the cat while her son serves our country.

This woman is in her 40s.

Why does this piss me off so much?! Because it shows zero empathy for the cat and her son.

When my son joined the Navy, he was worried about a lot of things. When he found out he was being sent to Sicily, he was especially upset at the thought he might never see his aging cat again. The cat's welfare was a serious issue.

We would have never dreamed of putting Sylvester to sleep or giving him away.

One of Shawn's friends offered to take Sylvester in and - sure enough - the cat was still alive when Shawn returned three years later. He was losing his teeth and having trouble gumming his food, but he was obviously happy to be "home again".

Sylvester died about a month later; he had held on long enough to say good-bye to Shawn.

I have the mulligrubs

Of course you don't know what "mulligrubs" means - it's a regional expression. There's a new book coming out and I want it - check it out:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105134163&sc=fb&cc=fp

mulligrubs (n) A condition of despondency or ill temper; a vague or imaginary unwellness. (Usage: scattered, but especially the South)

I live in the south now, I guess I'm entitled to use it.

Why despondent???

MY FRIENDS ARE GONE.

I'm not talking acquaintances, I'm talking real friends I related to and loved hanging with.

I have lost them in this order ...

Canadian Connie was a great friend, a smart, spiritual, real live person I could totally open up to. Earlier this year she moved to D.C. for a new job.

I have friends at the office - but as of March, I don't go to the office any more. I don't get that rush of love and understanding that comes from being with the most amazing bunch of shocking, profane, outspoken, tawdry, like-minded weirdos I've ever seen in one small place.

Randy is back up north as of April. For years my ex-bf was my best friend of all time. Just hilarious and irreverent and always able to make me laugh; until the day came that he stopped laughing. Even though the friendship has changed, it was a comfort knowing he was just 15 minutes away.

Richard ... we were crazy, we were children, we laughed, we cried, we told secrets cross-legged til 4 in the morning; then he was gone.

Emails, IMs, phone calls ... it's not the same. It just doesn't cut it.

MY MOM

She sent me TWO copies of the same book a couple months ago. Note that I didn't want the book in the first place. It's about the dangers of prescriptions - I don't TAKE prescriptions and have no intentions of taking any.

Then today she sent me an email asking if I had the antique metal portrait of my great grandparents. She thought she had it but can't find it. I have not seen that portrait in 20 years.

She can't be slipping gears, she just can't. They live in one of the harshest climates known to man and my step-dad is growing increasingly frail.

The last time I was up there - last August - "something" had shredded the neighbor's 80 lb. dog. They found bits and pieces scattered over a field. My parents live on my Finnish great grandparents' original 80 acres, complete with wolves, bear and cougars.

Their antique shop is one of the largest up there - and a maintenance nightmare of it's own. In the winter, snakes head for the warmth of the area directly under her cash register.

Plowing their parking area during the massive snows would be a substantial undertaking for ANYONE, let alone a woman in her 70s and man in his 80s. He keeps running the plow into their outbuildings.

They are at least an hour's drive from the nearest hospital - in good weather.

I don't even want to think about this. After the IV treatments for Lyme Disease, I moved away from Southwest Michigan because I realized I couldn't handle the cold; the UP would kill me.

If/when anything happens to my step-dad, there will be my mom, four Collies and a combined household/shop antiques inventory that would take a year to sort out. I do not believe the word "downsize" exists in my mother's vocabulary and there is no way she could handle "all that" all alone.

We don't own stuff ... our stuff tends to own us.

THERE'S MORE.

My daughter-in-law was laid off Friday. She's scared and happy because now she can take advantage of Governor Granholm's new benefit that pays college tuition for employees whose jobs were sent overseas. In a way it's GREAT because she'll get to spend time with the girls - and they'll all be able to spend more time up north with the GPs.

So I'm about 2,000 miles from the epicenter ... worried that at some point I may be asked to leave the place that gave me my life back.

Who knows, maybe they'll all wind up near me. Like John Lennon said "life is what happens when you're making other plans."

I guess you just have to be braced for anything.

Mulligrubs ...

Night of the Six Guys

Just feeling grossly inappropriate tonight. (Reference to demotivator.)

I thought Donna was at Jimmy B's tonight ... which is a fair assumption being as it's Friday and all.

