Rough Weather

  As I was driving home this evening I noticed a lot of cars coming at me with their lights on.  In Florida, if your wipers are going, you're supposed to have your headlights on.  Most people forget to turn their lights off until they turn off their cars.

  I scanned the horizon for a dark curtain of rain below the clouds, but instead noticed that one tall thunderhead was draped in a gauzy white, sunlit curtain of rain falling from its highest reach.  Ah, there is it.  Someone is getting a sun shower…  Nice.

  By the time I got home, the edge of that curtain of rain was dripping lightly, but steadily, on the house.  

  Then the fun began….

  When the thunderhead producing the rain was met by a gust front moving up from the south, it began to pour heavily.  Edward and I had started grilling chicken for dinner as the rain increased.  Our grill is on the porch, thankfully undercover, so the grill was dry.  As the rain picked up it started to slant to the south.   I turned to Edward, and gestured in the direction of the rain.  But when I turned back, the rain was no longer slanting to the south.  Literally, in a matter of seconds, the rain had shifted from slanting to the south, to slanting to the north. I blinked, Edward said "oh shit".  He'd seen this before, in April 2010.   

  The wind was picking up more and now the rain, which had initially been blowing the other way, was blowing onto the porch and onto the grill, which steamed as the rain now falling on it evaporated.  The trees and plants in the ditch swayed ominously.   

  In April of 2010, a front moved down from the northwest, with heavy rains and strong winds.  As the front made landfall we got a tornado warning.  Radar indicated tornadic activity offshore of Largo, moving east.  Toward the house.  I tried to call Edward from work, but what I didn't know was that lightening had struck the streetlight outside the house 15 minutes earlier.  Our phone line was fried and the power was out.  Edward, with nothing else to do, stood watching it rain out the back window.  First to the north, then to the south then from the east.  All in less than a minute.  Then the tree branches started falling.  A tornado had passed approximately a half mile north of the house.  The rapidly shifting winds were the only indicator Edward had as to what was going on.   

  Tonight, as Edward watched the shifting winds, I got out the computer.  The National Weather Service monitors storm clouds with doppler radar, generating a map called the radial velocity.  Clouds approaching the radar are colored red, while those moving away are colored green.   Usually, between the bright red and green areas, there are fainters colors.  When you see two bright opposing colors side-by-side that usually means bad things.  Tonight, that spot was right over us.   Strangely, there were no tornado warnings, not even a severe thunderstorm warning, only urban flood warnings.  That fit as 20 minutes after it started we had 1.25 inches of rain in our gauge.

  By the time the chicken had finished, the winds had shifted to the north again, and calmed down significantly.  The grill was no longer getting rained on.  The areas of red and green on the radial velocity map had started to separate and moved north and offshore.  It was still raining, but things were much quieter.  

  We finished dinner in peace and continued on with the rest of our evening.  I'm still surprised that not even a severe thunderstorm warning had been issued.  That's the problem with knowing how to read those maps.  They can scare scare the shit out of you.  But mostly, I'm glad there was no damage.  A small branch came down in the back yard, nothing of any significance.  I'll pick it up in the morning when I walk the yard before work.  In the meantime, both of us can't help but wonder about this year's weather.  It seems like this area has seen more then its fair share of tornados and waterspouts.  And we're not done yet.  Hurricane season has begun to stretch it's legs as we approach the peak of the season next week.  Only time will tell if we are in for more rough weather.

At The End Of The Day...

The sun slips slowly below the western horizon. The sky dims from a rich cerulean, toward indigo and then black. Wispy clouds paint it yellow and orange, before fading to gray. The moon is poised in the east, waiting for its moment to rise.

 The cicadas start up their nightly chorus. A low hum that rises and falls, punctuated by the challenges of the frogs.  Their peeps and croaks starting slowly at one end of the of the ditch, rising to a near deafening cacophony as more join in the skirmish, before quietly fading in the other direction, the sound marching off to other ponds and mudholes in the approaching dark.  

  A single whippoorwill calls out his territory way out in the park.  No one answers him this time.  They're almost done for the season.   They start calling in February and continue through July, though once I heard one in August.

  No sign of the owl or coyotes in the park this evening… so far. Perhaps they, too, are done for the season. There is a dog backing in the distance.  No one answer him either.

  It is humid, though there has been no rain today.   You don't need rain any day for it to feel like a sauna.  Not that we haven't had our share this month.  The lawn is actually greening up, in stead of browning while waiting for the summer storms to start.  This year they have started early.  There is water to spare.  At least here.  

  In the morning the process will reverse itself.  The sky will brighten, the frogs and cicadas will slowly quiet and the whippoorwill will settle down for his daily nap.  Perhaps we'll get rain.  Come sunset, it will begin again, as twilight passes and night falls across the land.

  Such is a late July evening in Florida at the end of the day. 

Seriously Annoyed

I'm grumpy.

