PejorativeJinx

More Snippets

2012-02-01T12:12:00.006-05:00

I enjoy using my blog to document my life as a sort of diary, and likewise enjoy reading back through the archives. I am always greeted with vivid memories and a resulting odd sort of contentment with my own life (as pathetic as that may sound in response to a blog). So whenever I look at my blog to see what I've been up to, only to find that I haven't posted in awhile, it makes me feel like I haven't been doing anything worthwhile at all. But as I already wrote before, that's not necessarily the case and that's when the ever-present camera phone comes into play, documenting all the little snippets that catch my eye during seemingly uneventful days. The bright bursts that can be strung together to create a memory or a lifetime.

*Click through for larger photos. Blogspot is really sucking lately when it comes to uploading photos.
**If you're on Instagram, you should follow my dad at alan4442. He has like 9 followers and gets so bummed when he doesn't get any notes. He's 61 and this is his first real foray into social media, so his posts can be funny.

Tease

2012-01-20T11:12:00.002-05:00

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That chicken-egg post last night was just a little placeholder to break up what would have otherwise been two posts in a row about paddleboarding. Mainly because it would have been plain rude to rub your face in my completely selfish and largely irresponsible but completely awesome new purchase like that. Luckily for you, though, two posts are all I have anyway, as I haven't been able to take the board out much yet. Part of that has to do with it being "winter" in Florida and me not really wanting to be in the water in a meaningful way yet, but a larger part of it has to do with me only having one paddleboard. I work all week while Steven patiently hangs out at my house doing chores and whatnot or running errands for me (he can't work in the U.S. yet), so I owe it to him to come up with partner-oriented weekend activities. Sure, he could kayak and I could paddleboard, but I have yet to figure out a way to transport both the kayak and the paddleboard on my little Volkswagen, and I'm almost certain it can't be done.
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All that said, I decided last week that I wanted to take the board out for a little sunset paddle on a nearby lake. Nothing too crazy. And I wanted Steven to come, too, since I figured this gigantic board could no doubt carry our combined weight with ease. I'm always seeing cheesy romantic photos of couples paddleboarding together, and I assumed it would still work if we reversed the gender roles so I could get some paddling in while he accompanied. Turns out I was mostly wrong. As big as this board is at 11'4", it's not quite buoyant enough to safely paddle with both of us on it, especially not in the kind of wind we were experiencing, which became apparent in the first 10 seconds of paddling. So Steven got back in the car and drove to the other side of the lake where I was headed and I kept paddling.
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We met up under a giant oak tree on a smaller, much less windy part of the lake, and I decided that if we were both very still and tried to distribute our weight evenly, we could at least briefly float around and enjoy the sunset together. So he hopped on and we hoped for the best.
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It worked, but not too well as you can see with the water level on the board above. These boards are pretty damn thick, and the water is basically to the top of it. It was precarious to say the least. We probably won't be doing that again any time soon.
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After Steven hopped off, I did a very quick paddleboard yoga session with very soggy pants on, and paddled back to a nearby park on the lake where he was going to pick me up. My two little semi half-assed paddleboard outings so far are really making me excited about going somewhere better for a longer day on the water. I can't wait to get to one of our many spring-fed creeks to take advantage of the higher vantage point and the clear water, or to get out to the lagoon and see the stingrays and manatees and dolphins. Oh it's hurting me just to think about! I need to get out there!

Back in Action

2012-01-19T18:10:00.000-05:00

Yes, I undoubtedly have old man hands, but that's not what I want you to focus on. What I'm trying to show you here is that my hens are finally back to laying after their prolonged raccoon-induced hiatus. Well, only 3 out of 7, but there are still 2 (maybe 3) that are too young to lay. Regardless, I can't tell you how much I've missed super fresh backyard eggs every day, and likewise how much I've loathed spending $5.00 for a dozen local eggs from the co-op. But they were worth the wait, because nothing compares to the peace of mind associated with this kind of oversight and control over one of my food sources.. especially in the repugnant time we live in food-wise where no one cares and everyone lies. But I'll stop myself from going off on a hippie food rant and just bask in this one small joy. Yay.

On a side note, how great is Cosmo Kramer's comb? It's really a fashion statement. And such a change from when she's not laying.

Adult Responsibilities

2012-01-10T11:47:00.001-05:00

It finally happened. My obsession with wanting to paddleboard finally led to the largely fiscally-irresponsible decision to actually purchase one. In my defense, if someone gives me Christmas money with the memo area of the check filled out as "have fun!", then they probably would rather I enjoy it than use it for any number of things I should use it for, like property taxes or homeowner's insurance. So what if the "have fun!" was from my semi-delirious grandmother? I'm sure she meant it in a rare moment of lucidity, so I certainly didn't want to let her down. I also tried to be as responsible as I could in my purchase, by buying a used rental board from a local paddleboard company that was only a fraction of the price of a new board.

If I come off as someone trying to justify a selfish "luxury" purchase, it's because I totally am. Sure, I'll drop money on hefty vet bills for rescued sick doves and think little of it, but the second I buy something for myself that costs over $20 and can't be deemed as a semi-necessity I get immediate buyer's remorse. This is why I don't get pedicures or expensive clothing or get my hair done very often and why most of my shoes are from Goodwill. Luckily I found a good way to divert attention from my current buyer's remorse, though, which was to go out for a paddle on a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon with my dog.

Adult responsibilities? What? I'm sorry, I can't hear you. It's January in Florida and my mind is elsewhere..

I didn't have much time to go out anywhere extra special, since Sunday was an adoption event day for Pumba, our foster dog, so I just took the board over to my aunt and uncle's house to paddle on their little lake while Steven fished on the dock. I wasn't expecting much in the way of breathtaking scenery, but I surprised myself. The clear winter water reminded me one of the foremost reasons I wanted a paddleboard to begin with even though I have a kayak, which is that I can see SO MUCH more while standing up, and I really love that. I felt like I was seeing this lake I practically grew up on for the first time. I did take a break from standing up and looking down, though, to lay on my back in the middle of the lake and look up, watching the resident bald eagles fly around and dive bomb fish, which is also something a kayak doesn't afford. Plus, I think Tank enjoyed standing on the board more, since dogs like to stabilize themselves on moving objects by standing rather than sitting, and there's not much room to stand on the kayak.

Do you like my ridiculous sunglasses? I've apparently lost every other pair I've ever owned and these are all that are left. Every. Single. Pair.

Fozzie came with us, too, but she's not a big fan of the water so she hung out on the deck. She's such an angel.

After paddling around the lake, I came back and decided I'd try my hand at some paddleboard yoga. It's much more difficult than it looks! But I like the challenge and I can't wait to take it out for a sunset yoga paddle.

All-in-all, I don't really overly regret my purchase because I already know how much fun I'm going to have with it, and isn't that the point? There will always always be more prudent ways to spend any money, and if you continually wait around for the "right time" you may never get to it. That's not to say throw all caution to the wind and live life as a pure hedonist, but just to balance some impracticality into your otherwise practical life for the sake of living, because life is short. Plus, a paddleboard is kind of a healthy purchase, and I always liken expensive healthy things, like my Bikram yoga practice, to a sort of preventative health insurance (especially now that my state-employee health insurance is largely void of any benefits.. thanks Rick Scott!). So, ya, this is a good thing and I'm going to let myself be excited about it.

Lovey Dovey

2012-01-04T11:12:00.004-05:00

If you were thinking to yourself recently "Gee, Katie, I don't think you emanate the true batshit-craziness of an animal hoarder yet. 3 dogs, 1 foster dog, 2 cats, 7 chickens, 2 parakeets..? Is that all? Pffft." Well, then you're in luck, because last Friday I visited the feed store to buy chicken food and ended up leaving with a very sick pigeon. Now, I don't know why the feed store sells pigeons, but they do. And I, being the crazy animal person I am, have to take time to look at all the animals there when I'm buying chicken food, which has of course led to a few impulse animal acquisitions in the past, namely Annabelle Lee the crippled chicken (and her buddy Rafael Van Der Vaart).

To rewind a bit, when I found Annabelle Lee in the chick brooder last year and asked what was wrong with her, they said her leg was "messed up" and she'd probably just "end up as snake food", so I took her home along with Rafael for company. She did end up having to be put to sleep after the vet determined that both of her legs were irreparable and amputation wasn't a viable option, but I at least tried to give her a fighting chance at life. Had the feed store noticed her leg issue when they first received her at a few days old, they could have very, very easily fixed it with minimal work (a pipe cleaner and tape) and she'd have been fine. Similarly, when I asked what was wrong with the pigeon I saw in a cramped little cage, with its eye swollen shut, covered in dirty feathers, and puffed up and shaking, they told me it had arrived "sort of weak" and they were basically just "waiting for it to die". They admitted they hadn't done anything for it and didn't intend to, so they gave it to me. I took it home and made a vet appointment for it, and she's now on 2 opthalmic antibiotics and 1 oral, is eating a diet rich in flax and hemp seeds, oat groats, oyster shell, sunflower seeds, etc., and is doing really well. And as it turns out, she's a female dove and not a pigeon. Her name is Dovey.

Dovey when I first took her from the store.

This whole experience combined with the Annabelle Lee debacle has soured me on this particular feed store that I'd otherwise like to support, being that it's a community staple and a family-run business since 1947. I know they're not the demons I'm making them out to be (I even have a friend who works there), and I fully understand that financially-speaking it doesn't make sense to spend $100 at the vet on a bird that you'll sell for $15. I get that. But the way I see it, if you can't or won't extend the very basic courtesy of a decent, healthy life to sentient beings that rely solely on you, then you probably shouldn't have them. If you're apathetic towards animals to the point where you can knowingly allow them to suffer every day that you see them, freely choosing to do absolutely nothing with the knowledge that they will slowly die due to your negligence, then perhaps you just shouldn't be in the animal-selling business. I mean, that makes sense to me. Leave it to the people who care more.

But I know that's of course a pipe dream, and it's the same situation I encounter with the plethora of abusive and neglectful pet owners out there that make me wonder why these people bother to get a pet at all. Wouldn't it be easier to just not have a pet than to have one and neglect or abuse it? Ugh. My philosophy when it comes to animals is that they be allowed to live a decent life. That's just common courtesy. Common courtesy displayed towards another sentient being that you are responsible for. I don't care what it is. I don't care if it's a beloved pet or if it's going to be someone's dinner, because even if you're raising animals for food, they deserve a good life and a very swift and respectful death. For example, do I think it's needlessly cruel and irresponsible to raise a chicken for food? Not necessarily. Do I think it's needlessly cruel and irresponsible to raise chickens in cages where they can't move and can't fulfill their instincts of nesting, taking dust baths, roosting, scratching, preening, etc.? Yes.

I don't know where I'm going with this anymore. I suppose I'm just trying to explain and justify why I spent the morning administering a variety of antibiotics to a dove. I know full well that I'm crazy, but as I've said before, crazy can manifest in a variety of ways and if this is the worst mine gets then I think I'm ok.
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P.S. There's another animal welfare story from the feed store that's somewhat unrelated but also applicable to the discussion..

This is a bantam chick that was at the store. For those unacquainted, bantams are just tiny chickens often kept as pets due to their size and gentle, calm nature. When I asked about the chicks, the people at the feed store mentioned that they had ordered 50 bantam chicks in their last shipment and 45 of the 50 had frozen to death on the way. I find it unacceptable for a hatchery to ship 50 day-old chicks, even smaller than normal chicks, in the dead of winter without the proper heating required to keep them (comfortably) alive.

Thankful and Content

2012-01-02T13:56:00.002-05:00

Perfection, isn't it? That's all that comes to mind when I see the above photo that I took New Year's Day from our campsite on Rock Springs Run. Perfection. I'm thrilled that I got to start my new year full of awe and gratitude.

We had originally made plans to spend the new year in St. Augustine with friends, so we arranged for a friend to pet sit. When those plans were changing, we decided to utilize the pet sitter and go camping at a campsite I'd passed on the river and gazed at longingly a billion times, but had never actually been to since you can't camp with dogs there. So we booked it, packed the canoe up and set out. 

The water on the upper stretches of the run surprisingly seemed even clearer than it usually is. With the sun shining and the temperature reaching the mid-70s as well, I just felt so damn content. I knew it would be a good trip. Steven and I weren't even fighting over canoe navigation either. 

I can't even think of a caption for these photos. Just more perfection.

We took our time paddling downstream, enjoying a beautiful "winter" day in Florida. Though by paddling, I mean Steven paddled and I busied myself taking photos of important things like mirrored palm trees on glassy water. But before long we realized it wasn't actually summer, despite the weather, and we needed to get to the campsite before dark, so I put the camera away and started paddling. It's too bad I put my camera away, though, because not far from our campsite we passed a very noisy palm tree on the bank. I thought a big vulture was making noise, but Steven guessed it might be a bear. He was right, because at that moment we just happened to see a black bear "fireman-pole" down the palm tree and crash into the palmettos below. How awesome is that? In all my paddling on this run, I've never seen a bear before. I leave that to Dave and his early morning paddles.

We made it to the campsite just as the sun was beginning to set. And what a campsite it was.. Right on the river on a very clear, sandy spot, nestled in the palmettos and pines, and with an amazing oak tree hanging over the river. I was initially very impressed with what good shape it was in, considering that a majority of people I've encountered know (or care) nothing about leave no trace camping ethics. But then I found a few impromptu "bathrooms" on the outskirts of the site and realized this one was no different. Oh well. I wasn't about to let it spoil our wonderful night.

Yep, you guessed it, more perfection.

We grilled our dinner over the fire, a filet mignon for Steven and veggie kebabs for me, and followed it up with s'mores. A camping requirement, really. Unfortunately I'm a wuss and didn't stay awake until midnight, but plenty of people did and I could hear their fireworks all around us all night. I don't know where they were, though, since the other river campsites and even the illegal ones were unoccupied. I guess sound just carries.. 