I just wanted to go to the Tiki Bar and watch the Wings/Penguins.

What an abysmal loss that was. Holy shit. Wound up yelling obscenities in the ear of a guy formerly from Providence, Rhode Island.

He seemed to enjoy it.

He was with a guy with noticeable hair plugs and 70s chains who was not-so-discreetly fingering his middle-aged bleached blonde girlfriend as she sat on his lap. (She may have been a rental.) The only thing he was missing was a Members Only jacket. Oh, yeah - and a little class.

As the jerkoff sucked face with the ho, his buddy told me about having MS and confessed he doesn't get out much. We talked about what a pleasure being a hermit can be and how much it sucks to force ourselves to be social.

He told me his great aunt has a giant container of sea glass from the St. Lawrence Seaway that would make great jewelry, his gay roommate takes shit from the other waiters and he's been designing saltwater fishing lures; he's going to email me for pointers on getting his lures sold online.

After Rhode Island left, a good looking guy with big muscles and cool tattoos sidled up to me. Not often you get to use the word "sidled". But that's what he did.

I inspected the tatts ... one arm was a very fancy cross, the other was "OM". I asked if he was Buddhist or did yoga and his eyes glazed over like he was channeling an entity from some other dimension.

I said I am a Buddhist who does yoga. He slurred that he's a "minister" of sorts, spiritual enough to "handle" his booze and cigarettes.

Well, ya coulda fooled me.

He talked about his ability to draw good things from the universe. I said "You're into The Secret?"

And his eyes lit up like stars.

I hate The Secret. Like there isn't enough greed and striving out there as it is.

Then he was JUST drunk enough to decide he was going to show me how psychic he is. I hate when people do that. I especially hate when I get drunk enough to do that; but this time it was someone else.

First thing he did was put my hand between his two without touching. Of course you can feel an energy.

Then he looked into my eyes and gave me a "knowing" look. It was so rehearsed I almost laughed out loud. He said "your husband should have never done that to you."

Naturally, I'm thinking "which husband?" So ... wow, it's really mean to play with drunk guys trying to show off how psychic they are, but I did. I said "tell me more." He said "left you for that dark haired woman."

I wanted to say "none of my husbands ever left me for someone else" but it sounded stupid even thinking it. The quantity negates the quality. Sort of like when my mom said her Collie won third place in an obedience contest and I jokingly asked if there were three dogs entered and she had to confess yes.

So I just shook my head "no."

And he said "well maybe blonde or brunette ... or something."

Lord.

And I couldn't shake the guy. So I asked a big white haired guy with a nice tee emblazoned with the name of some premium whiskey (RED FLAG!!!) where he got his cell phone cover. In one fell swoop I was able to shake Tattoo Guy and get invited to a night or two of passion with Premium Whiskey guy.

There would be one more indecent (yet age-appropriate and very flattering) proposal before the night was over:-)

The two older gentlemen to my right had decided it was their job to buy me beverages all night; three Coors Lights. They were from Sarasota, working (drinking) their way down to the Keys and staying at Matanzas for the night. I danced a slow one with the older of the two dudes and he ... well crap, he was a grinder/groper. Ugh. And he grabbed my ass as I was leaving.

The Wings lost, Donna had actually stayed home for once and I had forced myself to LEAVE home for once.

I actually met some nice people and had a good time. This hermit shit has got to stop.

Kayak Adventure from Estero Outfitters to Mound Key

Photos by Kurt - http://www.kurtwilliamsphotography.com/

First photos are of the river - me in the hat and the 140 SOT kestrel - bottom photo is of the mouth of the river with Mound Key in the background.

I joined the Fort Myers Area Kayaking Group when I saw they'd posted a kayak trip to Mound Key - http://www.meetup.com/fortmyerskayaking/

It was a 10 mile paddle round trip. 24 kayakers left at around 9:30 a.m. and got back around 2:30 after some serious paddling. Holy crap, expected my arms would detach from the shoulders sometime during the night and end up tangled up in my sheets by morning.

I'm actually fine.

That was amazing. A few of the group could not make it the whole way. Oddly enough, the best scenery was that mile of Estero River between the outfitters and Koreshan. (Kurt may have some of those photos on his site - check it out.)

You can see bottom for the first mile or so, I always find that comforting. At the rental office they told us if we wanted to see "the alligator" we should go left. No thanks.

