Rhonda's Hurricane Observations

The view as Hurricane Matthew approached.

1. The victorious feeling you experience after finally completely getting the hurricane shutters up on your windows is immediately counteracted by the realization that your house is now a dark cave.
2. Milano cookies are delicious.
3. We moved the patio furniture and grill into the house. After capturing and releasing the third teeny-tiny frog that was hopping across our living room, I was informed by Ricky that, "Oh, yeah. There's a family of teeny-tiny frogs that lives in the bottom of the grill."
4. Hurricanes make me hungry.
5. Target is the BEST place to get supplies at the last minute because they continue to stock their shelves as the hurricane is approaching!
6. The Starbucks line within Target is the busiest place in the world as a hurricane is approaching. I will let you draw your own conclusions about that.
7. Ricky always forgets his wallet in emergency situations. (And often in non-emergency situations, like the time I was left at a restaurant as collateral until he came back to pay.)
8. Reporters on local TV news love to show people surfing or swimming in the ocean during the hurricane while also saying never to do this. They then come back from a commercial break still showing the people surfing or swimming.
9. The University of Florida home football game on Saturday has been cancelled. I'm pretty sure that's a sign of the apocalypse.
10. Disney World announced it will be closed tomorrow. That is definitely a sign of the apocalypse.
11. We bought two bottles of Gatorade that say the flavor is "arctic blast." Not sure what that means but that was all that was left. (This flavor is teal-colored, which,

even for Gatorade, is a weird color.)
12. It is important to act kinda bad-ass for the sake of your northern relatives who are freaking out at the radar pictures of the giant blob appearing to gobble up the spot where you live.

Feeling Hawkish

So, you know how when you're taking a walk in your neighborhood and a hawk dive bombs you and bonks you on the head and...wait, what? This has never happened to you?

Today I was bonked on the head by a hawk! And you want to know something even more amazing? This is the SECOND time this has happened to me. The first time was about a year ago.

Back then, when I first noticed a hawk family building a nest in a palm tree at the entrance of our neighborhood, I thought it was super cool and made sure to look for activity pretty much every time I went in or out on that street (which is always). Here is a day in January 2015 when I got some good video.

In spite of the fact that the hawk appeared to be angrily squawking at me, I decided we had bonded and understood each other. I always paused as I went by, whether I saw the hawk or not.

Then, one day when I was deep in thought as I re-entered the neighborhood and forgot to look across the road and up at the tree, something fell on my head. It felt like someone pegged me with a soccer ball, but from above. As I was hit, I reflexively hunched my head forward waiting for the thing that hit me to continue falling to the ground, because, you know, when something falls from above and hits you, it keeps falling until it hits the ground. But nothing fell!

I looked up, and I saw a hawk way up in the sky, flying away, with a smaller bird by its side.

"Did that bird just hit me?" I wondered as I rubbed my head and saw no sign of anything having fallen.

When I told people about this, they were skeptical. "Did you see it hit you?" they asked. Well, no. "How do you know it was the hawk?" But what else could it have been? It was something pretty big and it never hit the ground. Even so, I had no visual confirmation.

But this time it was different.

This morning I went for a run, but I was in a hurry to get back to head out for an appointment. It was once again one of those rare times when I did not look up to see if the hawk was around. I was standing in almost the exact same spot on the sidewalk across from the hawks' tree as I was a year ago when all of a sudden...BONK!

Something hit my head again, though this time it was softer, more of a pat or tap. And this time, I immediately looked up. There it was! The hawk was in front of me just above eye level swooping away and upward! I saw it!

But this raises so many more questions. Why doesn't the hawk like me? Has it done this to anyone else? Is it the same hawk as last year? Does the hawk want to use my hair as nesting material? Does the hawk think I have a small animal on my head? Does the hawk think I, myself, am a small animal?

And, finally, is it time to buy a helmet?

Return of the Snake

I thought my misadventures with nature were over for the week. I had freed a dragonfly trapped between the screen and the glass sliding door. I had avoided running over a freaky bipedal lizard that had dashed in front of my car. (What in the heck was that, anyway?! I have never before seen such a mini T. rex in all the years I've lived in South Florida.) And then the epitome of reptilian excitement occurred when I was alone and saw a snake IN THE HOUSE.