For as warm as it was Saturday, the temperature dipped down to the low 50s that night. We nestled into our 40 degree Coleman sleeping bags and were fine, though. I'll take snuggling up in a warm sleeping bag over dying from heat like we did on our last camping trip to Canaveral, though.

My camping breakfasts usually consist of granola or something similar, but with chilly weather and the celebratory nature of New Year's, I opted to try out "ziploc omlets". You scramble eggs (and whatever else you want, I did cheese and veggies) and put them in a ziploc bag. You then submerge the bag in boiling water until the eggs are cooked. It's convenient for camping since there's relatively no cleanup, but it's not recommended to do often since ziploc bags aren't intended to be boiled and studies haven't been done to see what, if anything, is leaching into the food. I have to say it worked superbly, though, and breakfast was awesome.

Paired with freshly-squeezed tangerine, orange, and pink grapefruit juice, and some Florida reading material, while overlooked a spring run, it was.. yes.. perfection. I love juxtaposing this New Year's with last year's in London. I enjoyed them both, but think this one is slightly more my style.

I brought a yoga mat intending to do some campsite yoga, because how  awesome would that be? But before I knew it, it was getting to check-out  time and I had lazed the morning away. Oh well. I have no regrets about  that whatsoever. We packed up and took off again, intending to leisurely  float the rest of the way to the take-out. 

 Mid-river view of our site on New Year's Day before we left. Amazing, right? Throughout our trip, I kept uttering to myself "I can't believe this place exists", which is hilarious considering the number of times I've been here. But it's true. Where else do you get this? I love Florida.

Oh, and since we didn't stay up until midnight, we had our New Year's kiss before leaving the site.

We stopped off in the river to play some more since we weren't in a hurry and the bottom stretches of the run are so clear and lovely. And also because I'd rather spend the remaining time before the shuttle arrived on the river than at Wekiva Island- the bane of my river-going existence. Oh that retch-worthy redneck riviera.. what a crappy way to end such a perfect trip. It's like a Bud Light Lime commercial mated with a country music video, which is normally something I would steer clear of at all costs, except that it vomited itself right onto the Wekiva River at (what used to be) one of my favorite put-ins. I miss the old Wekiva Marina and I hate supporting the monstrosity that took its place. But Wekiva Island rant aside, it still wasn't nearly bad enough to spoil our amazing, beautiful, perfect camping trip. I can't wait to go back. 

Happy New Year, guys. I hope you had a great one, and wish you all a wonderful and healthy and fulfilling 2012.

A Deer Tick Christmas Eve

2011-12-27T09:01:00.004-05:00

I tried to write this post about my lovely Florida Christmas Eve sometime on Christmas during a lull in family- and food-related events, but my brain said otherwise and politely shut itself off for the duration of the holiday. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that it's back on at present, but a shot of wheatgrass out of the brand new juicer my grandmother gave me is nudging it to at least try.

Anyway. Where am I going with all of this? Ah, yes. Rewind to Christmas Eve, which if you live in Florida you'll know was a balmy 80 degrees. Seriously. I wanted to take advantage of the beautiful weather by taking my sister and her boyfriend hiking, since I know that for all her years of living in Florida (she now lives in the Mormon and 3.2 beer country that is Utah) she never recreated in even a fraction of the amazing places that Florida has to offer (not that I can say much since I didn't either before I moved back here). As a surfer, she always stuck to the local beaches when she lived here and continues to do so when she visits, so I wanted to take her through a Florida palm and oak jungle and shatter (and rebuild) the notions she holds of her own home state.

But, as always, she left everything Christmas-related to the last minute and didn't have time to go, so Steven and I took the dogs (all four) and headed out for a Christmas Eve hike by Christmas, Florida of all places. Festive, I know. I hadn't been to this spot all season as I only really hike in the winter which is when there are often hunts going on in this spot, and because Steven had never been at all. It was as beautiful as I remembered and, of course, just as tick-filled. Despite numerous applications of Deet-containing bug spray, we both had ticks crawling on us, and the dogs.. oh the dogs.. they were COVERED as per usual. And when I say covered, I mean I've pulled out well over 20 ticks on Pumba alone since Saturday (after a bath and flea comb), just because they're easier to see on him. On the others, I'll have to wait until the ticks become engorged with blood so I can actually spot them. Lovely, right? Too bad their massively expensive monthly flea preventative does nothing for ticks..

Steven took the precaution of wearing long sleeves and long pants and tall socks and boots. Quite the hiker apparel, no? But he still had ticks on him.

For as much as I despise ticks (hey, I have Lyme Disease) there are plenty of other creepy crawlies that I have no problem with whatsoever. I saw plenty of palm-sized golden orb weavers, which is pretty typical, and even "discovered" a couple of arachnids that I don't believe I've ever seen before. I think they're beautiful!

I also enjoy this trail because it takes you through so many different environments..
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..like spongy mosses and ferns...

..with lots of tree wells filled with fun little discoveries like well-lineated fungi..

..and piney habitat, some of which has recently been burned to foster new growth..

Look at this! I'll take this over a white Christmas any year.

And so will this guy, I'm assuming:

There's just too much to see in nature. Everywhere I look I find something to fascinate me. People tend to zone out while walking in the woods and end up walking past so much, but I'm zoned in, looking at anything and everything, trying to find something new or beautiful or interesting. Too bad I didn't spot the black racer that Steven almost stepped on, leading to him loudly shrieking "SNAKE!". He's not a complete wuss, but it took him by surprise and, being British, he's not well-versed in Florida's snake population, so he didn't know that it was just a harmless little guy..

So many little epiphytes. What a beautiful and interesting family of plants. I wanted to take them all home, but I'm not quite that ethically void.

Lots of different fungis, too. Look at the striations on this one. Stunning, right? Nature is the best decorator.

And then there's Pumba. Poor little foster pup Pumba, who, for 9 odd years or so, has been basically just neglected. I mean, I have no way of knowing exactly what's happened to him during his life, but I know that he's at least been neglected as all hell due to his teeth and skin issues, the fact that he was emaciated when found, and his overall disposition and how it has gradually changed. My feelings towards animal rescue often leave me feeling defeated and depressed and hopeless, but then I get to see how my participation changes a few lives for the better, and I feel so thankful. Fozzie turned from a dog too depressed to leave her kennel at the shelter for a walk into quite possibly the happiest and most loving dog I've ever seen. And Pumba has turned from a sad old dog clearly used to receiving no attention or care into a total tail-wagging, face-licking ham out in the woods for a family walk. I love it. Merry Christmas, you little mutt :)

And that, my friends, is how you do a Florida Christmas Eve right. Now, as a present to me, could one of my biologically- or entomologically-inclined readers please tell me what this moth is and why it is melted to a plant?
(Edit: according to one reader, it is most likely "cordyceps fungi- a pathogenic fungi that can affect insects. See http://bugguide.net/node/view/90669." So interesting!)

Woodland Family Funtime

2011-12-20T10:48:00.003-05:00

It's prettttty often that I'm labeled a cynic or a pessimist or a Debbie Downer or any other slightly pejorative synonymous term (shocking, I know). But I feel like that isn't a truly accurate portrayal of who I am these days. I don't suffer from depression the way I used to for years, which is a big contributing factor, and I'm sure I'll always retain my air of stark realism (sometimes mistaken for cynicism), but on the whole I'm a pretty happy and grateful individual. Really. Smiles for miles. I swear.

And how could I not be when I get to share a perfect weather Sunday out in the Florida woods with my favorite mutts? Steven got back to town last week and I finally, finally got to take him to one of my favorite nearby short-but-sweet trails, which should look familiar to you if you read here. It was a sunny day with a sickeningly sweet high of 68, the birds were chirping, the trail wasn't underwater, and we had a grand time relaxing and playing and enjoying each others' company in such a beautiful setting.

While we were walking the trail, I couldn't shake a feeling of family. I mean, that makes sense being that Steven and I are engaged and all, but I've never been married before so it's easy to still equate what we have as a romantic relationship rather than a legitimate family. So this was one of the first times that it just hit me hard that this is my family that I've built, and I wouldn't trade them for anything. And yes, I'm absolutely including my dogs in this family talk, because, well, do you know me at all? They're my children. We're a family. And I'm so thankful for that.

I didn't really have much else to write, but Steven would kill me if I didn't post and give him credit for this nice macro shot of a spiny orb weaver..

Health is Wealth

2011-12-10T08:00:00.002-05:00

So get this. I'm currently on day 4 of a 5 day juice fast. Wait, did I say fast? I meant feast, because as you can see in my photos below in the post, no one's being even remotely deprived around here, which is a good thing because I am a FOOD ADDICT. Few things in life excite me as much as good food or just the potential of good food, and few things can cause me to break down the way a ruined meal can (just ask one of my friends what happened when I ordered a Cuban sandwich to-go and found that it was pickles-less when I went to eat it). So what I'm getting at here is that if I can abstain from eating solid food, I have to believe anyone can. And should.
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But why on earth would anyone voluntarily want to live off of only freshly-pressed juice for a few days (or even months)? Well, fresh fruit and vegetable juice contains a ton of fragile enzymes, phytonutrients, vitamins, minerals, amino acids, etc. that we so very rarely give our bodies because we so very rarely consume whole, fresh, raw food. We eat it after it's been cooked and processed and basically lost most of its nutritional content, and then maybe supplement our diet with non-bioavailable vitamins. And even if we do eat a high raw diet, we eat it, which means our bodies have to work to digest the food so that it can absorb those nutrients. Juicing is allowing your body to rest while simultaneously supercharging it with a veritable IV of essential nutrients. To me, it feels like hitting the proverbial "reset" button on my body, and who couldn't use that every now and again?
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Other people, however, do much more rigorous fasts than I have embarked on, and will juice for 60 or 90 days. Juice fasts like these have been shown to reverse and cure all kinds of different diseases and ailments including various forms of cancer (Doctor's note: I'm not saying they will cure anything and everything on anyone and everyone, I'm just saying that they have in numerous cases). And when you really think about it, that makes sense. Supercharge your body with a slew of things that it needs to operate optimally, clean out your digestive system so these nutrients can be absorbed rapidly, allow your body to rest and use the saved energy where it best sees fit healing and renewing and recharging. I know I sound like a hippie nut job right now, but I honestly believe the body is capable of amazing feats when you give it what it needs.
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And listen, I don't care if you're a 100% raw, clean-eating vegan who uses no chemicals of any kind in your home, rides your bike to work, makes all your own cosmedics and skin care products, drinks alkaline water, and grows your own organic food- YOU STILL NEED THIS. Regardless of what you do personally to make your life clean, the world itself is far from being clean and non-toxic and it takes a toll on your body whether or not your see or realize it. So yes, I think this is important, and I can't believe I've waited 28 years to try it. But it's going surprisingly well, so I'm definitely going to make this a tradition. I was actually planning on feeling cranky and starved and miserable, but I'm none of those things. I feel really good.
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To give you an idea of some of the things I've been juicing, I photographed a day's worth of juice ingredients. To do this right, you really need a wide variety of fruits and vegetables every day, so I've been having fun trying new juice recipes. The one below is appropriately named "Sunset Juice" (though I drank it for breakfast, so I'll call it sunrise juice). I had never juiced sweet potato before, thinking it would just lend a starchy flavor, but I was pleasantly surprised!

(Ingredients: 2 red beets, 1 orange, 1 carrot, 1 sweet potato, 1 red bell pepper, and 2 apples.)

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Next I decided to mix up concepts from two juices, the Mexican-Style Jugo from Reboot Your Life and the Tomato Satisfaction from 7 Day Juice. As much as I have juiced, I never really made savory juices. I'd just toss in a bunch of veggies and add enough apples, ginger, and lemon to make it palatable. But experimenting with different flavors has been so much fun, and now I know that tomato juices with herbs like cilantro or parsley, and spicy peppers, and even garlic are so fantastic. And when you're fasting like this, you really need to experiment with different flavor combinations because your body will inevitably crave something savory after enough "breakfast-type" juices.

(Ingredients: 2 tomatoes, 1 apple, 1 jalapeno, 1/2 bunch each of parsley and cilantro, 1 cucumber, 2-3 stalks celery)

For my last juice of the day, I just kind of threw a bunch of stuff together. I thought the pomegranate and cabbage were so pretty that I needed to do something with them both. It turned out alright, but I ended up adding a lemon at the end to help cut some of the residual bitterness from the cabbage.

(Ingredients: 1/3 head of purple cabbage, large handful pineapple, 1 crown and stem broccoli, 2 large kale leaves, 1 apple, 1/2 pomegranate, 1 pear (not pictured), 1 lemon (not pictured))

So there it is, a day in the life of a juice faster. I've also personalized my feast to include coconut water, green tea, and miso broth. Maybe that's not a true juice fast, but everyone's got their own opinion of how to do this, and I went with what felt doable for me. I thought I'd be starving and would be juicing anywhere from 5-7 times a day, but I've really not felt the need to juice more than 3 times. I mean, look at all that food I'm consuming! It's plenty to keep me sustained and satiated.

Remember our almost-microscopic buddy from the other day?

2011-12-09T17:19:00.001-05:00

Look how big he's already gotten since Sunday! Ah, they grow up so fast..

Turn a New Leaf

2011-12-07T07:25:00.002-05:00

I'm a leaf-turner. Through and through. Meaning I'm constantly in my backyard flipping over milkweed leaves (the host plant for the Monarch butterfly) to see how many butterfly eggs are stuck to the bottom, or to search for newly hatched, almost invisibly small Monarch caterpillar babies. If you're a seasoned PejorativeJinx reader then my fascination with the Monarch butterfly and its life cycle should be of no surprise. But I realized recently that all of the milkweeds in my backyard had somehow gradually disappeared, which wasn't immediately apparent in the tangles of my jungle of a yard, and is also kind of typical for these seemingly-unimpressive little plants.
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Milkweed is a Florida native, so one would assume that it would naturally do well here, but in my experience I know that they're highly susceptible to oleander aphids (those yellow and brown little assholes in the above photo) who suck the life out of them, and they also tend to eventually grow into spindly little nothings with no leaves meaning nowhere to lay eggs. They need agressive pruning to stay even remotely bushy, but I never want to trim off leaves hosting Monarch eggs, so I typically remedy this by just consistently buying new milkweed plants for the yard. And trust me, if you plant them they will come. They just KNOW. It's like they have a host plant sixth sense. So I planted a few and within days I had Monarch eggs spotting the undersides of the leaves that I've been happily monitoring.

