Future newspaper reader

OK, so she's only interested in the sales ads...but Chloe has picked up Papa's habit of reading the paper every morning.

Loggerheads

We noticed on our way to the beach that the night was perfect. No wind, the ocean waves lapping quietly on the shore, glistening under the light of the moon that peaked out from behind the soft clouds. A perfect night.

Without thinking, we stepped off the boardwalk and followed the path to the roped off turtle nest that we had been watching for the past five weeks. It was a routine that had become part of our early morning walks and our evening walks on the beach: check on the nest.

We immediately noticed the shadows of people huddled around the nest. "I hope it's not some dang tourists, we're going to have to yell at again," I said. We noticed the hush and protective air as we got nearer and quickly recognized the Clearwater Marine Aquarium logo on their T-shirts.

"We'll have some babies tonight," someone said as we approached. We joined the huddle, carefully peering down into the small hole that had been created when the movement of the hatchlings moved the sand. You could see the small flippers and a head would pop up every now and then. We waited.

We all talked about the turtles, learned more about the rescue work the aquarium does. We were prepared to sit all night. Occasionally, someone would venture out from the nearby hotel, and eventually they would leave. A father and his son stayed. I don't think anyone ever officially introduced themselves. Yet, we sat, nine of us, huddled around a nest for nearly four hours.

"The birth" happened fast. The hole was larger now and it almost looked as if the small (two inches) turtles were bubbling over. One of the scientists, explained the procedure. The Loggerhead turtles would get a helping hand to the water. She would scoop them up and place them in a waiting bucket and count them (for research purposes) We would deposit them close to the water in a trench that we had dug just for this purpose. Some of us stood near the shore line, the rest of us stood as guards on either side of the trench. The small turtles -- 97 in all -- quickly followed their natural instincts, heading toward the water. We didn't touch or interfere, just watched.

Long after we were back at the house, showered and laying in bed in the early morning hours. We talked about the sight of the baby turtles hatching and being able to witness something so amazing.

Loggerhead turtles -- about one-third of all those born in the world -- are hatched on Florida beaches. There are 34 nests, and we'll be watching the other one down the beach from us. The risks to the baby turtles is high. Only one in a thousand survive to adulthood. But the Loggerheads live to be more than 100 years old. We're thrilled we were able to lend a helping hand of sorts.

We're still in awe.

Employment!

I swear finding time to blog is just nuts around here. Besides the beach -- I have picked up several freelance projects and have been writing like a fiend. AND...the big news...I'm employed. I'll start the first week in August for the Florida portion of a nation-wide "noncandidate" campaign. It's exciting and a worthy cause -- getting two issues: affordable health care and retirement issues -- in front of candidates this election cycle.
Yes, that's the job I really really wanted. I was shocked when I received the call that I got it. The interview went ok, but then I had the "writing test." It was storming when I started the timed test and I was absolutely sure that the electrical surges were going to fry my computer, so I was nervous. Add to that, two little girls walking into the office every few minutes to ask what I was doing. Aagh. But apparently, the stress worked because the folks liked what I wrote. Whew.

Gainfully employed, at least for a few months. I'm gonna miss the beach bum stuff, but it was starting to get old. (It's hard to shed my workaholic ways.) And, I'll still be able to peel off the shoes and sink them into the sand right after work each day. I love the beach.

So since I'm going to be so busy, that likely means I'll be blogging more. Go figure.

Interviews make me sweat

Every time you've ever gone to an interview, don't you get the "How did it go?" question? That's a tough one to answer. Everytime I think an interview went well, I don't get the job. One time, on vacation in Arizona, I applied to a job and then proceeded to go about my merry way. The interviewer called me as I was sightseeing, asking if I could go in for an interview on short notice. I explained that I was very casual (shorts, etc.) and did not have time to go home and change. They still wanted to see me. I came in (after stopping at Target to buy some make-up and a nicer T-shirt) and thought the interview went horribly. They offered me a job the next day. Unfortunately, I decided against moving to Arizona, but it was nice to know that I had the option.

At other times, I've come out of an interview thinking I really wowed the interviewer, only to get a nice rejection letter.

Today, I'm not sure at all how the interview went. One of the interviewers was somewhere else via "teleconference." That made it hard to gauge. I want the job, but for some reason don't feel as if I'll be crushed if I don't get it. Hmmm. Maybe I didn't do so well...

I'll let ya'll know. Til then, I'm going to the beach.

Adventurer or Transient?