My first reaction when seeing the 18-inch slithering black creature lying there incongruously on the beige tile of the front hall was to retrieve a shoebox. This is the go-to tool in the Weiss household whenever we see a critter in the house. Got a gecko? Get a shoebox. Frog? Shoebox. (Although years ago when we had a frog in the toilet, the rectangular shoebox was of no use. Thank goodness that was in the era of the Danish butter cookie tin, which worked perfectly.)

So, I ran and got a shoebox but then came back to see the snake wriggling and unwriggling into shapes that may or may not fit into a shoebox. What to do? We no longer eat Danish butter cookies, and that wouldn't work anyway!

Don't panic. Think.

I ran to get a towel. I found an old, icky beach towel and threw it over the snake! The snake seemed to like this and slithered further in, rather than trying to escape. I then used the shoebox, which I still had handy, to push/slide the towel containing the snake toward the front door and then outside. The snake slithered out of the towel and just sat there on our front stoop.

End of story, right? No! The next day, my daughter Leah yells: "Mom, there's a snake!" It was right inside the front door. It had come back!

I immediately retrieved the towel and threw it on the snake again. But this time I had much more trouble getting the whole towel/snake package over the threshold of the door. The snake kept slipping out and awkwardly rolling over, giving me a terrific view of its red underbelly which I hadn't seen the day before.

Throw towel. Push towel. Snake falls out! Repeat. At one point it fell out right on the threshold and started slithering back into the house.

"You're going the wrong way!" I yelled at the snake. "Go the other way!"

Finally, I got it outside and then watched as it went under the doormat. Oh, no!

I knew I needed to take more action than yesterday, because leaving it on the stoop had not worked out well. I needed to sweep it away from the house with a broom.

I ran into the garage, got a broom and then walked around to the front door. I gingerly tugged the doormat away, and the snake swiftly slithered out, straight into a gap between the concrete pavers at the base of our front door. The red underside of its tail flashed at me as it disappeared out of reach.

Will this story be continued? I hope not!

A Night at Cooking School

The chef is on the right. The mirror above him gives a clear view of the action.

"It's only going to be as good as you make it," said Chef Jean Pierre as he dumped more scoops of sugar from a large mixing bowl into the rice-and-white-chocolate-pudding brulee.

The granules of sugar continued to cavalierly swoosh their way into the mixture like the sands of an hourglass rushing through time as the chef emphasized how important it is to "measure carefully."

Ricky and I were invited by friends to attend an evening at Chef Jean Pierre's Cooking School in Fort Lauderdale. The schooling part consisted of watching and listening to the expert chef  explain his way through preparation of a fabulous meal while his assistant stirred risotto. And stirred risotto. And stirred risotto. We in the "class" then got to eat everything.

Some people asked questions and took notes on the handouts of the recipes. I was not one of those people. Under even the best of circumstances, I am a terrible cook, and this evening consisted of continuous wine drinking for us "students," causing me not to be in my best learning mode. Though I was extremely happy.

As I tried my hardest to concentrate between sips of wine and the distraction of the helper chef still stirring the risotto and stirring the risotto and stirring the risotto, here's what I learned:

• Apparently you're supposed to taste things as you're cooking! Taste, add sugar, taste, add sugar. (But why would I want to taste food before it's done? Fascinating!)

• The type of vanilla that people generally buy at the grocery store is a crime against humanity. We should all only use Tahitian vanilla.

• There is something called butcher twine that holds meat together when you cook it. (Because sometimes meat needs to be held together when you cook it! Fascinating!)

• Margarine is also a crime against humanity. ("You want to eat plastic? Eat margarine," quoth the chef.)

• And the most profound statement of the night: "You are only as good as the ingredients you're using." (I love the philosophical nature of this!)

Balsamic vinegar in the adjacent store.

The whole evening was a lesson in life: It's only going to be as good as you make it; and you're only as good as the ingredients you're using.

I want to carelessly dump pounds of sugar into the mixture of my life! I want to make my life fabulous -- just like the filet mignon in wild mushroom and port wine sauce and the double-baked potato I got to eat.

I may not know what to do with the Tahitian vanilla or how to use the butcher twine, but I learned a life lesson, and I ate a delicious meal.

And I know I'm never, ever going to make risotto.

The Exit Interview

Wherein I interview myself about why I am leaving teaching.

Q:  What are you going to do?

A:   I don’t know yet.

Q:   So you’re retiring.

A:   No, I am not retiring.

Q:  Then why are you leaving?