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And of course they hatch into teeny tiny little caterpillar larvae that you really have to look for:

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I'm looking forward to watching these little guys grow up so they can pupate and turn into even more butterflies to grace my yard!
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Oh winter in Florida.. such a truly pleasant time of year (minus the days when it randomly drops to the 20s and makes life miserable). Because not only is my butterfly garden blooming like hell and attracting all kinds of butterflies on top of egg-laying Monarchs, but I get to sit in that lush, butterfly oasis and have a fun yoga session- a luxury that the muggy Florida weather does not afford me most of the year, or at least not comfortably. Good times all around!

Hakuna Matata

2011-12-02T07:24:00.002-05:00

As promised, I'm here to introduce the newest (albeit temporary) member of the menagerie: Pumba. He's an adorable little wolf-potbellied pig-basset hound mix who's around 9 years old, is missing a few teeth, and is missing a lot of hair due to dermatitis from god-knows-what. Though that's much better than when he arrived at the shelter with NO hair, ears so infected they were closed, and emaciated. But his missing hair combined with his stout little legs and floppy pig ears led to the name Pumba, go figure. While I don't know Pumba's whole story of how he came to be in a shelter in the first place, I do know that Pet Rescue By Judy (the local no-kill shelter I work with) took Pumba in from a high-kill county shelter where he'd almost inevitably be euthanized. I mean, perfectly adoptable dogs get a matter of days to be adopted from high-kill shelters before they're euthanized, so senior dogs and/or dogs requiring any kind of medial care whatsoever get even less.. if they get any.

Now, I know PLENTY of people who call me crazy for fostering a dog since I'm up to 4 dogs, 2 cats, a parakeet, and 7 chickens all on my lonesome, but those people can just worry about their own damn lives. Because 1. crazy can manifest in many ways and if the worst manifestation of it in my life is a desire to care for animals I think I'm doing ok, and 2. the plight of homeless animals is something very near and dear to me, and to be able to do anything at all to help that cause brings me a feeling of fulfillment that nothing else in my life does. My dad always shakes his head and tells me that I can't save all the homeless animals and I have to draw the line somewhere. But obviously I know I can't save them all (as much as I'd like to) and that's not what I'm trying to do. All I'm trying to do is to follow through with something meaningful to me and to "be the change [I] wish to see in the world", which is good advice from someone smarter than myself. And really, that's the only way to make any change when you think about it. Can you imagine the state of the world if everyone thought "I can't do everything so I'll do nothing"? Yikes.

Now, Pumba hasn't always looked as.. ahem.. handsome as he does now. When I was nonchalantly perusing the Pet Rescue By Judy website to sort of look for an animal to possibly foster, I came across this photo of a pathetic-looking creature:

Most of my friends responded to the above photo with jokes and even Steven said something along the lines of "you are not seriously bringing that thing home". But luckily Steven is in England, because my only response to the photo was "jesus that poor thing needs some love!". It helped that he was a senior, since Fozzie has instilled in me a great appreciation for senior dogs since they're mellow and sweet and don't destroy all your shit. I mean, there's no way I could foster a puppy on top of all my other animals. So I made an appointment to go meet him, and when I did he had already started growing a lot of his hair back due to thyroid medicine and medicated baths, so he didn't look quite so pathetic. In my opinion, he's pretty cute (but then again I love the pathetic ones). So I brought him home.

After a couple of days of fostering him, I got the feeling that most of his life he'd just been left in a yard or in a dog house all the time, or just basically not been given much attention. Obviously I can't confirm that in any way, but he would just grab a bone and go chew on it for hours, not wanting to play with me or the other dogs, and not really expecting much from me other than a bowl of food. He was friendly, but not affectionate at all, if that makes sense. But in the past two and a half weeks, he has gradually started playfully wrestling with the other dogs, and running up to me with his tail wagging when I get home, and coming over to me to lay his head on my leg because he knows I'll give him a good back scratching, and so on. I feel like I'm watching him learn what it's like to be a normal pet in a loving home. I watched Fozzie do something similar when I began fostering her, turning from a dog too depressed to leave her kennel for a walk into quite possibly the happiest and most affectionate dog in the world.

So, while I know that he probably won't be adopted within weeks like a cute little fuzzy puppy, he's going to make a really amazing pet for the right person or family who will come along and have their heartstrings tugged on like mine were. And until that day, I'm happy to foster him and show him all the love and fun that he deserves and has probably been denied for too long. Is it the most convenient thing I could be doing for my life? No, probably not. But I don't want a convenient, selfish life, because the world is bigger than just me, and god knows I've been thoroughly spoiled and it's my turn to be on the giving end.

Humanitarian Envy

2011-12-01T15:35:00.001-05:00

Thanks to the blogosphere (thank you Four Eyes Rella!), I have a new hero. Her name is Kristin and she’s a Californian living in India. From her blog:

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others… That is a quote by M.K. Gandhi that I stumbled upon before my first trip to India back in February 2011. Fast forward to November and I can easily tell you that I have never understood what he meant more than I do right now. I am an American nurse living life in the biggest city in North East India, Guwahati. I walked away from my simple Californian life and moved to the state of Assam in May after participating in a one week mission with a NGO that repairs cleft lips and palates free of cost. I work full time (and then some) with them now as a nurse manager at a brand new cleft care center in Guwahati.

India is what we in ‘developed’ countries would call ‘underdeveloped.’ It teems with half built infrastructure, animals, temples, greenery, trash, and people. Oh, the people. Or more specifically, the children. I feel like it took me some time to really open my eyes to what surrounded me and in true Indian fashion, what I saw was this twisted, heartbreaking beauty. There are children all over the streets of Guwahati, beautiful children. They are dirtied, half-clothed and hungry. For a longer time than I like to admit, I walked past these children and though my heart ached deep inside my chest, I did nothing. After weeks of planning, talking with friends, going back and forth and feeling discouraged, I made a decision. It was a basic one: I was going to feed the kids. I went down to the slums that first week scared, shaking and alone. I had made 20 meals and in under five minutes they were filling the bellies of 20 hungry children. It was clear, I had to keep this going. Now I am almost two months into this project that I call Asha Guwahati, and it is growing by the day. The goal of what I do is simple, I want to show the children of this slum and street community true love. I feed them without expectation of anything in return. I am still just one person orchestrating these feedings out of my kitchen. I currently make 50 meals at a time, one to two times per week. It takes me around three hours to make the food, and less than ten minutes to pass it out. Every feeding I have different friends come and help, everyone that helps gives of their time freely. Once a month we hold a street kids day where we bathe, trim hair, and clothe 20-30 kids. I am not changing the world as a whole but very certainly, very slowly, the whole world of each child we care for is changing.

Going to the slums is still scary and overwhelming. When the children see us coming with the baskets of food they run to us with this heartbreaking mix of panic and joy. They know I am there, they know that they will not go to bed hungry that night but they are scared that I will not have enough for them. I have many plans for this project but my goal will always remain simple. I know I can feed these kids, I know I can make the food and pass it out and I will do it as much as possible. I have totally lost myself in the service of the children of Assam, India. It means more to me than I could ever express that my friends like Danielle, all the way over in Arizona support me. If it means that much to me, I can not even begin to imagine how much it might mean to these children who have stolen my heart completely.”

It costs Kristin approximately 25 cents to feed one child one meal. To make a donation, you can PayPal money to her project Asha Guwahati at ashaguwahati@gmail.com.

The Dog Days of Indian Summer

2011-11-29T07:50:00.003-05:00

Yep, so, that happened this past weekend. And by "that", I of course mean the ludicrous image above of me trying to hike alone with 4 dogs on leashes. My life is getting pretty ridiculous, but I'm ok with that.

If you're eerily eyeing the scraggly-looking mutt on the far right and wondering why there are now 4 dogs, it's because I've been fostering a new shelter dog for the past 2 weeks. Yep, forever the sucker for charity cases. That's me. I've been meaning to properly introduce him here, so hopefully I'll get to that sooner than later, but I still need good photos. I did sneak one in to my iPhone photo post the other day, if you noticed.

Anyway, now that there are numerous dogs of different breeds/ages/abilities, it makes it more difficult to just grab them and go all day the way I used to do with Digby and Tank. As a result, I feel like I've been neglecting them and denying them of fun outdoor activities, and I wanted to rememdy that this weekend and go somewhere that everyone could go. So I packed the dogs up and headed for the abandoned farm that I haven't been to in awhile, since it's a short hike and oh-so-lovely.

Fozzie was my main concern on this trip due to her hip issues, so I kept my eye on her. Her back hip is so bad that she often puts no pressure on it at all, but at the same time she LOVES to go for walks and will PULL like it's no one's business, so I just wanted to see how she did. I opted to take the leash off her and let her go at her own pace so as not to get pulled around by the other dogs, thinking she'd stay with us and stop if she needed to. What I didn't expect was for her to lead the way the entire time.

She stayed at least 30 yard ahead of us at all times, stopping to wait for us to get about 10 yards away before she'd take off again. I was so surprised. Here is this dog who no one wanted to adopt because they thought she couldn't do anything and would just lay around all time, when inside she's actually a woodland warrior just waiting to go out and play. God I love her.

Fozzie finds her real family. We call her "cow dog" due to her coloring and, well, udder-like nipples.

We finally made it to the farm and I was so excited to see all the dilapidated buildings again. I love abandoned buildings, but abandoned farm buildings in an oak hammock with orange trees and cows everywhere? Too good to be true. And it was. Unfortunately since my last visit, all of the other buildings have disappeared. And by disappeared, I mean no piles of rubble from collapsed buildings, no bare spots on the ground showing where they used to be, nothing. I'm guessing the Saint Johns River Water Management District bulldozed them for some reason, but why? And why leave one building? So sad and perplexing.

I tried to focus on how beautiful the land still was, even without all the cool old buildings, and how I was out in the sunshine on a warm Novemeber day with 4 happy dogs. But I still kept walking the property, trying to make sure I wasn't going crazy as I kept thinking "They were here! I swear! Right here!".

Lo and behold I did end up finding one other corral-type building. But that was the end of the farm-finding. I so badly wanted to see the huge barn and the old house and all the other random buildings that I saw before, but at least I got to see them before they were gone. Everything is ephemeral, which is one of the main reasons I enjoy seeing remnants of the past. I know they won't be around forever, so they need to be enjoyed while they can.

Speaking of ephemerality.. Why do I like animal remains so much? Some people think it's a morbid curiosity, while others elevate it to some Georgia O'Keefe-type romanticism, but neither are right.

We left the farm and went on our way. Since Fozzie was doing so superbly, I opted to leave the old jeep trail we had been walking on and duck into the woods to explore. If I'm unfamiliar with areas, I almost always stick to the trail, but once I visit a few times and stare at maps enough, I love getting off the beaten path. You will rarely see anything worth seeing if you stay on the trail. Is that a metaphor for life? Maybe. Either way, I wouldn't have found this neat little cypress swamp in the middle of an oak hammock had I not gone looking.

Roxanne's Demise and The Accompanying Impromtu Anatomy Lesson

2011-11-25T13:56:00.001-05:00

I swear I've been taking photos on an actual camera lately and not solely on my phone. I swear. But sometimes weird things happen and you just grab for the closest thing capable of capturing an image. And this is one of those things.

The other weekend one of my chickens, Roxanne, got a wild hair up her ass and decided that instead of roosting in the safe and sound coop with the other safe and sound hens, she was going to go wayyy up into the tree to sleep. Way up. Higher than my "shooing" broom could reach. And being that this is the same bad move that has landed a few of my other chickens as raccoon food, the last words I shouted up to her were, "Listen, lady. This is not a good idea. You better be here in the morning." 

I didn't say that out of any feeling of camaraderie with her, since she was an overtly loud and horribly bitchy and moody hen, but because she has been the only one laying eggs since all the raccoon attacks back in September. Plus, every time a hen dies and I have to add a new one, then hens work on establishing a new pecking order rather than laying eggs for me. They lay best when they're happy and content and everything in their lives is consistent, and any kind of change disrupts their "cycle", so I did have some vested interest in keeping this bitch alive.

However, based on the fact that I started this post with a photo of a dead chicken, I think you can see where this is going. But allow me to back up for a moment. 

Every time a chicken was killed during the infamous attacks a few months ago, I kept wondering why I never woke up since I sleep with my windows open and I'm a very light sleeper. Ok, granted I have white noise playing and I wear ear plugs, but I can still hear everything through them. As it turns out, though, NOT hearing anything happening to the chickens was actually somewhat beneficial in a morbid way, because the other weekend when Roxanne was attacked, I did wake up. I ran to the backyard flashlight-in-hand, which scared off whatever had attacked her before it had succeeded in killing her. A quick assessment of her injuries showed she was not ok, and I knew I'd have to quickly finish her off to prevent any undue suffering.

Let me tell you, there's nothing to really say good morning like having to kill a fatally wounded chicken by flashlight at 5 a.m. It's not fun. But it happened, and rather than let her go to waste, I decided to 1. salvage her breast meat to eat (as it was untouched by the predator) and 2. practice my poultry deconstruction skills before I had to kill and disassemble my Thanksgiving turkey the next day. So I started cutting her up, and this is where it gets interesting. To me, anyway.

I quickly found in her the fully formed egg that she would have laid that day, which was kind of weird but anatomically understandable. As I kept going, though, I found all the unformed eggs/yolks in various stages of development.

