Lapo....Lapo

In the summer months of June, July and August, the principality of Monaco hosts an international  pyrotechnic competition. Last night was Poland.  It is an adventure just getting there.  First, we picked up cousin Bernard at his apartment in Menton.....

He hates to get his picture taken but I manage to force him every once in a while.  We found a parking spot, finally, in one of the underground parking facilities and then surfaced at the port of Monaco.  It was a cloudy night but still busy. We arrived at 8 P.M. and although the fireworks weren't expected until 10, the boardwalk around the harbor was already crowded.

Just a few facts:
 Monaco is three miles long by one-half miles wide (about the size of New York's Central park)! The population is 32, 020 (6,089 Monegasque citizens) 19% Monegasque, 32% French and 20% Italian. And what is the difference between Monaco and Monte-Carlo? Monaco is the country while Monte-Carlo is a district within Monaco.  Where we are currently living is about a 15 minute drive away.

The next thing you do after you solve the parking dilemma is to solve the where-do-we-sit-to-eat-and-watch-the-show dilemma.  This night we forgot to make reservations and so, sadly, we found a spot with a good view but not good food. :(  Yes, it is possible though rare to eat not good food in France or in the this case Monaco.  However, the show Poland gave us more than made up for it. Just spectacular!!  30 minutes of incredible fireworks timed perfectly with music.  A real treat. And an added treat is when crazy Italians lose their dog in the dark during the fireworks and walk back and forth and under your table calling "Lapo...Lapo" in a low whisper over and over in an effort to find their baby.  Needless to say, long after the city lights came back up, Lapo was still MIA and his mother was wandering the streets calling to him.  "Lapo...Lapo......"

Also cool is that once the grande finale is over, all the boats in the harbor blow their horns in appreciation for the pyrotechnic efforts.  Its a fabulously loud noise they make.  Poor Lapo

 Next time, in August, we will plan better and reserve a fabulous restaurant along the water front where you can people and boat and car watch easily while sipping your wine and eating crepes!

I wish I owned a waterproof camera.  Kathryn tried to sell me her's but NOOOOOO!  The rain stopped and the sun was glorious and warm, shining all along our walk this morning so finally I went for a swim.  It took some time to find just the perfect spot.  My personal favorite was already occupied by sun bathers when we walked by so after going further and climbing more stairs..we came to a swim spot that is very far out on the rocks. It seemed all right.  But once I got out there I remembered that the last time I tried this entrance into the sea, the undertow swept me off my feet so fast that I smacked my head on the outcrop of rocks.  The heaving sea and splashing waves in addition to Dennis giving me stink eye convinced me that we should venture further in our search for the right swim spot.

Up and farther we went until we came to the last set of stairs along the path.  You have to climb down these tiny stone steps that are overgrown with trees and plants and covered in pine needles until you reach the churning water.  The steps widen out a bit and the plants cease, enough to sit down in the sun and take off your shoes and socks.  Dennis found me swim shoes and gloves so that I don't slice my skin off on the coral-like rocks that I have to climb over.  Soon I was ready to dive straight into the waves and I swam out far enough to be free of the shoreline.  Because of the tumult above me, the view wasn't too clear once I began to snorkel.. But I am always struck by what you can see by just floating along, just below the waves.  Where I was floating, in about 30 feet or more of water, the rocks below me are mostly pieces of the pathway above that we walk on.  Concrete and rebar that have tumbled into the water and after years and years, have grown enough sea life on them to completely disguise who they once were.  There were schools of fish eating off these "rocks" and if I stayed still enough, the fish would come and investigate me.  Beams of sunlight filtered down through from the surface, playing across my skin and anything else that came by.  It was peaceful and cool in the Mediterranean this morning.