Politicians (on both sides) seem to think that it's OK to screw with the budget to get their way. That we can somehow solve all the ills in this country by balancing the budget with radical spending cuts. That everything will work just fine if we cut spending haphazardly. Cut Taxes. Cut everything. And lastly, that somehow, because I'm a federal employee, I'm not as important as the next guy in the private sector. That this budget fiasco is the fault of myself and my federal colleagues. That I'm a lazy, no good, dishonest, layabout.

 So to you politicians out there. Guess what?!? I pay taxes, I work hard and I'm honest. Every day I give my best to make sure that the American citizens get their money's worth. You know why? Because I'm an American citizen too. Just like you, I don't want to see my money wasted. I've heard "I pay your salary." Guess what. I pay my salary, too. And I'll be damned if Im not going to do everything in my power to try to get my money's worth. Really, Ladies and Gentlemen, you should try doing it sometime.

Then maybe we wouldn't be in the mess we're in right now.

Yeah, I'm pissed.

P.S.  I vote, too.


It's only Political Theater... until it's your job and livelihood they're talking about furloughing.

Eighteen Years...

 Eighteen years is a long time.  It's the time that most children grow from infants to independent adults.  Eighteen years is one Saros, that's the time it takes for the earth, moon and sun to return to their same relative positions in their orbital dance.   And it's the number of years I worked for my boss.

Asbury "Abby" Sallenger - 1997    USGS Photo

  Abby was the kind of guy you wanted to work for.  When I started at the USGS, he was the office chief.  At my first interview he talked to me in a t-shirt, shorts and Tevas, because he'd been in the field that morning.   I learned after that he always wore a slacks and tie, just not on that day.  As he transitioned from chief back to researcher, he picked up hurricane research.  And that was how I came to work for him.  He told me once this would be a project that you could spend your whole career working on.  I gladly would, too, and I told him so.  And so far, I have.

  And that tie?  I saw it maybe once or twice a year after that.

  Abby was a piece de resistance.  He had clout in the office and in the Survey.  What Abby wanted, Abby got.  But he never abused that privilege.  He was one of the most respected scientists in the community of coastal research, as well as climate change.  And yet he never lost sight of what was real.  He always had time for you.  Well, except those few times when there was a storm bearing down on the coast and, well, we were all too busy to think about anything but what was going to happen in the next few days.  If you needed a new computer, you got it.  When it came to safety, he never skimped.  If there was anything that we needed, we got it.  No questions asked.  Period.

  When I was diagnosed with breast cancer he bent over backwards to accomodate me.  Got me what I needed to keep going and come through the other side.   He never flinched or wavered, and let me work at my own pace.  His mom was a survivor.  He understood.

  And when my cat was dying, he let me work at home to be with her, because he was that kind of guy.

  In the last few years, he'd had some health issues.   He never shared what was going on.  But the man who once played offensive tackle in college had grown noticeably thin.  I worried about him, but never asked.  It was not my place to do so.  He would have shared if he wanted to.

  Of the group here at work, I think I'm the one who worked for him the longest, though in no way can I say I've known him the longest.  But people have been stopping by all day, offering their condolences, as if I were the one who had lost a family member.  I don't know, maybe I have.  I'd like to say he was a friend as well as my boss.  I could joke with him about work or people, and whenever he needed to buy something or pay for a conference registration, he'd come to me.  "Mom..." he'd say.   He didn't have purchase authority on his credit card.  He didn't want it.  He was the kind of guy you'd stay late for, if he needed something.  I have no illusion about what he did for me, and for my career.  I can't fathom that loss right now.  Perhaps I never will.  Perhaps in those 18 years he had seen me grow, from a green young fed to a task lead, ready to fly on my own.  Literally and figuratively.   I hope I don't let him down.

  As we scramble in our daze to notify people of his passing, it somehow doesn't seem like enough.  His office seems hollow, devoid of spark, and life.  I imagine it will remain that way for sometime.  It seems like one such as he should get more note than an article in Times.  Words seem as inadequate as a plaque on the wall right now.  The pictures I took of him never seemed to quite capture the man.  I tried a number of times over the years to get one that captured Abby at work or in the field, at his passion, to show his soul.  I'm not a portrait photographer.  I never quite caught it.  I never will.

  He always offered to buy people a beer after we were done working, then tell us to go out an get some, feigning not to have the money to pay for them.  It was a standing joke.  One we always laughed at.  He looked out for the people under him in a way that I've never seen anywhere else.   You knew he cared about you.  I don't know if I'll ever see his like again.  People like him are hard to find.  He will be sorely missed.

  So, Abby, I'll get those figures done for you right away. And next time I see you I tell you what.  I'll buy you a beer....

  Rest in peace, my friend, rest in peace.

Four Years Ago

Four years ago I took the day off work to watch history unfold.  The man taking the oath of office was something our lauded founding fathers likely never imagined when they wrote and endorsed the words "all men are created equal".  There with one hand raised and the other on a bible, stood a man who was proof of that concept.   All men are created equal.