Crazy, right? As horrible or revolting or boring as you may find this whole story to be, I personally find this aspect of it fascinating. I absolutely love learning new things, especially when they're about some sort of natural oddity, so being able to see firsthand where eggs come from was enthralling. I still don't know how, if all of these undeveloped eggs are on this continuous laying cycle, a hen can just stop laying eggs for an indeterminate amount of time due to a variety of external factors, but it's just more food for thought. If any of my biologist friends know how this occurs, please fill me in, because it's mind-boggling to me.

[I suppose I'll add a quick coda here for any concerned readers that all of my current chickens are happily and voluntarily roosting in the coop every night without any incident, and I'm not quite as irresponsible of a poultry owner as I seem.]

Life in Pseudo-Lomo

2011-11-22T12:57:00.001-05:00

I used to occasionally look into the backlogs of my blog to fondly reminisce over all the fun things I've done and all the cool places I've been. These days, though, I find myself doing the same thing, but in my iPhone photo library rather than on my blog. This is namely because 1. I always have my phone on me, and 2. Not every single "moment" I have is going to be worthy of relaying in any depth, but there will usually be a photo opportunity or two. Take for instance the lovely photo above that was taken the other week when I was up in Marion County, FL for work and stopped off on the side of the road to snap a picture (that's my government car on the bottom). Worthy of its own blog post? Nah. A nice photo worth sharing? Sure. So here are some of the pictures I've been snapping here and there in my everyday life, predictably including a lot of animals and food and Steven and oak trees. Click through for larger photos.

Wag The Dog

2011-11-22T10:34:00.001-05:00

Oh man, I have been so pleasantly, sweetfully domestic lately, let me tell you. When the slightly cooler and calmer weather rolls around in Florida, it should provide an amazing impetus to get out and play in the woods or on the water. The key word being should. But instead of doing that, it oddly lulls me into a sort of semi-indolent state for the first few weekends where I just want to work on my house and in my yard during the day, maybe hit up an antique or thrift store or a farmer's market, and sit outside with a glass of wine as the sun sets.

Maybe it's the shorter days and how time ironically seems a little slower and less demanding in them. Or maybe it's that everything around me is just a little bit nicer and more comfortable, so I don't feel the need to escape and seek out enjoyment elsewhere. Or maybe it's all in my head and has nothing to do with the time or climate and I'm just a lazy bastard. Whatever it is, I just feel like I'm allowed to relax a little bit more without so putting so much effort into my relaxation. And I don't feel the need to apologize for a lack of adventures in my life to myself or to strangers on the internet. Both of which are rare for me.

All that being said, I finally did get outside this weekend for a (mini) adventure. I had to run an errand outside of Orlando, and I decided to bring the dogs with me so we could stop at a nearby trail I know of that's beautiful as all hell and short enough to accomodate Fozzie's arthritic hip (and accomodate me since I had already been to yoga and spin class that morning and was pretty exhausted). I realized that while Tank and Digby are seasoned pros in the world of outdoor recreation, poor Fozzie had never been for a walk in the woods with us.

Despite constantly limping on her back leg, the girl LOVES to go on walks. LOVES it. I don't push her too hard due to the arthritis and limping, and I watch for signs of discomfort to see when she's had enough. But when she's pulling on the leash and her tail is wagging out of control, I can't leave her behind. She deserves some outdoors fun, too, albeit a gentler kind.

I can't get over this trail. It gets overlooked because it's so short and the little conservation area it's in is relatively tiny when you look at it on a map. But once you're actually in it you feel so alone, like you're walking through the historic jungles of Florida when oak trees reigned supreme and Mediterranean condominiums didn't even exist. Granted that's obviously just a feeling and not reality in the slightest, but it's a feeling I will happily take (though it only lasts until I hear the seemingly-ubiquitous hum of a distant airboat engine).

The problem with feeling alone in nature is that when you do hear something, your heart skips a beat while you instinctively assess the situation with your senses. So when you hear, say, a thundering crash in the trees above you, and a large, severed catfish head comes tumbling through branches and lands right on your shoulder, it can be mildly terrifying for a moment. But once I realized that it was just a big vulture being a wise guy, I had to laugh. I swear some of the shit that happens to me I can't make up.

We made it to our destination, an observation tower overlooking wetlands, and just took some time to relax (and pick ticks off the dogs). I don't know who brought plastic chairs up here, but I'm not complaining because whoever it was also brought two bottles of bug spray. I wasn't prepared for this outing, and don't think we would have stayed very long (or very comfortably) had those amenities not been available.

Ecotone between the dense oak hammock and the sprawling wetland.

I don't care even a little bit that this was such a small adventure, because it reminded me why I do tend to seek out these experiences over housework and yardwork and all the other domestic pursuits I find myself toiling in lately. Because god damnit, it can just be so unbelievably beautiful and calming and rejuvenating to be alone in nature on a cool, sunny, quiet afternoon with happy dogs and a smile.

Tuesday Evening Rambles

2011-11-13T11:11:00.001-05:00

I know I promised you an update. I know. But a huge wrench has been thrown into my blog life now that my office has officially banned all blogging platforms. God forbid I fulfill ALL of my work duties to satisfactory standards, WELL within time constraints no less, and happen to enjoy breaking up the monotony (and, you know, actually mentally stimulating myself) by blogging here and there. And it's not like I've been doing exactly that for the past three years now with no issue. So, suffice it to say that I'll probably be even more absent than I already am, despite actually wanting to write here.

I mean, damn, I have so much to catch up on from the past few months, and even a few fun updates from the present, but it's 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night which means I'm veritably braindead and all around uninterested in finding a witty, engaging way to relay all of these things in written form. Hell, does anyone even read here anymore? I guess I'll just share a few quick snaps to keep you entertained until I can adjust to this new routine.

My birthday was two months ago and I still haven't written anything about it. Maybe because this is the only photo I took that weekend that I actually liked. Or maybe because there's really nothing to write. I turned 28. No big deal. Go to work and pay taxes and shut up.

This was taken the day I got engaged last month, on Rock Springs Run where Steven wanted to propose since I took him there to kayak on his first trip here. But we had to take the canoe rather than kayaks due to rack issues, and my total lack of being able to coordinate efforts with other people in the same vessel combined with the fact that dogs in a canoe are nerve-wracking combined with giant fallen trees and combined with rednecks all made for a less-than-fun outing, so he decided to do it elsewhere.

I know this isn't a food blog, but I've been obsessed with this kale apple salad lately. My fried Gabi over at Honest Fare made it the other week at the La Empanada Food Truck, and after eating it I need more. MORE. It's so fresh and delicious and simple and nutritious. I've been eating it every day with a homemade avocado dressing.

If you can't tell from the top photo, I got some chicks, Aja and Ladybird, after all the raccoon attacks decimated my chicken flock. Too bad I never posted photos when they were tiny, though, because DAMN do they grow fast. Just this week they integrated into the big coop. It was a little early for them, but they sort of had to move after my failed handiwork literally ruined their home. In my defense, I was trying to pimp out their coop so they'd be more comfortable, but I really failed miserably and ended up destroying it. Luckily they've done well in the new coop, and the other girls haven't given them too much grief. Some, but not a lot. They're good.

Back to Neutral

2011-11-08T09:21:00.000-05:00

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At around 3:30 this morning, Eastern Standard Time, Steven officially arrived back in England. Don't worry, he's not gone gone, it's just that he can only legally stay in the states for three months at a time on a visa waiver and his three months were up. He's already booked to come back to Florida in mid-December, though, which I'm sure with the holiday season will be here in the blink of an eye, so it's not a huge deal.
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I mean, knowing that an entire ocean and 5,000 miles currently separate us is of course a somewhat palpable feeling of distance, but hey, absence makes the heart grow fonder. So for the next 5 weeks, it will be back to the old routine of video chatting on terrible internet connections and dealing with 5 hour time differences and all the other wonderful things I haven't missed at all the last three months. But we've certainly dealt with it before, and we'll be fine.
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In the meantime, I've got more than enough pets to snuggle with to keep me from feeling too lonely and more than enough chores and odd jobs to do to to keep me occupied. And though it's only been a few hours of solo life, I've already remembered why I used to stay latched to my computer keyboard most days, so I'm sure you'll see me a little more around here. Expect a "catch up" post on hilights from the past few months sooner than later..

New Old

2011-10-28T10:32:00.005-04:00

It's a blahhh rainy Friday here in Central Florida, which is only really a negative in that a. rain makes me want to stay in bed, b. I was planning on riding my bike to work today, and c. I ran my sprinklers last night and I hate wasting water. We were due for some rain, though, since it hasn't really rained since that random and amazing storm we had two weeks ago which effectively ruined any chance of fun weekend outdoor activities with its torrential rainfall and wind. So at least the weather man had the decency to let it rain now while I'm stuck at work writing boring reports. Though I suppose I can't hate rainy weekends entirely, since that stormy weekend ended up being fun in its own right after Steven and I spent much of it wandering around an antique store that happened to be having a sale. For all our differences, we do enjoy a good antique store or thrift store shopping session, and that day ended up yielding plenty of treasures.

Steven has been trying to decorate his office space in my house, and bought a few embroidered pieces that look rather reminiscent of old tattoo flash.

And not just embroidery, but even a piggy bank/figurine.

Along with some.. uh.. Asian heads? I joke that with everything he bought, he's either a young hipster or a Vietnam war veteran. Either way, I enjoy the sense of aesthetics he's bringing to the house.

I, on the other hand, focused primarily on my kitchen. For years it's been a mashup of various Target/Wal Mart items (most bought while I was in college!), donated items from family members, and just plain crap I've somehow managed to acquire. I recently replaced all my dangerously old and cancer-inducing nonstick pans with a set of cast iron frying pans I got at Goodwill, all of which are working out beautifully. Talk about built to last! I'll never have to replace those. So that began my quest to start slowly trying to collect older items back from the days when things were built to last. Back when both fashion and function played a role in design. Back when people took some pride in what they created. Back before there was Wal Mart.

I swear I was born in the wrong era...

One of my favorite purchases was the mismatched pyrex mixing bowl set I put together to replace my last plastic set that cracked and morphed into oblivion within a couple years. I'm always on the lookout for pyrex!

I also couldn't pass up this canister set, since my old canister set was back from my college days, bought from some company that made new items that tried to look old. These are probably less durable, but like I said, I just couldn't pass them up..

Not pictured individually are also an amazing sun tea jar, a citrus reamer, a tiny egg poacher, and a nut grinder. I think I spent $60 on everything due to the sale. Rainy day win!

P.S. Please excuse all the white fur on the chair I chose as my black background. That is entirely Fozzie's fault.

Reality Check

2011-10-20T11:38:00.001-04:00

Well, despite my last post about how blogging isn't necessarily a priority in my life right now, I feel compelled to share a bit of news here. If you can't tell from the above photo, I'm engaged! On Sunday evening, which was our anniversary, Steven proposed in the volcano of a kitschy miniature golf course, which I absolutely love. We (nervously) told all the family and friends Monday night, so this shit's official, guys. I can't believe how much has changed in my life within the past year, and I'm so looking forward to beginning a whole new chapter of it within the next.

I just hope this doesn't mean I need to start being a real adult now..

And yes, despite the fact that I possess certain contrary traits (like planning to kill and clean my Thanksgiving turkey in a few weeks), I'm still a female so I've already started planning the wedding. It's going to be fun and hopefully cheap and casual. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that people tend to spend way too much money on weddings and take them way too seriously. That's not our style. I anticipate lots of thrift store shopping and arts and crafts time. Yay!

Lately...

2011-10-11T17:10:00.001-04:00

For the past few years, I've spent so much time and energy being a completely open book to anyone and everyone--from friends and family to literally any random stranger on the internet who happened to stumble across my site--by happily divulging most aspects of my personal life, feelings, and opinions. Sometimes it has felt like an obligation to constantly update this page and not leave anything out, but for the most part it's been really fun. I can honestly say I've enjoyed writing here (both for myself and for a small audience), sharing experiences and thoughts, and expanding my social network by finding like-minded or similarly non-like-minded people that I would have never otherwise met. So, I have no regrets about being an open book and I'm not talking about my experience with it as a negative.

But at the same time, I notice that I've been a little quieter on here these days, and it's definitely not for lack of having things to share. It's just because I'm currently enjoying keeping certain things to myself and being able to focus on living my life rather than blogging it. So while my life feels busier than ever in certain aspects, it also feels just a little bit slower and more enjoyable when I'm not mentally organizing blog posts while in the middle of a perfectly wonderful moment or thought, and subsequently rushing to my computer to document and share it with anyone who cares to read it. And I feel just a little bit more present and personal in my own life when I feel like I'm allowed to just live it and love in an intimate way, without any semblance of third party validation. And right now, that feeling is really important to me and I'm savoring it. 

So I suppose what it boils down to is that I have no intention of getting rid of this blog, and I'm not even taking an electronic hiatus from it, I'm just doing what comes naturally, and right now that appears to be closing my book just a little bit. 

Death in the Hen House

2011-09-24T12:07:00.002-04:00

I'm sad to report that Rafael Van Der Vaart, my favorite chicken of seven, was killed last night by some nocturnal predator. She was drug out of the coop, her neck and hindquarters chewed on, and then left largely intact. Which is odd. Either way, I'm so upset and feel personally responsible for her death. And the rest of the hens are understandably not taking it very well either.
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Rest in peace, beautiful girl. You will be missed.
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Addendum: A total of 3 girls of mine are officially gone. 2 confirmed deaths, Rafael and Georgette, and one missing, Ruby. Ruby and Georgette were my best egg layers, and Rafael my friendliest. I put a trap in the entrance to the coop but so far it hasn't caught anything and I still don't know what got them. I'm also still confused as to why two carcasses were left largely intact with tons of feathers nearby, and then one is just gone with no trace at all.

Addendum #2: The total death toll ended up being 4, ironically the two I was closest to and the two best egg layers. I've replenished the flock with 2 more hens, an auracana and a wyandotte, and 2 chicks, a production red and a barred rock. I also set a trap out and finally caught the giant raccoon who is believed to be the killer (one was seen fleeing the scene the morning Little Jerry was killed).