I rented a Kestrel 140 SOT. Wow - very nice kayak. Very light. Which I would regret later in the day.

Starting out, it seemed that the river would never end. It widened, it narrowed, widened, narrowed. You could see some indian mounds along the paddle ... I didn't even know what they were until someone pointed them out.

They were saying "someone tips" on every trip. I was more worried about getting separated from the group and getting lost. It could take them a day or two to find you out there. My contacts would dry out and I'd be half-blind.

I made a mental note to self to watch for all markers since it would be fairly easy to mistake some of the branches for main river. Then I thought "well, I'll be with the group so it won't matter." Turns out it did matter.

As we grew closer to the gulf, you could really feel the tide coming in. That was a struggle at some points - it would have been awful in either of the plastic recreational kayaks I own.

Someone said if we spent any amount of time on Mound Key (as planned) we would hit the tide coming out upon our return and have as much of a workout going back.

Mound Key was directly across from us as we came out of the mouth of the river and it was an easy paddle across and around. Unfortunately, those who went on ahead through a fairly narrow entry of vegetation over the water reported that it was EXTREMELY buggy.

I get anaphylactic shock from bug bites; even though I had sprayed myself to death before leaving, I wasn't ready to risk it.

Four of us - a designer from Chico's and two of her girlfriends - decided we didn't need to go on land. We turned around and headed back across the Gulf. As we did, storm clouds approached and we applauded ourselves for our foresight. (More like dumb luck.)

One dolphin kept us company on our way back to the river and we were glad we'd remembered the markers - 35/36. We could have been in big trouble if we hadn't. Everything looks the same.

For the first mile into the river we were so proud of ourselves - we were with the tides with the wind at our backs. At several points we nearly made incorrect turns. One time we did - and that's where two of us were when the storm hit. A little LOST.

It was scary, with winds so high I felt like they'd tip me or blow me into the mangroves. This is where I regretted how light my kayak was. The others had no problem, they had rented poofy wide tubs with the aerodynamics of foam mattresses. They weren't getting anywhere fast, but they sure weren't going to tip.

I was in a deep area of the river and there was a boat-shelter nearby. I headed for that and the others went on without me. (Being left alone was quite scary - it felt like waterspout weather and I have already seen some huge waterspouts since moving down here.)

The wind was blowing so hard the nose of my kayak went under the dock and started taking on water. There was no danger of sinking, only flipping - so I held on as tight as I could. The storm lessened a bit - then I saw the rest of our group headed back - including photographer Kurt. I joined in with them. At least if I went in, they'd be there to help.

Kurt said the storm hit them when they were on the Gulf and it wasn't fun. I can imagine how rough it would have been out in the open like that.

The storm lessened in intensity the further we went. It seemed like we were back at Koreshan - and beyond that to Estero Outfitters - in no time.

Back at EO, the guys told me the winds hit so hard "a kayak like the one you're in flew right off the racks." Maybe there is something to be said for heavier kayaks; although they're impossible for a single female to schlep.

I'm looking forward to going back with friends, EO is such a great place for beginners to get started and intermediate types to rent better kayaks.

The day after, the shoulders are satisfyingly sore (I know I had a workout) and the tan is the darkest it's been since I moved down here.

I highly recommend Estero Outfitters, the kayak group (link above) and the Kestrel 140 SOT:-) I'm told "sit on tops" are safer, but I actually feel more in control in a sit-in.

It's something to think about.

The Girl on the Red Scooter

It was 2:00 in the afternoon and hot as hell. I'd finished two client meetings and wanted to run to Michaels to buy a new canvas. Yes - "another" canvas!

I am painting again after 34 years!!! I'm not done with the painting shown here, but I just fell in love with a photo I took of pelicans on the boardwalk at Fort Myers Beach.

Yes, crude and whimsical IS the look I'm going for. And yes, I DO hope to get better at it. Eventually I will make my Grandpa proud.

(Grandpa used to paint for beer; and his landscapes were excellent.)

I'll be finishing over the weekend, am running out of paint ... and can't wait to start on the next one. It's creatively satisfying and requires no thought.

I pulled into the mall and noticed a large young woman puttering by on a spiffy red scooter with matching helmet. Dork-o-rama, short-bus ... call it what you like, I am one with the bikers, whether they're riding Harleys or these little electric import jobs.