Where are you from? I've answered that question a million times in my lifetime. People always ask. As if the place you are from indentifies you immediately. It's possible that it does -- to an extent.

But that simple question has always been tough to answer. Now I say, "I moved here from Oklahoma City, but I'm FROM Texas." Yet, I haven't lived most of my adult life in Texas. I left at age 17 to move to Montana. I finished high school in Montana. Yet, I never say, "I'm from Montana." My parents live in Texas still, so I suppose we're always "from" the place our parents live -- or maybe not. Because that would confuse my children, since I've managed to live only one place longer than four years in the past two decades.

I lived in Oklahoma the longest -- 4 years, 9 months. I lived in Virginia for four years and in Okinawa, Japan for four years. I lived in Texas 2 years and 8 months the last go round -- not all in the same city. Ten long months in Odessa, and the rest in Amarillo.

When we decided to move this last time, sans jobs, sans a house, sans a reason -- other than wanting to live near our granddaughters for various reasons -- people looked at us and smiled. They seemed excited about our great adventure. We were adventerous.

Some folks, though, look at us as irresponsible -- transient. Why did you move? an interviewer asked, before declaring us "transients." What?! I prefer adventurous.

Just another day in Paradise

Just sharing some photos

This and that

Wow. I'm still not "working" and I still don't have time to blog. Blame it on the beach.

It beckons -- every day – as does the sunset here on the island. We noticed this phenomenon shortly after our arrival. The beach will be almost empty of people around 6:30 p.m., and then around 7:30, the crowds arrive: people line the beach -- eerily reminiscent of the Nicolas Cage movie about angels – and wait. Off in the distance, we can usually hear some bad lounge singer wailing out Kenny Chesney’s “When the sun goes down” or some Jimmy Buffett tune. It’s part of the charm of this place. I’m beginning to love it.

And, we’ve been busy doing other things like attending Devil Ray’s games. They actually won a game against the Yankees Friday night. Shocker. Hope they win today, we’re headed to the game.

I’m counting the days until the first pre-season game for the Bucs. Yes, Virginia, there’s such a thing as too much fun.

My daughter and grandson (and son-in-law) came down for a visit. We trekked over to the “happiest place on earth.” Orlando is a great place to people watch. Visitors from around the world crowd into the outlet malls that hawk designer items for shockingly (high) “bargain” prices. Americans don’t shop there.

I have been doing other things, like looking for a job and freelancing. Light on both, due to the too much fun thing.

I’m interviewing for one job that I really really want. More on that later. Wish me luck.

And, then again, there’s a part of me that’s enjoying living up to the sign that hangs on the front door of the cottage: Beach Bums.

Beach princesses

Nothing stops daddy from fishing.

Life continues

One thing no one warns you about when you move to Florida -- at least when you move to the Florida coast. Casual is key. I felt completely overdressed for a job interview I just went to this week. Required navy suit, check. Portfolio and resume in a nice folder - check. Heels - check. You know the drill. I walk in and sit in the lobby waiting. That's when I notice that everyone is wearing jeans or khakis, shorts, T-shirts. Fun is the best word to describe the whole place. I really want to work there. So hopefully, they'll realize that I own other clothes.

Next post: more photos

Florida pics

Pirate Kayla ponders her next move The view from the dock 1/2 block away.

while sitting on daddy's lap.

Papa and Chloe ride a wave.

The view from the boardwalk near (about a block) the house.

Florida

Ray holding Willow. This is the reason we're in Florida.

Arrgh, matey

It's a pirates life for me. Yes, after spending the weekend watching a pirate ship invade our little portion of the bay and hearing "aargh" more times than we can count, my little granddaughters have been transformed from princesses to pirates.

That's ok. They are cute 3 and 4 year olds. But this weekend was a bit unnerving. Seems some residents of Treasure Island really think they are pirates. Really.

Pictures soon, promise. Also in the next few days look for a redesign of the site with possibly a new name. :)

Florida

We're here. Florida. First impression: For a laid-back beach community, things sure move fast, cars, people...

I'm feeling a little like a fish out of water (pun intended) but give me a few weeks and I'm sure I'll feel like a native.

We ventured out to the beach today. It was hot. Despite the 55 + sun proof block we put on, we managed to get a little tan. It's really cool to walk across the street to the beach, or half block the other way to the fishing dock. We saw dophins swimming near the dock yesterday.