Tradeoffs, Weathermen, and Long-Winded Blogs

2011-09-21T13:54:00.002-04:00

There are more than a few distinct differences between life in Colorado and life in Florida, and I feel like I've explored a large majority of these differences pretty intimately after moving from Florida to Colorado and back to Florida. Some of them are great, like the ability to be barefoot almost year-round and not having to heat my car up for 15 minutes before driving anywhere and not sliding on ice and driving off the side of a 12,000+ ft. mountain pass in -20 degree weather (and inevitably freezing to death since there's no cell service on mountain passes). Others take some getting used to, like not having any stunning mountain vistas to command my gaze upward and make me feel humble and not having the easy-going and friendly small mountain town vibe and not being able to camp all summer long.

Let's focus on that last one, though, because damnit, I love camping and I have some of the fondest memories of sweet summer nights spent under the stars in the middle of nowhere next to a high mountain creek or lake. And I miss those memories. I really, really do. As much as I love a tropical, barefoot, salty life in Florida, I feel pangs of loss when I think of the mountain summer fun I could be having instead of sweating my way through the months in Florida when life is less-than-desirable. But alas, I'm not a rich adult who can afford to move around at will and live only in the seasons I enjoy. And as my dad always tells me when I'm feeling conflicted in my sense of place, life is a series of tradeoffs. So I can swim my way through summer and wait until the rest of the year to camp. I mean, when you look at it right, Florida may be a better place to camp in the sense that our season is longer.

But sometimes it's not easy waiting for that season, and sometimes you get antsy and decide to just tough it out- the heat, the humidity, the mosquitoes, and the rain. All the reasons people don't camp in the summer here, all perfectly good reasons that should be heeded. But the internal dialogue that leads to ignoring them is always the same.. But it's September and summer is technically over, right? And the weather has been in the low 70s at night and that's pretty much ideal, right? And we're camping on an island and if we wait until it gets too cold, we can't swim all day, right? So we ended up back at Canaveral to camp this past weekend.
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Oh it started so good! We had 4 people going- me, Steven, Jordan and Jordan's friend- and we were taking a huge canoe and two kayaks to fit all the gear, people and dogs. Everything was going so smoothly with superb organization, an early start time, and a great weather forecast. Hell, Steven and I didn't even kill each other trying to navigate a heavily-loaded canoe through the light chop and wind in the lagoon.
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We got to our site and were happily surprised to find no litter and human waste, which has been the case nearly every camping trip in the lagoon. We got set up and started to play and relax..

Steven focused on fishing, since he's put in quite a few hours fishing in Florida and has yet to catch anything, which has been driving him insane. So he was happy to catch his very first Florida fish despite the size.
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The girls, on the other hand, put a sincere effort into relaxing. I've already talked about my troubles with relaxation, but when I'm on an island and away from all my real or perceived responsibilities, I really have no other choice..
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Steven continued to catch more and bigger fish. And by fish, I mean catfish, which are more trash of the sea than they are fish. But he was still excited (probably because he was making me get all the hooks out).
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And I relaxed some more.
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Home sweet home. The wonderful North Face tent I received as a present 10 years ago for my 18th birthday when I moved to Colorado has been missing the rain tarp for the past 4 years or so. And since it's now me and another human and 2 dogs, I figured it was time to upgrade from a 2 person tarp-less tent to a 4 person waterproof tent. Enter the Kelty Zodiac, one of the tents Kelty makes for Target. Not really up to standard with their other tents and definitely a downgrade from my last tent, but it's not like I'm backpacking anymore so I don't have the weight and size requirements that I did before, and this is fine.
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The sun started going down and dark clouds started to form and move into the area.
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We opted to put the rain tarp on the tent, which we had left off for ventilation purposes, and I started building a fire and making dinner while Steven kept on fishing (the boy is seriously determined to be a fisherman).

The fire was going beautifully and had started making enough coals to cook over. So we threw a steak for Steven and a venison backstrap for me and the girls onto the grill over the fire. And while that was cooking, I was simmering lentils and sweet potatoes in a cumin-spiced tomato sauce over my little camp stove. And then the first few drops of rain started. And then more. I grabbed my pot of lentils (because I had no cover for it) and we all darted into our respective tents. I sat there holding my steaming pot of food, worrying about the fire and steaks and eagerly waiting for the rain to stop. It did, so we came out and resumed our places.

And then it started raining again. Even harder. Dinner didn't look like it was going to be happening. When it finalllly let up, the fire was miraculously still going, and while Steven's steak was a charred, inedible mess, the venison was surprisingly fine. We ate dinner and prayed for no more rain.

And because the fire didn't go out, Steven got to have his first taste of s'mores ever!!! (apparently they're not a big thing in Britain). He deemed them as not really worthy of all the buildup and hype we'd created, but ate a few nonetheless.
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During the night, I had gotten so hot that I ended up taking the rain tarp off the tent again since I saw stars and no clouds in the sky. When I woke up in the morning and got up to pee, I noticed the sky clouding up again, so I put the tarp back on. Halfway through putting the tarp on, the rain started again. And this time it had come back with a vengeance. Now, I'm not an idiot, and I know that when planning any outdoors activities to check the weather religiously in the upcoming days. Every time I checked, the forecast called for a 20% chance Saturday and a 30% chance Sunday. Which, if you live in Florida, is about as good a forecast as you can ever really expect. And if it does rain here, it's typically a shower that blows over and then the sun comes out again. But this, my friends, this was a storm. An angry, thunder-filled storm with pouring rain.
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It finally stopped long enough to have some breakfast, which I had been eagerly waiting for. Jordan made frappes and a beautiful, fruit-filled granola, and I enjoyed as much as I possibly could before it started raining again.

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Camping in the rain is just a waiting game. There's nothing to do except sit and wait, and even when it does stop you have to wait until your equipment is dry enough and clean enough to put away (if you actually have the time to). So Sunday morning we all just sat and waited, and I alternated between reading a book and checking the radar on my phone. According to the radar, we were definitely in the midst of a pretty serious storm, but it looked like it would give us just enough of a break to throw all of our shit in the canoe and head back to shore. Once it stopped, the sun poked back through the clouds and started drying things off, so we packed and loaded the boats.
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And then right as we were about to leave, the sky started darkening yet again.
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We made it about halfway back to the boat ramp before it started pouring again. So I guess the morals of the story are: appreciate what you have where you live and don't compare it to other places, wait until the rainy season is over before camping in Florida, never trust the weatherman, and stock up on drybags.

Xanax Please

2011-09-13T11:48:00.002-04:00

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My life always feels so busy and scheduled and exhausting. Even when I'm completely enjoying it and feeling gratified, those feelings remain. During the week, it's gym and pets and work and gym and pets and groceries and dinner and shower and bed. Then on the precious two days off, it's gym and breakfast and housework and yardwork and laundry and cleaning and so on. I actually have to make an effort to schedule in my fun outdoors recreation time, because otherwise I'd never have the motivation to load up the kayaks and gear and dogs and drive some distance from my house to exert more energy and then load everything back up, drive more, unload it all, clean it and put it away and wash the dogs (and myself). But I make myself do it even when I feel too exhausted to, because I know that once Monday rolls around I'd be kicking myself for wasting another weekend on adult necessities. So while it's all worth it, that doesn't change the fact that everything just feels so involved and so tiring. .
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But at the same time, if every minute of my time isn't scheduled and busy, then I sit around and think about what I should be doing instead. For example, that little inflatable pool I put in my backyard this summer has almost never been used, because every time I sit in it, I start looking around at everything that needs done around my house. When I'm in the pool, I have a perfect view of the back door that desperately needs painting and the grill that needs its gas tank to be filled and the windows that need cleaning and the patio furniture that needs painting and then I mentally make my way indoors and all the work that needs done there and before I know it I'm out of the pool. So I don't think I've spent more than 10-15 minutes at a time in that poor little pool, inviting though it may be.
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Basically what it boils down to is that I have a problem relaxing. Which is probably why I am a consumer of alcohol and terrible comedy, which are also somewhat ironically scheduled into my life. Do this, do that, be productive, use your neuroses to your advantage, cross things off one of your 20 to-do lists and then it's finish time and you can go make a cocktail and turn your brain off to the sounds of 30 Rock reruns. And yet, with this seemingly endless cycle of toil and productivity, I never feel like I make any progress and I always feel like I'm wasting my days and before I know it I find myself a year older with little to show for it. Am I really counting my life out in loads of laundry and emptied vacuum bags? I think a camping trip is in order this weekend so I can physically displace myself from the "real worl" and all things that "need" to be done in it, if only for a few hours.
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But hey. Let's forget all this crazy talk of self-imposed responsibility and back up to Labor Day when I used the relaxing reinforcement of my friends to allow myself to just lay in a lake and do nothing. It's kind of like a mob mentality of sorts, where if I place myself around other people relaxing, it makes me feel like I'm allowed to as well.
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Steven used the opportunity to (once again) try to catch some fish. But they keep eluding him.

Tank joined in on the fun, too.

Hell, if my buddy Jason can relax, so can I. He's a workaholic entrepreneur who always has a hard time just turning his brain off. I, uh, I think it's off in this photo, though..

I'm spoiled.

2011-08-31T19:31:00.001-04:00

For the past 4 or so years, I haven’t had to  travel more than 2 miles to get to work. I often ride my bike and still wait  until 10 minutes before I have to be at work to leave my house. I come home for  lunch and cook fresh meals and play with my dogs. I’m spoiled. And I know it.  Maybe because most of the people I work with live 45 minutes or more  away and have to count the minute of their lives away sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, watching the paychecks they're investing so much in just slip away to tolls and gasoline (and daycare and eating out, etc).  So I get to periodically remind myself how lucky I am when I see the obvious exhaustion and frustration manifest on their faces every day that they spend hating life. I remind myself that while I may not  love my job,  I never have to waste my life and money getting to and from it every day, and I never have to feel too far from home.

So while I’ve never taken my lack of commuting for granted, I now  have a newfound respect for people who have to commute after having to  drive an hour and a half each way the past two days (and again tomorrow)  to get to our office in Tampa for training. Leaving my house while it’s still dark out, sitting in  rush hour traffic each way, packing a lunch, being away from home for 12  hours, etc. Something about it just exhausts me beyond what I am used  to and beyond what I can handle. A typical Wednesday for me consists of  waking up at 5:50, going to yoga for an hour, going to work, coming home  for lunch, going back to work, and then going to the gym again for spin  class. That should be more exhausting than my day today, where I  essentially just sat all day long, but I am BEAT. I packed very nutritious food, got enough sleep, even took my lunch break at a beautiful nearby park where I walked around and tried to unwind. But I still feel worthless. Instead of going to the gym, I'm drinking my stress away with a martini.

How do people do this with their lives? I’m genuinely curious,  because I can’t cut it (nor do I want to) and I consider myself  generally capable. A hefty majority of people somehow manage to do it on a daily basis, year after year, and I’m  baffled.  

The reason I've posted photos from this past weekend that have nothing to do with my post is that my good times away from cars and people and responsibilities are all I could think about when I was sitting on I-4 in traffic, feeling bored and numb, watching everyone around me twitch with stress and fatigue and malaise. It made those precious moments spent outside getting dirty and watching my dogs (try to) chase dolphins seems infinitely sweeter than they already did. I felt a theoretical lightbulb illuminate the fact that my life is rich on so many levels, despite my assertions to the contrary every now and again when I take it for granted. 

Sometimes a shitty day puts everything in perspective.. just don't expect me to do this longer than three days because I'd rather be homeless than sacrifice my life to the soul-sucking effects of commuting.

Black Beauty

2011-08-24T11:23:00.004-04:00

I'm not sure why I've been seeing so many little snakes around my house lately, but I came home from work a few days ago to a very excited Steven who had happened upon a little ringneck snake when he was helping me clear a pile of plant trimmings from the back yard. Being from England, his exposure to most of Florida's creepy-crawlies has been extremely limited, so he was understandably ~~terrified~~ quite surprised by his sudden discovery. But he looked it up online and correctly identified it as a harmless little ringneck, and then led me to where it had crawled so I could see. I love snakes, but refuse to ever keep one as pets due to my belief that they belong in the wild, so I had to ~~play with it~~ study it for a minute before re-releasing it back into my yard.

And of course Steven had to get a photo with it to impress all of his English friends back home with his newfound swamp life..

*Note: no ringneck snakes were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Here. Now.

2011-08-19T10:14:00.007-04:00

Yesterday was the three year anniversary of PejorativeJinx. That doesn't seem like too long, but it has definitely come a long way as a blog in those three short years.. from self-deprecatory whine-fest to, well, whatever it is now. The photos began primarily as random internet clip art, then moved to my own terrible photos, then on to my own highly over-edited photos when I discovered Lightroom, and now to about as good as you can get with a $100 waterproof camera and no editing software. The words, on the other hand, have turned from "deep" ponderings wherein I'd try to hash out whatever thoughts were puttering around in my head in an organized, written form into "I did this and then I did this and then I went here blahhh blah blah." I'm not a big fan of that trasition, but then again I'm not dealing with some of the "deeper" issues I was when I began writing here.

That's not to say I don't still have thoughts puttering around in my head that probably need hashing out, just that I don't feel as much of a need to share them all here for a variety of reasons. One being that no matter how I try to relay them, they still feel so redundant and it still feels like I've said them in one capacity or another a million times before. Whether I have or haven't. Or maybe it's that they simply need more time processing to turn from mere thoughts into communicable words. Or maybe it's that my extended family, friends, boyfriend, etc. all read what I write here and I feel somewhat censored in what I can and can't say. Whatever it is, it's definitely a combination of factors that have changed the writing style here.