I noted with approval that she was being very cautious, keeping to sidewalks and well away from traffic.

I found a spot directly across from Michaels and was getting out of my car when I heard a crash - the young lady tripped getting off her scooter and it had fallen on her. Like the time my uncle's motorcycle fell on him in a White Castle parking lot. Drunk and pinned under his bike, he ate a pack of cigarettes so the cops wouldn't smell the booze on his breath.

But I digress...

Four of us rushed over to see if we could help The Girl. As I made it to the scene a man was trying to plant the kick stand so the scooter wouldn't fall over on her again.

The Girl said "no, the other one - it will fall over if you don't get the other one."

Note that I saw two clients today. I'm looking as ladylike as I get, in tasteful linen pants, a lime green tee and sheer silk jacket in varying shades of green. I stepped in front of the man, pressed the larger stand to the concrete with the sole of my sandal (like I'd done it a million times before) and told him to pull back on the bike; it snapped securely into place.

I have no idea how I knew to do that.

Everyone was impressed. "ARE YOU A BIKER???" I said, "no, I just write for bikers." Realizing, of course, how weird that sounds coming from a middle-aged grandmother in Florida's version of business casual.

The girl was in a lot of pain. Apparently she did more of a fall onto a curb than a graceful dismount from the bike. She had such a severe weight problem we weren't able to help her into a more comfortable position.

Her leg was pretty much useless and her arm was messed up. She was in too much pain to even move herself up to the curb, so she sat on scalding hot blacktop.

A nice blonde lady offered to go get her something cold to drink while we waited for help and I ran for an umbrella to keep the beating sun off her.

The Girl wasn't quite right, a little slow maybe. We got her to call her parents, which was a little upsetting. You expected to hear her respond "yeah, I hurt my arm and leg ..."; instead she said "No dad, the bike is ok, the bike is ok."

I'm thinking I want to kick some dad ass.

Four of us stood there waiting and waiting and waiting for "dad" to arrive. All The Girl could see from that angle was feet and ankles. She liked the color my toenail polish. I apoligized for the paint job, saying I hadn't expected they'd be inspected so closely.

Everyone laughed.

A cell phone rang. The older gentleman started bragging about his college degrees and his brilliant granddaughter who had turned her back on a full scholarship to Duke before harping on the evils of technology. Computers? BAD! Cell phones? THE WORST!! !

We joined forces to defend technology.

The Girl said she was very glad she had a cell phone because it had just helped her in an emergency.

I told him I love not having to run home to check emails.

The blonde woman said she liked being connected with her kids at all times.

But he kept complaining.

After about 45 minutes his wife came up with shopping bags and whispered in his ear. He excused himself, saying he hoped everything would be OK. He had to be home at 4:00 for an important call.

I couldn't resist. I told him if he had a cell phone, he wouldn't have to go home and wait.

What a dinosaur.

The gray van pulled up about ten minutes later. It might as well have been Stevie Wonder behind the wheel ... I had to tell them where to park, like I was guiding a plane into a hangar. I'm thinking "If you park near your daughter maybe we will be able to get her up to and into your van."

The Girl's dad turned out to be a distracted older German man and the woman had to be her grandmother; she was so old she could barely open the door let alone walk to the injured girl.

The father glanced at his daughter, took a good look at the bike and then went BLANK. I explained I'd seen her operating the scooter and she had been doing a fine job. He didn't care.

There was no way he and the elderly woman were going to get The Girl into the van. By this time it's just me and the other blonde attempting to manage the situation. We gave each other knowing looks and I said we needed to call the police; hopefully they would help.

To my relief, all three agreed.

I helped grandma back to the van and her dad could damned well stand there and fry if he didn't have the brains to get out of the sun.

My friend Connie breeds geese with more brains than those two.

I called 911 and explained the situation. Within 5 minutes a big fire truck and large ambulance were on the scene. They asked her age - 28. They asked for a rundown of medications and she rattled off something like 5, most I've never heard. Some were for seizures, some were for arthritis. (???)

They confirmed that I had been ASKED to call 911. (I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been asked - I imagine I might have been legally responsible for picking up the tab?)

The Girl was asked to choose between taking the ambulance to emergency or being helped to her dad's van and going to the doctor. They chose choice #2; it took three good-sized medics ten minutes to get her the 8 feet to the van and into the back seat.