A:  Partly because I am just ready to do something different, and partly because I think our nation’s current education policies are sucking the soul out of teachers, students and, well, civilized society in general.

Q:  Hmm. Interesting. Well, what would you like to do next?

A:  I’d like to be Tina Fey, but, unfortunately, Tina Fey is already doing that job. So instead I would like to find a position where I can use my two best skills: writing and compulsively organizing. Here, let me straighten your collar for you. It’s curled up a little on the end.

Q:  Thank you. So are you saying you’re a Type A personality?

A:  Yes, I would say that’s accurate.

Q:  That means doing nothing would not really work for you.

A:  Well, for a couple of months I can vacation and then reorganize my already compulsively organized home, but then I will definitely need new employment.

Q:  So if people hear of a job for a compulsively organized person with excellent writing skills, they should give you a call?

A:  Absolutely!

Zayn did not retire!

I am leaving teaching. Might this be a midlife crisis? Perhaps. If so, I could be like everyone else and get a sports car or a new husband, but I don't care about cars and I already have the best husband. So change of career it is. However, there has a been a reaction to my leaving teaching that I didn't expect: everyone keeps congratulating me on MY RETIREMENT.

Zayn Malik

I am not RETIRING. That would mean I'm an old person. The whole point of having a midlife crisis is avoiding having people think you are an old person. Zayn Malik just left One Direction. Is anyone congratulating Zayn on HIS RETIREMENT? No, I didn't think so.

In all fairness, when people ask me what I'm doing next, I say I don't know. But I will do something. I will have some other form of employment after I have my gap year (or maybe gap months). College students get to have a gap year and no one congratulates them on THEIR RETIREMENT. Also, I haven't heard what Zayn is planning to do next. Solo career? Producing? You know what? Leave Zayn alone. He's thinking about it, okay? Just like I am.

Lenny Kravitz

Yes, I realize Zayn is 22, and I'm...not 22. But I am not old enough to retire either! I am in the middle. Hence the term: midlife. I am the same age as Lenny Kravitz. He wears leather pants and sings rock music.

To those of you sending good wishes, Zayn and I thank you. And as soon as we each figure out what we're doing, we'll let you know.

The Surprise in the Attic

I absolutely LOVE throwing things out. It is one of my favorite hobbies. So you can only imagine my horror when we discovered that the house we had moved into eight months prior held a crapload of stuff in the attic space over the garage.

I was at work when my daughter texted me a video scanning a dark area piled with junk.

I don't even know what these are! They're heavy and there's a boxful.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Our attic," was her response.

"WTF?" was my response. I have never used this texting lingo before (nor have I ever uttered it aloud), but if ever there were an appropriate time for it, it was now. As a matter of fact, I think the expression was created for this very moment: when a Type A neatnik finds out her attic could be on an episode of "Hoarders." Oh, the humiliation! Oh, WTF?!

Yes, we had lived in the house eight months. No, we had not gone up in the attic. We do not like ladders. We do not like dark, claustrophobic, hot spaces. (I am not using the Royal We. I am referring to Ricky and me. If you think we are acting royal for not going in the attic, that's your business. Haters gonna hate.)

The man who inspected the house (which had been a foreclosure) never said a word about this. Since we moved in, others have been up there: the exterminator, a handyman, an A/C repairman. But it wasn't until a young man working with his electrician father made the climb that someone finally said something.

"You know, there's a couple of Christmas trees up there," the 20-year-old said to my daughter after he came down. He apparently was astute enough to guess that we are Jewish, and he realized the trees and assorted holiday baubles didn't match up with us.

But it wasn't just Christmas trees (one white and one green) and decorations. Oh, no. There were light fixtures and fax machines -- five fax machines! Curtain rods and suitcases. Dog crates and boxes of clothes. Creepy clown dolls with ceramic heads. Craft materials for bedazzling things. Decorative pillows, a metal lockbox, Halloween costumes. There was a whole carton of rectangular, heavy glass rods. Frankly, I'm hyperventilating just typing this list.

Once I knew the junk was up there, I could feel its oppressive presence pressing down on me as I slept. We (and this time I actually just mean me) have now had two days of spelunking, and there's still at least one more day of work left just to drag it all down and put it by the curb. With each chunk that gets removed, I can feel the house saying, "Ahhhh." (Or maybe that's me. The house, me, whatever.)

Soon it will be cleared out and the world will be orderly and right once again. But not soon enough.