I miss it, though. While reading through many of my older posts here the other day, I actually enjoyed a lot of my older writing. But I can't sit down and force it out, and I wouldn't want to try. In the mean time, I'm still living life even if I'm not talking about it the way I used to for whatever reasons. So just rest assured that things are swell for the most part and life keeps marching on. This has been my life recently:
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I'm still trying to be healthier every day, though some days are admittedly better than others. It's not always easy, especially now that I'm learning how to live with someone who finds chocolate chip cookies, pizza or bacon to be acceptable meal options after living alone for so long and having complete control over the pantry. But I have to try because I feel infinitely better when I take care of myself. I start most mornings with a superfood bowl comprised of (cold) quinoa, fresh fruit, chopped raw nuts, hemp seeds, chia seeds, and maca powder topped with non-dairy milk (almond, rice or coconut). It's a great way to start the day.

Yesterday I made a delicious lunch that I thought was pretty enough to photograph. It's basically the same things I made here, but since I ate quinoa for breakfast I opted to swap it out with taboule. It turned out to be a wonderful decision.

Aside from nutrition, I'm also trying to keep my body healthier fitness-wise. Instead of just focusing on cardio, weights and whatnot like I typically do with all the spin classes and bootcamps, I've added (back) in yoga and pilates since, well, their benefits are numerous. I want so badly to be good at yoga, but while my strength and balance are typically fine, my flexibility, patience and dedication are sadly lacking. That's probably why I litter the pages of PalmHeart with photos of beautiful, inspiring women contorting themselves into crazy positions. As for pilates, though, I understand the benefits and I go to class, but I think I'm always destined to hate it. Probably because it makes every joint in my body crack and pop..
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I'm still caring for foster dog Fozzie, and no, I have not adopted her like I'm sure most people who know me think I secretly have. I think she's one of the absolute best dogs I've ever gotten to spend time with, and there are days I consider trading in both of my crazy mutts for her, but at the end of the day I know I've got my hands full and I'd rather continue to foster than adopt another dog permanently anyway. I do worry that she's become very attached to me and her current lifestyle, and might not adapt well to yet another move at her age. But she'll probably be with me awhile since it seems like the ~~scatterbrained~~ overworked people who run the shelter have largely forgotten about her..
(Photo courtesy of Teal and Teak)

I guess it wouldn't be any post at all if I didn't share my most recent scallop adventures from the Gulf. I finally got Steven out there, which was interesting since he's never been snorkeling before. I'll deign to admit that I probably was not the best teacher since I was basically born with a snorkel and mask on my face and also since I'm the least patient person in the world. But he managed to not die, no thanks to me, and even got a few scallops. We also found a beautiful horse conch, which if you didn't know is Florida's state shell.

And we also saw some large (larger than they look here) stingrays hanging out on the bottom of the Gulf. After being chased for awhile by a remora, Steven was ok viewing the stingrays from a distance.

Probably pondering over whether or not I'm trying to kill him.. At this point he had barely been in Florida for a full 48 hours and he'd already ~~been forced to join~~ joined a gym (and gone to spin class) and ~~was thrown into the ocean and told to figure out how to breathe underwater on his own~~ learned how to snorkel. I'm a wonderful girlfriend. Try not to be too jealous.

While in Homosassa, our lovely host Sue showed me a photo she took of one of the resident Argiope aurantias (i.e. black and yellow argiope or writing spider) eating a giant grasshopper. You can plainly see how full she still is from it. Oh, giant Florida arachnids.. I wish fewer people were so frightened of them since they're beautiful and eat all the gross bugs I hate.

Three of my friends make really great food. Two of them own a local Cuban restaurant, Black Bean Deli, and the other runs the fabulous Honest Fare food blog. Friday night was the opening for their collective effort, the La Empanada food truck which, as you've guessed it, makes gourmet empanadas and also seasonal soups and salads. They've put a lot of hard work into thisI'm so happy for them (and happy to eat their food).

And speaking of species identification, I once again have a few natural quandaries I wouldn't mind my scientific readers helping me identify:

Clearly a fish, but with what appeared to be tadpole-like legs. It was in no mood to move while I was swimming around taking photos of it.

I see these every time I go scalloping. Just little tubes sticking up out of the ground in the Gulf that put out all these blue "tentacles", which retract if you touch them.

My Weekend > Your Weekend

2011-08-12T08:30:00.000-04:00

I know I've been quiet this week, and it's not even for lack of things to post. It's mainly due to having a new resident in my house and adjusting to non-solo life for the first time in years. No it's not a new pet, for those (justifiably) worried, it's just my boyfriend Steven who has officially moved here from London for the next three months. So we've been enjoying time together and I've been trying to learn how to compromise on things like meal planning and music choices, among other things, and if you know me at all you know compromise is not my forte..

But anyway, I decided that my last weekend before he came should be spent relaxing and doing some of my favorite things. So it ended up as scalloping on Saturday and paddleboarding on Sunday. Not a bad mix. I opted not to take any more scallop photos, since I've inundated readers here with more than enough of them recently, so luckily I had a few other things to take photos of.. like a little seahorse wrapped around my pinkie. You can bet your ass I was squealing through my snorkel like a giddy 9 year old girl while that was happening, since I don't think I've ever seen Florida seahorses in the wild. What an amazing experience for a Florida nature enthusiast!

Then on Sunday, it was time to go paddleboarding. We wanted to stay close to town and just get out on water, so we chose a nearby chain of lakes that has neat canals linking them together. It's a good thing they had such neat canals, though, since the lakes were overrun with jet skis and motorboats pulling children on innertubes, not to mention how windy it was. Even with our amazing core strength, it was a less-than-fun challenge. So after paddling the three lakes, we headed back to my house to sit in my inflatable pool before going to eat Vietnamese food and taking the paddleboards out on another lake just to watch the sunset.
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Canal from Lake Nina to Lake Minnehaha.

Lilypad seed pods. Often used in floral arrangements.

Not a bad way to end the weekend..

Summer of the Popsicle

2011-08-04T18:47:00.008-04:00

Since my parents sold their house of 25 years at the beginning of July, which was home to my their beautiful pool, I was forced to get a little bit redneck and create my own tropical oasis with an inflatable pool in my backyard. Redneck, sure, but it was a necessary purchase because otherwise I'd surely wilt in the Florida summer heat and humidity. And what other choice did I have, being that they had the impeccable timing to take my watery sanctuary away from me at the height of summer?

Life is so hard. 

As it turns out, though, the redneck pool is actually kind of adorable in my lush backyard, and definitely inviting on a hot day. But I knew I needed something else to complete the mental image of my perfect oasis. So what goes well with lounging around in an inflatable pool? Why, homemade popsicles, of course! I've deemed this the summer of popsicles, and I'm making it my mission to come up with every delicious (and healthy) recipe I can think of to cool me off and keep me going in the heat. So far I've made three recipes that I've graciously decided to share with you.

Please note that I never measure anything, so I can't really give you any measurements. Just use your common sense and taste buds as a guide and tweak the recipes as you wish. 

Strawberry Almond Vanilla

Greek yogurt
Almond milk
Strawberries (fresh or frozen)
Vanilla extract
Almond meal/pulp
Agave nectar or honey or dates

Directions: Put yogurt, strawberries, and  almond pulp in a blender. Add enough almond milk to blend. Add preferred  sweetener and vanilla extract to taste. Add more strawberries and pulse  a few times so there are still strawberry chunks. Pour into popsicle  molds or cups or icecream maker and freeze!

If you’re not familiar with almond meal, it’s  just ground almonds. I used the leftovers from making almond milk that  have been sitting in my freezer. You can either just grind almonds in a  food processor or blender until it’s the consistency of couscous, or for  maximum nutrition, soak raw almonds in water for a few hours before grinding them. 

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Banana, Almond Butter, Cacao
These have a lot going on, and veered somewhat from my intended  recipe, but I’m very happy with the outcome. Using banana, almond butter and 2% Greek yogurt instead of fat free made these much creamier than the vanilla almond strawberry pops (also great, but a bit icier). And the cacao nibs add a great texture and taste as well, not to mention their superb nutrient content!

Greek yogurt
Ripe bananas (for mixing in and for slicing and putting into popsicle moulds)
Cacao nibs
Cacao or cocoa powder
Honey or agave nectar
Almond butter

Directions: Blend yogurt, cocoa powder,  honey, almond butter and banana in blender or food processor. If it’s  not blending, you may need to add a little bit of almond milk (I did).  Add cacao nibs and blend until they’re a desired consistency (bigger =  more crunch). Place sliced bananas in popsicle moulds and pour in yogurt  blend. Freeze. Enjoy.

Avocado Coconut
If you’re new to using avocado in desserts, get on the wagon!  Seriously. They’re mild, silky smooth and full of wonderful nutrients  and super-beneficial fats. Combine that with coconut and maybe some  kiwi, and you’ve got a powerhouse of a popsicle. I like the flavor of  these, but next time will use more avocado and less yogurt, since the  yogurt flavor is a little bit stronger than the avocado (for reference I  used about half and half). I also would have loaded them with more  coconut, since I love the texture and the
Ripe avocado
Plain Greek yogurt
Agave nectar
Finely shredded unsweetened coconut
Optional add in: kiwi

Directions: Blend avocado, yogurt and coconut in a blender. Add agave to  taste. If it’s too thick to blend, add a little bit of coconut milk. If  using kiwi, cut up some kiwi fruit and place in popsicle moulds before  pouring the mixture in. Freeze. Enjoy!

Summer Harvest

2011-08-01T12:37:00.004-04:00

Florida is just the worst. Seriously, the worst. It's just row upon row of identical "Mediterranean" boxes filled with geriatrics from New Jersey who are counting out their last days to the buzzing sound of an air-conditioner (unless of course they're out playing golf and blackening their already leathery skin in the sun). And hell, that's the better option, because once you get past that, it's all snakes and mosquitoes and swamp people riding around in their deafening airboats gaffing alligators and throwing them into cajun-spiced deep fryers. I can get my orange juice and palm trees elsewhere, thankyouverymuch. Anywhere but in America's wang.

I can never help but to laugh when I hear people list Florida's countless supposed downfalls. Well, laugh and think to myself "Yep, terrible here. Don't come. More for me." More sunsets through Spanish moss and sunrises on calm water. More open land and uncluttered waterways. More fresh oranges and fresh seafood. Fresh seafood that is not only local and the freshest of fresh, but that you can actually go out and acquire on your own and have some kind of relationship with.. as opposed to pointing to it on ice under a shield of glass, never thinking or knowing what it once was or where it came from or what happened to it between then and now.

I've written about scalloping at length on this blog, and I make no qualms about naming it as one of my favorite parts about living in Florida (the only reason it's not my all-time favorite being because I still have yet to go lobstering, and I'm pretty sure I'd love that). Or maybe it's just that it's this perpetually longed-for activity that I want to do all the time, but in reality can only do when I'm invited since I don't have a boat. Either way, the season was open for a whole month this year before I got to go my first time. But, as always, it was entirely worth the wait.

Found.

 
Picked.

 
Acquired!

Happy/fulfilled/content.

Worried/whimpering/concerned.

No longer whimpering.

The biggest Blue.

The father-daughter team.

The bycatch treasure.

The dad.

The Jordan.

The bounty.

The unexpected swimming partners.

The unexpected color.

The ride back.

The limit.

The seasoned pro (with no boat).

The shucking begins.

The eyes.

The shop vac.

The harvest.

The end.

Something New

2011-07-28T16:25:00.002-04:00

I've been meaning to mention that I started a health blog over on Tumblr, which for those who don't know is just another blogging platform more conducive to photo-dominated blogs. By health blog, I really mean a primarily fitness- and nutrition-based blog that I began for my own inspirational/motivational purposes. I know how corny this all sounds, but hey, I needed some inspiration and it's working well for me thus far (it's only a week old).

This is what I wrote as my first post:

I intended to write a lengthy, heartfelt post all about where I am in my life and how I got here--both the positive and negative--and where I hope to go from here and how I plan to get there. But every time I began writing, it just always felt too personal and too difficult to explain to an audience, which is interesting since I've always been so open on the internet. Either way, it just never really came out, so all you get to go on is the brief and vague synopsis above.

Assuming I haven't lost every reader yet with this post and there is still anyone interested, the blog focuses on healthy, nutritional recipes from some of my favorite cooking blogs, my personal workouts (just to keep me on track), nutrition and fitness advice, inspirational photos and stories, and anything else I see fit to post. Feel free to stop by any time if you're interested or just need some motivation.

PalmHeart

The Weather Man is Always Wrong

2011-07-26T10:29:00.004-04:00

Every time I write something brilliant, I'm in the shower, or out working in my yard, or sitting on a kayak, or basically anywhere but in front of a computer or with pen and paper in hand. I write some of the most beautiful, thoughtful posts on a daily to weekly basis, but they're all in my head, and once I sit down to pound them out on a screen and share them with readers, they disappear into thin air. I guess they call that writer's block.

Either way, this post is now a week overdue. It was all about how I've always considered outdoor activities to be solo pursuits, because that's what they were for me for the most part, and how I gradually amended that to allow a friend in on a regular basis and it wasn't so bad, and then how I came to be kayaking with not one, but 3 other people one Sunday afternoon in the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway and how it wasn't nearly as scary as I though it would be.

Just look at the photos and take my word for it that it was a wonderful post, because if I keep trying to rewrite it only to end up deleting everything again, I'm going to go insane..

Me on the right, Jen in the middle and Gabi on the left. Most of the photos were taken by Jordan, because my camera wasn't working. We paddled out a creek on the north end of Mosquito Lagoon that emptied into the Intracoastal, in the hopes of finding a nice sandbar to hang out on.

We ended up on a spoiler island, though, since the tide was still high and it was the only sandy spot in sight. The weather man called for clouds and rain all afternoon, so I wasn't sure how much hanging out there would be, but we only got about 5 minutes of rain that you can see coming in this photo.

After that, it was all sun.

Green resurrection ferns were evidence of recent rainfall, and the numerous wild lantanas were a nice touch to the typically boring spoiler islands of the intraocastal.

Speaking of spoiler islands, nothing says nature like an upturned/partially-disassembled smoker. Yay rednecks!

We didn't let that bother us, though. We just played in the sand and water and sun, and may have had a hermit crab race (exactly as exciting as it sounds).

