The Lawnmower Man

There I was, laying in bed trying to catch a few zzz's, when all of a sudden I heard it: the deep, rumbling reverberations of he who haunts the night.  At first I was in denial...this just couldn't be! I'm warm and snug in my bed, within the safe confines of our cozy apartment...how could he be here?  All the nightmares of my youth came crashing back into my mind from obscurity...the sleepless nights, the awful noise, the desperate pleading for it to end!  And yet there he was, and there was no denying him.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man is my neighbor.  

The Lawnmower Man's method of torture is simple:  keep you up all hours of the night with the terrible, lawnmower-like noises produced by his nasal cavity.  And torture it is.  When I was a child he always found his way into my parents' room, but I could somewhat escape by closing doors and hovering under layers of blankets in agonizing terror waiting for him to stop.  My mother, fearless as she is, knew the magic words to fend off the evil fiend. "Turn over!"  She'd grumble into the night air.  I would hear shuffling after that (undoubtably the Lawnmower Man retreating in surprise from her unexpected attack), and then...silence.  

I've learned the tricks the townspeople speak of to keep him away.  Sleeping on your side helps, they say, perhaps because you are not so openly vulnerable as when laying on your back.  I do not know.  Protective sticky strips placed on the nose are also said to ward him off, but that is usually for the more superstitious.  But I am without defense because the Lawnmower Man is one thinly insulated wall behind me, residing in the next unit.  I keep working up the nerve to bang on the wall and yell "Oh Lawnmower Man, behold!  By the power of my mother I say unto you, turn over!"  But alas I cannot.  Instead, I've found some small way to exact revenge on his torture with the aid of my husband.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man isn't the only one to strike at night.  We have the power of the Horny Toad, and let's just say...Lawnmower Man can't beat that.          

Some pictures of Washington

  Mt. Rainier at dusk
A view of the Puget Sound in Seattle
A waterfall at Mt. Rainier National Park
Mt. Rainier up close
Mt Rainier from above 

Green Gardner

Kermit put it perfectly when he simply stated, "It isn't easy being green."  I have rapturously undertaken the quest to "go green", inspired by doomsday prophecies of global warming and gas prices at a lovely $4.34 a gallon.  Isn't it nice living out west.  My husband is equally enthusiastic, so we have started with the basics and are working our way up.  For instance, we changed out all our evil old light bulbs for so-called energy-efficient ones that cost approximately seven times more but are supposed to save the world.  Okay.  We have put in place two trash bins in our miniscule kitchen, one for things we absolutely must allow to be taken to the dump, and the other for anything we can possibly think of that is recyclable.  I imagine those poor souls working at the magical recycling plant sorting through our garbage must hate me every time they pick out yogurt containers with sticky notes on them saying "I thought this could make a cute purse for a doll.  I've included the pipe cleaner to be used as a handle.  You'll find that at the bottom."

Next, we bought reusable grocery bags that we must take with us everywhere in order to pile our goods in them instead of plastic bags.  Problem is, we keep forgetting them.  We must've been to a hundred stores this last week trying to set up house, and every time we end up walking out with things toppling out of our hands because we feel guilty using plastic bags but can't remember the darn reusable ones!  Navigating through automatic doors with a heap of "earth-friendly" laundry detergent, recycled paper plates, and renewable-bamboo spatulas all precariously placed can be really quite difficult! 

 We've also made it a personal mission to frequent mom and pop restaurants and stores in order to combat corporate globalization, but these stores are apparently all out of business.  Thus we trudge into Walmart, and I can't help but get giddy about saving 32 cents on a gallon of milk.  

Our next order of business is to start relying more on public transportation instead of filling up our cars every two days, but we'll see how that goes.  I admit that in my vanity, I can't help but feel sexy driving my husband's gas-guzzling Celica. Windows down, blonde hair flying, sunglasses donned...it just won't have the same effect on a city bus.  

Maybe I'm not really cut out for this whole "green" trend, but today I was on my hands and knees scrubbing my bathroom with vinegar and baking soda instead of harsh chemicals that would probably do a better job.  And yet, as I felt the faint signs of carpal tunnel coming on as I scoured away, I couldn't help but feel I was doing my part...and I was pretty darn proud.  

Getting Settled

The scent of pine floating on the air, Mount Rainier standing proudly in the background, friendly drivers who let you change lanes, recycling bins placed in every convenient location...what more could I possibly ask for?  Well, a sweater would be nice.  Despite the gorgeous scenery and lovely people, I find myself all too cold in the middle of June.  Who ever heard of 48 degree summer nights?  Not that I'm completely complaining, mind you.  It sure beats a temperature of 98 with humidity at 100 percent.  That is what my body prepares for as the calendar pages turn toward summer.  But this....no, I was not prepared for this.  

Yesterday my sweet husband and I walked to church (how quaint) and were at a speed of approximately seven miles per hour to generate as much body heat as possible as we went.  That is not easy to do in high heels, but the alternative was to freeze to death in this icy tundra of 64 degrees.  Yes, I am a foreigner here.  The locals show up without even panty hose on to protect their newly shaven legs, while I grimace in pain as my goose bumps undo all my hard work that morning in the shower.  These people are all celebrating summer by wearing short sleeves and open-toed shoes, while I walk around with two pairs of pants on and my husband's army socks that are so thick I have to wear shoes three sizes bigger in order to squeeze my feet in.  What is wrong here?!

I imagine that as time passes I will get used to this new climate.  It is wonderful to feel the cool air on my cheeks and breathe in the freshness of this world around me.  I feel rejuvenated, revitalized, and refreshed, if not slightly chilled.  But the chill, like the heart-pangs for home, will undoubtedly lessen until I, too, am a real Washingtonian.  

Letting Go

Here I am, starting this new great journey into the unknown and leaving behind all that's familiar and most dear.  I have grown up in Florida.  I've spent twenty-three sticky hot summers under the relentless sun and just as many winters hoping for a cool breeze and an excuse to wear my tall boots.  I've taken for granted the beauty of an old oak and it's mangled moss swaying lazily on its branches.  I've forgotten that not everywhere can you spy the leathery neck of an alligator gliding seamlessly through the water, or lizards clinging to window screens, or an open pasture with a lone palm tree jutting up and hungrily reaching towards the sky.  I cannot imagine hearing the rain and not the resounding rumblings of a thunderclap, or seeing dark clouds looming in the distance and no sudden flashes of light dancing in the sky.  I will miss the sunshine that ever reddened my face.  I will miss the intensity of the blue every time I look up, no matter the season.  I will miss the sweet smell of orange blossoms wafting through the air, and the rolling groves of trees dotted with citrus baubles.  I'll miss the way thick St. Augustine grass crunches under my toes, and even the tickle of love-bugs exploring my hand.   

  All my life I looked for an excuse to leave this place, and now that excuse has found me.  I am thrilled, terrified, and so happy all at once, but I cannot help but feel a pang of grief at saying goodbye to this place I thought I didn't love.  Now I know better.  No matter where life takes me, this sandy-soiled land is in my blood.  I am barefoot with the taste of tangerine upon my lips.  I am a Florida girl.