When everything was under control and I knew she was OK, I continued on to Michael's. I wonder how that happens ...

I wonder how a man like that gets custody of his daughter.

And I wonder how he can care enough to buy her a sweet little red electric scooter and matching helmet and not give a shit when she hurts herself.

Afternoon at Hooters

It's not very often I can honestly tell someone "you are one of the most interesting people I've ever met in my life." Because I have met some fascinating people.

My friends know writing for bikers is one of my specialties. That's how I met Wiley.

Wiley was stopped at a light when he was hit by a guy in a Chrysler 300; the driver was too busy changing stations to watch the road.

Wiley was creamed. He held on for 85', until the force of the impact sent him crashing into an SUV. One witness said he and the bike "flew through the air for about 35'".

Wiley never let go of his bike, hanging onto the handlebars for dear life. He weighs about 315 and is strong as a bull; the bars were bent down to his knees when they pried him off.

Cops declared it vehicular homicide because they didn't expect Wiley to live.

The driver of the Chrysler got a ticket for about $82. Wiley ... well, his life is changed forever.

I was asked to interview Wiley for video some weeks back. I actually wound up interviewing Wiley with his wife Susan. My friend Brad - a brilliant editor - is editing the video this week and felt it needed photos of Wiley after the accident.

Wiley called this morning to say he finally found the photos and would be happy to meet me at Hooters on Fort Myers Beach. This is the third time we've met, I feel the attachment you feel for any genuinely good person who is enduring a hard time. So it figures, I was NOT ready to see photos of him taken immediately after the accident.

We spent time choosing the right photos and lapsed into conversations about general stuff not related to the accident. He has to get sick of talking about it by now. We both drank iced tea and talked until the music got so loud I couldn't hear him any more.

I told him where I was planning on kayaking on Sunday and his face lit up - he said he grew up near Mound Key. I asked if he'd ever seen anything supernatural out there and he said he saw a "ball of fire" land on Mound Key during a thunderstorm.

I asked him if the mangroves are dangerous. He paused and said "well, there ARE rattlesnakes and water moccasins."

I told him I'd been warned about snakes dropping into kayaks. He paused again … I noticed he always paused before saying something he knew might scare me.

He said "yeah, it happens."

I asked HOW, imagining some diabolical Far Side-style snake scenario and he replied very simply; "no, people just catch them off guard sometimes."

Well, they don't have thumbs or fingers, so imagine if they're shocked they're going to drop. Don't panic - yeah, right. One more reason to buy a sit on top kayak where nervous snakes can't get trapped in the cockpit with your bare legs.

He said you REALLY don't want to get bit by a cottonmouth - he said the pain is unbelievable. "Even your hair will hurt."

Wiley used to keep his fishing poles in his truck and "someone at work" kept stealing them. So he caught a 4' Rattler and let him nestle in the nooks and crannies in the truck bed. Sort of a "guard snake".

The next time he went out there, he could tell things had been disturbed but nothing was taken:-)

He says after the snake "got out" he had to keep checking under his seat to be sure he was really gone.

Wiley said the large pythons they've been talking about in the Everglades are here now. Then he showed me his gator bites ... not the snacks, which he says are delicious; but actual scars on his hand. He caught a 4' gator and took him to school to show the kids. He got distracted and BOOM. As he was prying it off he said "kids, this isn't how you catch a gator."

I recently met someone who produces for PBS ; he's working on something about area pollution right now. Wiley talked about a time when you'd get up in the morning and the bay would be pink with flamingoes. I may try to get the two together ... Wiley has such a powerful “Grisly Adams” style presence and great delivery.

He talked about the history of the area, how they filled in the bay so they could build the bridge to Fort Myers Beach. How before they filled it in it was deep; in the early days pirates anchored ships there during hurricanes.

I could have talked to him for hours; and probably will next time.

My friend Rachael - who grew up on Sanibel - says anyone who has fallen in love with this area MUST read “The Land Remembered”.

I am absolutely going to buy the book.

http://patricksmithonline.com/alr.html?OVRAW=A%20Land%20Remembered&OVKEY=summary%20of%20a%20land%20remembered&OVMTC=advanced&OVADID=55728659011&OVKWID=39668613511