After a few hours, we finally headed back, paddling some strong currents in the very hot sun. Not a cloud in the sky, weather man. You damn liar.

So much sun that Jen felt compelled to make this nice public service announcement about sun and skin safety..
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We headed back to my parents' condo down the street to swim in the pool and let the chlorine wash our layers of sweat, bugspray and sunscreen off. While swimming, my parents took it upon themselves to boil us fresh shrimp and corn and make homemade cocktail sauce. They're pretty swell folks, I know. And it was a pretty swell day with friends. Any reservations I may have had about recreating with numerous people were misguided, and I'm happy to say 'the more the merrier'.

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P.S. If I still have any biologist folks reading this, I need to know what in the hell this is. It was found on a tidal island in a creek. There was a pink one, too. I've never seen anything like it. I NEED TO KNOW.

Float On

2011-07-13T09:00:00.000-04:00

I'm currently in the beginning phases of planning a very long-awaited kayak trip through the Everglades and Ten Thousand Islands, and planning trips tends to make me dizzy with anticipation in my otherwise un-dizzying life. It also makes me realize how little adventure there is in my life overall. While I'm reading through online journals from other peoples' travels to get tips and ideas for my own trip, I end up engrossed in their tales and envious of the exciting lives they lead. Admiration is healthy and inspiring, but I never really want to envy someone else's life entirely. I want to appreciate my own life and all of the cool things I do, but the problem with that is I don't really do much of anything cool these days.

I know that the above paragraph makes it seem like my life is suffocatingly dull and likewise unappreciated, but it's not. My life is wonderful and I appreciate the hell out of it. Honestly. I'm thankful for every second, even the seconds I don't necessarily like. But that's my sheltered view when I'm stuck in my own daily life and not looking at the bigger picture of life life. The days go by, one by one, and they're all pretty damn great. I've got a great family, a great boyfriend, great friends, a great house, tons of great animals, I'm physically and mentally in great health (in most aspects). Great great great.

So I shouldn't be complaining, and I'm not complaining, I'm evaluating. Because what happens when I'm on my deathbed? Or what if I die tomorrow and never make it to my deathbed? The comfortable, routine days I lead now will dampen and blur together like they do any time I reminisce, and only a few choice moments will stand out: the adventures. Like living in a Eurovan after college and traveling the west alone with my dog or volunteering in a very remote town in Thailand with total strangers. And still, those adventures were so safe. I don't think I've ever really thrown caution to the wind in a meaningful way.

To get back to my original topic, all these ruminations came about while looking up websites about the Ten Thousand Islands to learn more about routes and campsites and whatnot, which is when I stumbled upon a blog by a guy who kayaked from Pensacola, FL all the way to Norfolk, Virginia (that's where I got the photo above from), just fishing and camping and paddling for 4 1/2 months. PENSACOLA TO NORFOLK. And then I started thinking of all the crazy things that other people do, like in the book I read years ago by a family friend who drove his camper from Montauk, Long Island all the way to Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. He was seeking out local surfing spots and looking for a long lost friend, just he and his dog, braving the extremely dangerous territory of Mexico and Central America, and being rewarded with all kinds of wonderful finds. Or the late, great, (in)famous Poppa Neutrino, who was homeless by choice and built a boat entirely out of trash and sailed it across the Atlantic Ocean. He almost died numerous times on that ill-advised trip before finally arriving in Ireland.

And I'm just sitting at my sad little desk.

Just sitting at my sad little desk working longer hours at the moment to make up for recent time off, because I work a job I don't particularly like 50 weeks of the year in order to keep myself alive and fed, then get a paltry 2 weeks off a year (which I don't want to use up, which is why I'm working longer hours) to do the things that make me actually want to be alive and fed, and what do I do with that precious, precious time? Not a whole lot of anything. My adventures in recent years are few and far between, and the ones that I do manage are pathetic and lacking in every way. Safe little day trips to familiar areas just to get out of the house and convince myself I did something exciting. But fun and exciting are two different things entirely, and I'm realizing that my life is not the one I want.

But that's complicated, because as I said above, I do enjoy and appreciate my life, which makes it so much harder to just break the chains of my comfortable routine. Case in point: How many times have I written basically this exact same blog post over the years? And what have any of these seeming epiphanies brought me any closer to the catharsis I need to execute real change in my life? No. Or maybe even the temporary change of going on just one adventure where I let go of the reigns and make a bunch of terrible decisions because I can? No. I stay in the world of safety and security, just like every adult told me to do while growing up. Never derail the trains from the track, just cruise along looking at the same sights everyone else sees until the lights eventually blink out and die..

What a way to live.

I swear I was a Victorian naturalist in a past life.. exploring remote areas of the world and searching endless jungles, being held captive by people no one else had even seen or heard of, sketching rare birds and animals and insects, evading predatory cats, and bringing orchids and palms back from my travels to live in glasshouses. These men lived dangerous, short lives, so why do I idealize them? Why do I feel like I need some element of danger in my life? I think it might be because I'm convinced of the notion that it actually makes you feel alive, and makes you value your life more in an instant than mose people do during their entire lives. Because it forces you to fight to stay alive instead of floating by like we all do, comfortably numb and happy.

Again, what a way to live.

Hey, girl. Hey.

2011-06-18T18:00:00.002-04:00

Meet Fozzie, the senior dog I'm fostering for a local no-kill shelter right now. Last Monday, I had to take Fang to the shelter to get microchipped, and I took the opportunity to look around at the dogs since I've been meaning to foster one for ages now. Being that I live in a veritable menagerie of 14 animals, it's difficult to find a dog who will mesh well and get along with everyone, but as fate would have it, Fozzie fit the bill. And it's a good thing, too, since she was becoming so depressed in the shelter that she didn't even want to leave her kennel to go on walks. Poor girl :(

She had already wound up in this shelter before and was adopted about 5 years ago, but was recently found wandering the streets again and the shelter couldn't locate her previous owners. It breaks my heart to see dogs end up in a shelter at all, let alone twice. And what's even more heartbreaking to me is that she's a senior and has never even had a "forever home". So I brought her home, and watching her tail slowly start to wag as she looked out the window on the drive home made me hopeful. And since I've had her for the past 5 days, that tail hasn't stopped wagging.

I have plenty of experience with dogs, but I've never spent much time with senior dogs and never knew how delightful they can be. Both of my boys are a such a handful that mellow little Fozzie is a welcome change of pace. She's not old enough to be falling apart, just old enough to not be running around like a freak with unflagging energy reserves for no reason at all like some dogs I know (coughTankcough). All she really wants are belly rubs and a sunny place to hang out in the yard. Hell, I haven't even heard her bark one time. She's just a sweetheart.

Please welcome Fozzie to the menagerie for the time being, and while you're at it, please consider adopting or fostering a shelter dog.

You can't tell how small she is in any of the photos. She's about Tank's size, but much shorter. Sort of like a pit bull but with little basset hound legs. Just adorable.

P.S. My computer has officially crashed, and I can't afford a new one, and Blogspot has been blocked at work, so.. uh.. I guess I'll be on a hiatus for awhile. I'm not really sure what to do.

The Classy Boozer

2011-06-17T08:23:00.000-04:00

Something you may have assumed about me: I'm not really a "team player" in most regards, and don't tend to do well in "team settings".

Something you may not know about me: I am now on an adult kickball league, which is the first team sport I've played since 10th grade volleyball.

In an attempt to remedy these two disparate aspects of my life/personality, I made strawberry lemonade jello shots for last night's game (because adult kickball is a heavily alcohol-spiked endeavor, if you did not know). The overall goal being that the fancy shots might score me some brownie points with my teammates.. and if they didn't then at least I'd be drunk enough to not care.

They were slightly annoying to make, but still fun enough to where I know I'll make them again. Especially since there are so many combinations of jello flavors, vodka flavors (or other alcohol), and citrus (I've seen them in different fruits, but they seem slightly awkward) with which to experiment. Being that's it's the summer and the weekend, why not try to make some of your own?

Viva la jello shot!

Heaven

2011-06-15T09:33:00.002-04:00

"It's hard to imagine that nothing at all could be so exciting, could be this much fun.

Heaven, heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens."

It's been awhile since I've been on a proper summertime adventure. I mean, sure, I get my kayak out and play, but that's not the same thing as an adventure. I'm talking adventure in the sense that an entire day is spent toiling away to see and experience things that I don't typically get to see and experience. Wherein I expend entirely more energy than I'd honestly like to, and just let adrenaline and expectation (and maybe some 5 Hour Energy) keep me paddling. So this past Sunday, it was due time for an adventure, and Jordan and I headed out of town to one of my favorite kayak runs. The day began with excitement and high hopes and ended 12 hours later in utter and absolute fatigue. So, I suppose you could say it was a successful adventure.

One of my absolute favorite reasons to visit this run is the relative lack of people I see and the relative health of the ecosystem. It's very rare to find bright green eelgrass that isn't suffocating under layers of algae. It's truly a sight for sore eyes.

Are there any sights more beautiful to a Floridian?

The sun was shining. The pickerelweeds were blooming. The cardinal flowers were blooming. The alligator lilies were blooming. It's summer.

This might be one of my most favorite photos. It's absolutely idyllic. No caption necessary.

After a few hours of battling the low water level in the smaller, braided creek (thank you, drought), we eventually made it out to where it opens up and the habitat seems to change from out of nowhere. And yet it's the same run.

If you're wondering, this is my "Woooo there's a spring right here!!!" gesturing. Nothing like paddling on a super shallow run all day and then suddenly finding the bottom of the creek drop out from below you into a blue, fish-filled cavern of cool water. Nothing like it at all.

One of the many little springs on the run. I'd tell you the name, but.. why would I do that? I mean, I don't even know you.

And, of course, if we paddled all this way just to get to a Florida spring that's not overrun with peeing children and cigarette-smoking pregnant rednecks or obscured by a steady layer of tubes and floats and sweaty obesity, we have to take advantage of it, right? I can't describe how happy it makes me to swim in a spring without a concrete wall built around it or an overflowing parking lot adjacent to it. To just be in the middle of nowhere and feel GRATITUDE, and better yet, to feel like I actually earned it.

After the fun was up, we realized how late it was getting and quickly headed back. We still had a long paddle ahead of us and a long drive back to town. One of the downfalls of venturing further from home..

Back into the braided creek and back home.. Poor Jordan drove all the way home in the dark while I passed out in the fetal position in her passenger seat out of dehydration and exhaustion, and the dogs snoozed in the back seat. And while I felt like death Sunday night and most of Monday, I still can't wait to do it again.
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P.S. It wasn't all fun and games. Part of the pristine area I was greeted with less than a year ago was murky with thick, thick algae this year. I've talked to some of the surface water biologists at work who suspect that it could just be a lower water flow rate allowing the growth of algae, since we have been in a bit of a drought lately. But that's not exactly enough to appease me, since I have a photo of this exact same spot from last year and all you can see are plants and a sandy bottom. I worry every single day that the Florida I love is drowning in nitrogen and phosphate.

P.P.S. A lot of these photos are Jordan's because damn do I need a new camera..

Growing Pains

2011-06-03T13:51:00.004-04:00

I apologize for the length and rambling nature of this post, but it changed directions a few times..

If you can't tell by now, my parents and I have a very close relationship, which I wouldn't trade for anything. Sure, I went through my teen angst years, and probably stayed in them longer than I needed to. And during that time, I may or may not have been guilty of (over)using the Kierkegaard-esque line of "Whatever, you brought me here, I didn't ask to be born. I'm only here because you selfishly wanted to complete your idea of the perfect family. So, this is me. Deal with it." God I was awful.. Sorry, mom and dad.

But other than that angsty bullshit, I was a relatively good kid who stayed out of trouble and always got good grades. We've been through ups and downs, which have basically always been attributable to me and my wavering moods and/or chemical imbalances over the years. Living so far apart (me in Colorado and them in Florida) for almost 6 years inevitably brought us closer, since we couldn't fight on a daily basis and missed each other. And these days, we live only about a mile away, and mostly get along really well and enjoy one another's company immensely (I hope).

The only real divisive factor between us is my insistence in getting tattoos. In my father's eyes, anything permanent is a stupid decision since people change. And even if they weren't permanent, having tattoos can close doors of opportunity, and who would want to volunarily do that? In my mom's eyes, tattoos are just kind of gross and offensive. She knows that I know how much she dislikes them, so she takes is as a personal offense whenever I decide to get another (despite the fact that she religiously employs a "to each his own" motto in all other areas of life). But try as I might to explain to them that my getting tattoos has nothing whatsoever to do with them, they always seem slightly insulted and disappointed when they see a new one, which in turn insults and disappoints me.

Let me insert here that I am by NO means heavily tattooed. I have tattoos, but I am not tattooed, and there is a difference. In any tattoo community, I'm a lightweight, and I have no real goals to be covered head to toe. After all, I've managed to maintain a government job for the past two and a half years, and it's way too hot here to cover my entire body while doing field work, so how bad could I be? My boyfriend, on the other hand, is heavily tattooed. As a "collector" of sorts, he travels to be tattooed by very specific, very sought-after artists who are renowned for their work in traditional tattoos. He also works an office job for a corporation, has never drank or done drugs, is respectful, non-judgemental, and intelligent, and doesn't dress or act like a scumbag. His parents don't like tattoos either, but they know he's a good guy.

Steven with Steve Boltz (from Smith Street Tattoo in Brooklyn, who Steven's actually working for at a convention in Iceland right now) after his first session on his chest, taken almost 2 years ago. He has just a few more these days..

Despite always being the kid who was cutting/dying my hair and piercing any bodypart I could get away with in school and wanting tattoos way before I was old enough to get them, I didn't run out and get a tattoo on my 18th birthday. In fact, I waited until after I graduated college to get my first tattoo, which may have had something to do with living in a tiny mountain town with only one less-than-reputable "artist". That was when I was 23, and now at 27 I have about 8 (though some are tiny and don't really count). As a sidenote: I actually had my first tattoo removed, which was an interesting experience. If I learned anything from getting a tattoo removed, it's that it's an incredibly painful waste of time and money, and that skin is just skin. It's just the surface. In the grand scheme, it doesn't really matter.