I didn't have to take the day off today.   Today, when that same man once again stood on the steps of the capital with his right hand raised to take the oath for a second term, I already had the day off.  Today was the official celebration of another man who place in history is equally as great.  Martin Luther King, jr.

King may have dreamed of that day four years ago.   I wonder if he thought that he would ever see that day.   He didn't.  But his son did.  And so did I.

I don't know if I'll live to see another black man elected to our highest office.  Or a Latino.  Or if I will live long enough to see a woman elected to the highest office in this land.

Dare I hope that we, as a nation, can evolve that far?

So I will sit on this day and ponder the possibilities as I sat on that day four years ago and hope that we can move on from our petty differences and see the dreams and hopes and potential we all share realized.

For all men and women.

For life.

For freedom.

For peace.

Yes, we can.

Lost Snake

Looked up from the computer the other day to see a squirrel hopping around on the driveway... over a snake.  Made me think the squirrel had a death wish.  At first and from far away glance, I thought it was a rattler.  We've seen them here before.

  I went to grab the camera as Edward headed out.  That's me, camera first, safety second.  Or at least that was the case with the alligator.  As I got there Edward said it's not a ratter.  Yeah, I said, looks like a python.

  A Ball Python, to be exact.  The poor thing was looking for a spot of warm sun on the cold driveway.  It was a chilly day, high maybe 60F.  Cold weather for a snake. I'm not exactly sure what the squirrel thought it would accomplish, but it moved off after we got out there.

  Now what?

  We wanted to catch the snake.  It's a non-native species, and non-native species are wreaking havoc in the Everglades.  This guy also looked like someone’s pet.  I got my garden gloves and we got a box.  By the time I got back out there the snake was off the driveway and at the base of the oak tree.  I distracted it with one hand and picked it up with the other.  Not much fight in the guy, he was in a torpor from the weather.

  Again, now what?

  I walked next door to ask if they had a snake.  Yes.  Did it get loose?  No.  Would you like another one?  No... well.  At that point the oldest daughter said, "I want to see it..."

  So they came over and took a look.  He was a beautiful snake.  Shades of light and dark brown with a light colored belly, maybe 18 inches long.  Full grown for a Ball Python.  My neighbor noticed some of his side scales were roughed up.  Maybe the squirrel had scored a hit, counted coup.  We'll keep him, she said.  We have a spare cage.

  So they took the snake in and will give him a home.  Maybe put up a sign: "Lost snake."  I got to hold him one more time, this time without the gloves.  He cured up into, well, a ball in my hand.  Thus, the name.  I love snakes.  Their skin feels so cool, literally and figuratively.

  There's always a good feeling when you can save a creature, and it's even better when you know that the creature was most assuredly lost.  Hope he does OK in his new home.  It's certainly a better life then on some cold concrete on a chilly Florida afternoon.

Cowboys, Indians and Rubber Bands...

Sometimes the best games are the ones you didn't intend to play.  Ones with house rules; made up as you go along.

That was the case the other day when we got out the toy soldiers I got Edward for Christmas last year.  He had a set of game rules called War Pigs.  It's a simple table top game that uses toy soldiers as pieces.  The rules, as far as I read through them, looked pretty simple.  But we never quite got that far.

Edward started telling me about the games he'd set up on the floor in his room growing up, ones where he made up the rules as he went along.  There were two sides, with the furniture in the room acting as terrain.  The weapon of choice: a rubber band.  The winner was the last man standing.

Next thing we knew, we're off creating our own game.  

We each set up on one side of the table.  The trick was to knock over the other's soldiers with the rubber band, which was fired from a from an oversized tongue depressor with a notch cut in one end.  You couldn't fire from in front the chair, you had to be outside the edge of the table, winging the soldier didn't count he had to fall over, you could fire high or low, which ever worked.  We used candles, coasters and a rock for obstacles.  No figure could be completely hidden from your opponent.  

The first game we placed our guys on the table and merrily fired away.  The next two games we started further back and after 5 shots, you could move any piece the length of your firing stick.  The more figures left on the table, the easier it was to hit one, or two, with a single shot if you got lucky.  Half the time you hit the figure behind the one you were aiming at.  Sometimes you hit your own.  It all counted, if they were knocked over they were out of the game.  

We played for about 90 minutes.  We knelt, stooped, crouched and sat to get our shots.  Rubber bands ricocheted off the table, the candles and ourselves.  Nyala tried to help, but Mara wasn't all that interested.  

In the end we had a great time.  We packed up the toy soldiers and stuck the firing sticks in the bag, along with the rubber bands.  Next time we might play a variant of capture the flag, or seize the hilltop with soldiers flying everywhere. Who knows, maybe Custer will try his last stand again, only this time with slightly unconventional weapons.