I saw the "bikini" in a whole new light today. Those of us in the middle of the country anguish over the perfect swimsuit and how we'll look in it. Here, the bikini is the suit of choice (not me -- let me stress - not me.) The two piece 1/4 yard of fabric is worn here by every size and shape. Ladies with more mid-section than ass wear them. A 70+ man was wearing a thong one today. At least he looked like a man, except for the full bikini top. Really, nice rack. He had long hair and was bald.

So, as I said, the bikini is a whole new experience in Florida.

No one blinks an eye or looks twice on our beach -- Treasure Island beach -- which usually draws the regular time share crowd and locals. Summer people. It will be a different experience this winter.

Because we live on Treasure Island, all references to pirates are constant. We're planning on watching the third pirate movie tonight at the local theater and then tomorrow, the local "pirate" festival will lure us to John's Pass where we'll watch a pirate invasion and go on a treasure hunt.

Then, we'll go down to Paradise Island and don parrot hats for a Jimmy Buffett concert. Yeah, we're still in "vacation" mode. Work starts next week, so I'll decide then whether I'm going to like "living" in Florida.

I'll post some pics tomorrow!

Ten things I’ll miss about Oklahoma

10. Oklahoma City Festival of the Arts
9. Oklahoma City and Tulsa Museums
8. Press club in Tulsa
7. Out of the way wineries
6. Real estate prices
5. Great bbq – Earl’s, Urban Iron Starr, Van’s Pig Stand
4. Bricktown
3. Very little traffic congestion
2. OKC Gridiron

And, the thing I'll miss the most:

1. The people. I’m from Texas, and I’ll still say that bar none, Okies are the best. You can always count on someone coming to your aid if you break down, need a hand or need a friend.

Take a deep breath - don't panic

Boxes -- my house is over run with boxes right now. The reality of moving is settling in, and I occasionally have to stop -- take a deep breath and remind myself not to panic.

It seems like only yesterday, I was moving into this house, scraping layers of wallpaper off the walls and fighting the bugs that had moved in while it was empty. We turned it into our home, and now we're moving.

Do you ever wonder when you drive by a big old house, once beautiful and now dilapated and falling down about the family who built it, who lived in it and turned into their home?

I'll miss our house. But we'll make a new home in Florida, really. Oh now, here comes the panic again. Deep breath...deep breath...

Messages to my friends

Because I'm too lazy to email everyone....

Gina -- Is there a date I should be saving?

Knittin Kitten -- Where are you, Chica? How are you?

Scott -- Add me to your friends list again, so I can read your blog please...

Diva -- I'll have to make a stop in Miami before I head to Florida.

Melessa -- Congrats, congrats, congrats.

The beach awaits...

A few weeks ago, we made a momentous decision – we’re moving to Florida. Everything from then on has been a whirlwind blur of more decisions and actions.

The thought of moving is terrifying. Oklahoma, this red dirt land, has a way of getting under your psyche. I even cried recently when I heard Vince Gill and Jimmy Webb’s song, Oklahoma Rising, on the radio – “I choke back the emotion, I’m Okie and I’m proud. And, if you call me Okie, you’d better say it loud…” I choked back my own tears. I love this state and its people, who have embraced me as one of their own.

Florida offers more opportunity, a better job with almost five times the pay for my husband. His final interview was this past week, and we’re expecting an offer this week. We took a leap of faith in deciding to move. But it’s worked out. The former owners of the house have wanted to move back to the old neighborhood to the house they grew up in, so that’s done. We’ll be bunking with my son and his wife for a couple of weeks, but have found a great beach cottage near them.

I’ve been a little more reluctant than my husband. We’ve lived here nearly five years – longer than we’ve lived anywhere in our whole 22 years of married life – with the exception of Okinawa, Japan. I feel like I’m leaving home.

We gathered our closest friends together for a “Happy Hour” this week, and amid margaritas and laughter, we told them we were moving. First came the tears, then came the pleas for invitations to our new home on the beach. We won’t lose our friends.

I finally acquiesced and sent out a resume packet on Monday. I had a phone interview with the company on Thursday evening after I got back from D.C. Wow. That was quick. Today, I took an editing and writing test. I’ll know tomorrow if they want me to fly out before June for an in-person interview. It’s a great job – challenging with room to move up and almost three times my salary in Oklahoma. And, for the record, the cost of living there is not much higher than Oklahoma City. I never have understood why Oklahoma wages run so far below the norm. That’s one reason so many professionals opt to move, but that’s another post. Things are working out.