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My first few tattoos were on bodyparts that remain hidden most of the time, unless I'm in a bikini. I wanted tattoos, but I also still considered myself enough of a child that I didn't want to "get in trouble" (even if just in spirit) or upset anyone. The more time that's gone by, I've recognized that I'm the kind of person who is more likely to regret the things I don't do than the things I do, especially if I neglect to do them because of someone else. I've written numerous times that I don't believe in being so future-oriented that you forget to live in the present and do the things that you want to do, because the future is not guaranteed.

At this point in my life, I respect the opinions of people I love, and while those opinions do play into my decision-making, I can't and won't allow them to be the sole determining factor. So the moment that I said fuck it and allowed myself to get more visible tattoos, I thought that I'd crossed over a line I was dancing on for some time. It happened after realizing that I'm almost 30 years old, own a home, have a job, am happy, and can make my own decisions regarding my life and my body. This is actually rather similar to when I finally decided to get chickens, because I was tired of waiting for someone to say it was ok for me to do the things I had been wanting to do.

And yet, I still somehow find myself at a sort of crossroads in my life where I face a dilemma between what I want and what is.. I don't know.. expected? Because even though I allowed myself to do what I want to some extent, I've still had to acknowledge that boundaries exist, whether I want them to or not. And I think that having to acknowledge those boundaries has made me more defensive of the tattoos I do have, because I view them as a compromise I shouldn't even have to make. So when my parents finally saw my new alligator tattoo from London last weekend, and my dad said "That's really noticeable," my only reply was "I'm ok with that. Are you?"
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Will I look horrendous when I'm 70? Maybe. But I bet most 70 year olds do. And at that point in my life, what will it matter? And at any point in my life, what will it matter to you? Will I be limited in certain job searches? Perhaps. Many offices are becoming more accepting of tattoos, but I'm not naive enough to expect everyone to accept them in a professional setting. But maybe I don't want to work somewhere that places habitual discrimination over something so arbitrary above my intelligence and competence. Will straight-laced peopled with closed minds automatically assume derogatory things about me based on tattoos? Sure, they always do, but those are probably people I'd rather not associate with. .

When I first began writing this post, I thought it would be about how I was at a place in my life where I don't let other peoples' opinions influence my behavior at all, especially behavior that only affects my life. But through writing it, I see how much I still let outside influences hold sway over my decisions, even though I don't want to. So with all that said, all I can really say is that I would sincerely like to get to that place. Because I know who I am, and I'm happy being me, and as long as I'm not hurting anyone, my decisions should be mine and mine alone. If anyone takes issue or offense over something so inconsequential, then that should really be their problem and not mine, and they can figure it out.
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P.S. I'm not going to defend any and all tattoos on anyone and everyone, because all tattoos are NOT the same and I spend a decent portion of time laughing at all the horrible ones out there (though I'm sure some purist elitists ::coughStevencough:: will laugh at mine, too, but hey at least I didn't get them at the Sanford Flea Market). All I can defend are my own reasons and my own decisions within my own life.
P.P.S. Tattoos at the beginning and end are from Bert Grimm.

Little Things

2011-05-31T08:52:00.001-04:00

Well, it was a subdued Memorial Day weekend.. No huge adventures or epic parties, just a welcome respite from the tedium of work. And that's more than ok. I spent Friday night cleaning my house and Saturday morning at spin class, because hey I know how to have fun, and then headed to the beach to stay with my parents Sunday night. After dealing with the crowded beach on Saturday afternoon, I was glad I brought the kayak to escape on Sunday, though I wasn't sure the water would be any less crowded.

After my first few attempts to put in at docks that were already at capacity, I almost gave up the idea of kayaking altogether. But at my last put-in attempt, I was surprisingly greeted by a nearly-empty parking lot.

I felt admittedly lazy and didn't want to paddle very far, especially since this specific winding creek is easy to get lost in (which I know from experience). So my only goal in kayaking was to get somewhere I could be alone and let the dogs run and swim. I paddled down the creek in the north end of the lagoon, meandering through mangroves, watching birds hunt and fiddler crabs move in masses, until I found a tidal island that looked inviting. And it was.

I love finding little spots that seem like they're there just for me (even though I know they're not), and I greet them with an air of discovery. To a lot of people, my little island would just be a muddy sandbar/oyster bar, but to me it's a tiny world that needs exploring. There are so many little things worth noticing and studying everywhere you go, you just have to look for them. And I've always liked focusing on the smaller things, because the bigger ones are often just too big.

Little things like an oddly-shaped, unassuming blob...

...That is really a nursery for baby conch shells to be born (the tiny white things in the photo).

Or a beautiful tulip shell that was once home to a snail, and is now home to a resourceful hermit crab...

...And all kinds of other mollusks and plants and corals and whatnot. I like the way life clings on to anything it can in nature.

Or the beautiful, delicate remains of a tiny little crab that didn't make it, sitting somberly at the bottom of a miniature tidal pool...

...And juxtaposing it with the big, moody blue crab one tidal pool over.

Or a mostly-dead-but-not-quite mullet that swims over to you belly-up, asking to be put out of its misery, while hundreds of other lively mullet flip and flop around you.
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Or just taking a moment to smile while watching your two rescue dogs enjoy themselves in the sun and salt and mud, being happy that they're happy.

We rolled in the mud and splashed about in the water and soaked up the sun for a few hours, not feeling any need to go or be anywhere else. And while we played, the tide steadily came in swallowing our little island a few more inches every hour.. the ephemerality of which made it even more enjoyable. It was a subdued holiday weekend, and I wouldn't trade it.

Vent Part 2

2011-05-27T10:40:00.002-04:00

I would like to thank Buford Nature for his comment today on my heated rant of a post from Tuesday, because it brings up something that I keep thinking about, but never even touched on: I shouldn't have to only go to my favorite places on the weekdays! I shouldn't have to take a sick day from work just to be able to enjoy the public lands that are mine as much as anyone else's! And I shouldn't have to literally cut myself off from beautiful, cool waters during the months when I desire them the most! As I wrote in my previous post, I honestly do not believe that my use of these places impairs anyone else's enjoyment of them--since I'm quiet, respectful, don't litter, and control my dogs--so I don't think it's unreasonable to ask, or simply demand, the same in return.

I'm sure someone could play devil's advocate and say that everyone enjoys these places differently, so I atually am impairing their enjoyment if I demand they enjoy it the same way I do. But springs or spring runs or rivers aren't bars and aren't your neighbors' pool, they're fragile native ecosystems that we are all incredibly privileged to be able to enjoy. And they deserve better than to be trampled on, used as an ashtray or garbage can, and subjected to the deafening roar of inebriated crowds. When you decline to treat them with the respect they deserve, they are ruined for everyone- every person, every plant, and every animal that calls it home. And that's not fair. So no, a "to each his own" argument doesn't really apply.

As far as the dogs go, though, I'm always always hesitant to make any complaints, because I'm terrified of the very few places that allow dogs to stop allowing them. There are numerous recreational areas everywhere that do not allow dogs, and I've written on here before how much I enjoy having them with me when I'm playing outside, and how immensely they enjoy it as well. I mean, look at these angels:

I can't bear to do anything that may potentially ruin their fun or the fun I have with them, so that's a conundrum I still find myself in when I start complaining about everything else...

Ticking Away

2011-05-25T14:56:00.001-04:00

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I have learned to count my life out in months. And so the time between November and June have gone by both lightning fast and agonizingly slow. I tell myself that I've mastered the art of manipulating time in my own mind, when I know full well that time cannot be manipulated.
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The days rush by in a blur, because I don't pay attention to them. The weeks are slightly more cohesive. But whatever timeframe I'm living in or focusing on, there is still very little living for the "now". I'm always looking forward, towards a seemingly-arbitrary date in the future when I can slow down again for a few days and relish the present, anxiously squeezing every drop out of it because I know I have to.
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I make this scenario work, because it's what I've chosen and entered into of my own free will. But at the same time, I've always despised the idea of being future-oriented, so it arouses a certain level of unease in me. Plainly put and as cliched as it sounds, the future is never guaranteed. Anything could happen at any time to anyone, so we only have the present to focus on and enjoy. But if I focus on the present these days, then time seems to stand still and the future looks further away than ever.
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So I close my eyes and let my life zoom past me, hoping the days will speed up rather than slow down so I can finally make it back to a present moment. And then in those few precious days or weeks in the middle, I try to grind time to a sudden halt. But there is no stopping, and before I know it my eyes are closed again and I'm looking forward another month or two.
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My life is passing me by because I let it. Because, for now, I want it to. But willful ignorance of the present and hope for the future are an exhausting combination. It is not as bad as it seems on most days, and I wholeheartedly believe that it's worth it in the long run.. it's just a different momentum and a different mindset I've had to adjust to. And some days it's harder than others to run at a new pace.
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Carpe futura. For now, at least.

Vent

2011-05-24T08:51:00.004-04:00

I apologize for the length of this post now, but it's really written for my own therapeutic venting purposes rather than entertainment for others. PejorativeJinx is about to revert back to its roots as a forum for my personal whining and gripery (yes I made that up), because on Sunday I had an experience that made me think seriously about leaving Florida and never returning. Maybe I'm blowing it way out of proportion, and I'm sure that to people who aren't personally familiar with the scenario it will come off that way, but anything that can make me not only flippantly consider, but actually want to live elsewhere is a big deal to me.

Sunday afternoon it was about 95 degrees outside and Jordan and I decided we needed to get the kayaks out. I'm still getting back into my routine after my trip last week, so we wanted somewhere nearby and familiar and fun. Rock Springs Run it was. Now, I know that once the temperatures get into the 90s, every spring in Florida becomes a public pool for my least favorite kinds of people: rednecks. Parking lots overflow, lines of cars sit outside the park gates waiting for someone to leave, and the beautiful, crystal clear water becomes an unappetizingly undulating mass of skin. Not exactly my scene. The springs are simply off limits during all of the summer months, which is a huge bummer but is something so real that it's not even worth denying or being sad about.

But the spring runs are typically ok. Definitely not great by any stretch, but tolerable for the most part. Because if there's one thing you can count on when it comes to rednecks, it's that they don't tend to go very far unless they're in motorboats, of course, which aren't allowed on this stretch of river. If you're in a kayak and you paddle for an hour, there won't be many around. They opt to rent a canoe and paddle it 40 feet up the river, beach it, and party all day long. And I just keep paddling until they are out of sight and sound range.

Anyway, Sunday we opted to put in up closer to Rock Springs, because most people who put in there go downriver, take out at Wekiva, and shuttle back, so there isn't much traffic on the river. Or at least not as much as there inevitably will be on the Wekiva, which is kind of always off limits ever since Wekiva Landing reared its ugly head. The second we put in and paddled out the canal to the river run, we were greeted with a redneck roadblock on the river. At least 10 or so canoes piled up, lawn chairs in the river, coolers, grills, kids jumping off trees, beer and cigarette smoke, giant dogs without leashes, the whole nine yards.. 

While trying to find a way to maneuver around these people who were camped up across the river like they owned it, which was difficult to say the least, we were rushed by all the dogs who had immediately spotted my dogs. If you know me at all, I'm an animal person, and I like all animals, but I was in no mood to have gigantic dogs jumping into my boat, scaring the bejezus out of little Digby and getting Tank all riled up. Digby has aggression issues, and if an unfamiliar dog rushes him, he'll try to attack it with no regard to its size. That's why I keep him on a leash and under my control at all times, but when other dogs aren't under control, it can be a big deal. If he snaps at the wrong dog and there's no one around to control it, he could easily be hurt or even killed. So, when I was clutching him, kicking dogs off my boat, and trying to hold onto Tank's leash to keep him from running off to play, screaming at the top of my lungs for these people to get their fucking dogs away from me immediately, I meant it. 

But of course I was met with drunken indifference and a few meager "come here, boy" calls to the dogs, which they ignored. Some of the people with beer or cigarette-free hands finally came and grabbed some of the dogs, and we tried to keep maneuvering through the party. We finally made it, and I felt like my heightened blood pressure would actually make my head explode. I'm not easy-going enough to let everyone do their own thing and not have it bother me, because I know that when I use natural areas, my use of them doesn't inhibit or impair anyone else's use of them. So I feel cheated when the same courtesy is not extended to me and my experiences are less pleasant because of others.

We kept paddling until there was no one around, and Jordan immediately found her nature zen, but I was having a harder time. I couldn't get over my bad mood and felt that the redneck encounter set a precedent for the day. No matter how quiet and peaceful it became on the river, I kept thinking that we'd have to do it all over again when we returned to take out. And I kept focusing on other negatives around me that I typically try to ignore, like bottles and cans on the river floor and on the banks, tarnishing an otherwise pristine landscape. Or eelgrass covered in algae, signifying nitrogen-saturated groundwater, which will eventually kill the eelgrass by preventing it to photosynthesize and thereby removing an important feature of the habitat, which will then cause a chain of events to change the ecology of the area forever.. 

Everything feels wrong and dirty and tarnished. The disrespectful idiots win and the people who actually care are left to chase them around and pick up the pieces, if they even can. It's not fair, and there's so little that can be done about it. I kept trying to push this negativity out of my thoughts and enjoy the day, but the damage had been done. After we turned around and started paddling back, we heard the roar of motor on the water, which as I said before is illegal on this stretch of river.. as if there needed to be another reason to feel defeated. We never saw the boat, but did get to paddle back on once-clear water churned to mud, with bits of cut up eelgrass floating through it. I would never be able to sleep at night knowing my use of an area ruined someone else's enjoyment and appreciation of it, but it doesn't seem like many people share that feeling.

If I seem like a bitter and self-righteous snob, it's because I am. And I think deservedly so. And If I have spent a good deal of my life desiring to crawl into a hole and never have to deal with other people again, I feel it tenfold now. I give up.