I’m giving notice on my own job this week Then reality will really set in. I’m leaving Oklahoma. We’ll be back. In July, I have a wedding to attend. In February, we’re planning to take a week’s vacation and come back for Gridiron.

I’m moving.

She wants to be a cowgirl, baby...

I have a lot of shoes –mostly black – and brown with a few blue and navy and even a red pair. They overflow from the four shelf cabinet in my dressing area, spilling over the sides.

I’m not necessarily a shoe addict. In the grand scheme of female shoe addictions, I’d have to say I rank low. But women need a lot of shoes. We need heels for evening and other occasions. We need pumps. We need flats. We need sandals and sneakers and flip flops. And, those shoes have to match our outfits. Owning a lot of shoes, particularly if you are female is simply a necessity.

But every once in a while, you have to be a pair of shoes just because they are “cute” and sometimes it’s okay to fall in love with your shoes.

I learned this on a recent shopping trip with my three- and four-year-old granddaughters. Hubby and I decided they needed some sandals since the weather was getting warmer. So we scanned the shoe aisles, walking back and forth, letting them pick out the ones they wanted. Granddaughter No. 2, went for comfort plus the prerequisite characters on her sandals. Granddaughter No. 1 (they are ranked by age) wanted the pink “princess” shoes. Even the characters on another pair – princesses, of course – wouldn’t convince her to let go of her princess shoes. Until she saw the boots.

Cowboy boots. Black, with aqua tips and an aqua embroidered butterfly in the center of each one. The boots were smaller than her shoes and I wasn’t convinced they would fit. But she tried them on, and declared them perfect. Trying to abide by the “only one pair” rule we had wisely set at the beginning of the shopping trip, she relinquished her hold on the pink princess shoes. She wanted the boots.

But the boots were on the clearance rack, and at only $4 that meant we could break the rule. We asked granddaughter No. 2 if she wanted an exact pair. She snubbed them, “No, I don’t like them.”

So off we went. My granddaughter’s love affair with her boots has grown. She wears them with skirts and shorts, and with her pajamas. She loves her boots. The princess shoes are not as much fun as the boots. They are fun. She smiles a lot when she wears her boots and people notice them. It’s the best bargain I’ve ever bought for $4.

Sometimes, we just need to buy some fun.

The first 50 years

Fifty. 50. Half a century. Five decades. That’s me. I turned “the big five – O” earlier this year.

And, I drove my friends and family crazy reminding them of my impending “old age.” I thought if I said it long and loud enough, it would be easier for me to accept that I was 50 years old. It worked. Sort of.

What is 50 supposed to feel like, and for that matter, look like really?

Madonna, the material girl herself, is almost 50. She’s still selling c.d.’s and still selling out on her tours. And then again, recently I spoke with a woman with gray hair and wrinkles who was in a wheelchair. I thought she was much older. She was only 52.

So age, I suppose is up to the individual.

So I’m hitting the gym again with a vengeance, determined in the next six months, to lose 50 pounds. I’m in yoga class every day, hoping to recapture some of the flexibility I once had. It’s working. I feel younger. Might not LOOK younger, but I feel younger. The looking young part is coming in small doses with cosmetic treatments here and there. Again, I might not necessarily look younger, but I feel better.

Call it my midlife crisis, if you will. I’m also reassessing my job, where I live, where I want to be when I’m 55.

Not that I have any regrets. I look back at the past 50 years and all the phases of my life. My ‘mother earth’ stage when I grew all my own vegetables and my dream was to live on a self-sustaining farm. My yuppie phase when my dream was to make millions and park the nicest car on the block in front of the biggest house. And, then returning back to college, finding a new career. It’s all been fun. I’ve lived in at least nine states and two countries, and traveled a lot. I’ve listened to rock bands in muddy fields, watched Broadway Shows in New York, acted and sang on stage myself, started a theater group, was editor of an infamous campus newspaper, met presidents and spent time on the street with homeless people. I’ve written letters and books and share the dream to write more. I’ve no regrets. I have wonderful friends scattered around the globe, I have three children, four grandchildren and the love of my life beside me.

I don’t know what phase I’m in now. Doesn’t matter. It will be fun.

It’s never too late until well…it’s too late. So for now, I’m on a mission to “find myself” yet again. Hubby’s along for the ride. We’re having fun. And, maybe that’s what makes being 50 okay. Finding myself when I was 18 or 21 or even 30 wasn’t so much fun.

I thought about lying about my age. But then again, that would require me asking all my children to lie about their age. I’m 50. Whew.

Today's Photo of the Day

Our little "Fly girls"