Dennis was digging and exploring a small cave not far from the area where I jumped in.  He is always on the lookout for "artifacts".  He did find some old, rusted pieces of metal and a pretty shard of glass etched with flowers.  Hundreds of years old, no doubt (wink wink)

I wasn't cold exactly but after I spent enough time to fill my ears with water and make my head feel funny, I climbed back out, dried off in the sunlight and we made our climb back up and home.  Its about 15 minutes walk from that spot to our apartment.  All uphill and upstairs.  And from every vantage point, the view gets better and better.

The clouds have since rolled in and blanketed the area, blocking out Mother Sun.  But I had my swim already, so I'm happy. Tomorrow we are off to the open market in Italy

No Opstakels

I have been listening to my French lessons on my Ipod.  It is funny for many reasons but to name just a few.....

A) It strikes me as hilarious that my "Instructor" seems to get impatient with the students on the recording and I feel happy to be invisible. As they halt and stumble I feel impatient myself..as if I'm not as bad as them...when actually I'm getting nowhere fast.  I feel like the instructor wants to shout, "No, you idiot!!!" and that makes me crazy-chipmunk-laugh, as if I'm any better.  At least the voice in my head is doing pretty good.

B) As I listen it seems easy to remember....but sadly I am lost at each complete sentence and this makes me laugh. I'm a block head...I'm never going to learn anything.

C) I think the voice in my head is getting more and more French. Meaning that my inner voice has serious BO and refuses to bathe more than once a week, it has begun to smoke and eats only the freshest cheese. I can't reason with my inner voice, I have lost all control!

I have only been listening to this "class" for an hour or two today while I cooked lunch and dinner (no elevenses here) and yet, shock of shockers, tonight when my husband told my mother-in-law that tomorrow he and I are going into Menton to watch the firework competition, she said "not for me" in French and ....gasp...I understood her.  Three little words...but she wasn't speaking slowly to me directly, and I totally got what she said, without even thinking.  Tres excellent!!  I was so proud of myself I was driven to write a second blog in one day.  Forgive me for overwhelming my audience.

This reminds me of a list I have started to compose of funny pronunciations of English words by our French friends.  Having endured mockery for my accent for my entire life and no doubt about to face even more ridicule as I stumble through French...I take this moment to poke good natured fun at these botched words.  I will attempt to write them as I heard them....

First there was OBSTACLES which sounded like  OPSTACKELS

Also we heard PURPOSE came out more like PORPOOSE

The Bible book of Exodus was called XUDIS
The nation of ISREAL is actually IZRAEEL 

and my all time favorite was STIFLE which when used in one sentence came out like this>

"Husbands, do not STIFFEL your wife. When your wife is STIFFELED, she will become unhappy"

I love love love this country!! I don't feel stiffeled one bit!

Rainy Days in France

Two days of rain in July.  From what I have been told, this is very unusual.  It is a cold steady rain, wetting down everything.  We have to keep the windows mostly closed because it comes down at a slant determined to soak your floor and your socks.  The clouds are heavy over the mountains outside my window, both towards Italy and towards Monaco.  Dark blanketing clouds.  The beaches are empty today, and the cafes are crowded with vacationing families looking up at the sky while they drink coffee and talk about when the sun will come out again.

Dennis and I walked this morning before it really started to pour.  We went a different route, through back stairways toward the local hardware store.  It was a place locked away from time.  By at least 50 years.  Nothing has changed inside, no sign of technology.  Without computers or even an electric register, everything is written down in a ledger and the owner makes all calculations in his head.  We went looking for Boric Acid to help keep the nightly visitors to our kitchen and bathroom at bay.  However, we quickly learned that Acid Boric (as it is said here) is FORBIDDEN!  Instead we were shown sticky traps and fly paper along with some more familiar plastic poison traps.  For only two little bug poison hotels we shelled out 5 Euro, ($7).  NOT VERY REASSURING.  But I will not be deterred.  This battle will be won.  We plan on patching up every access point in the house, from pipe holes in the walls to ventilation ports.  This isn't over Monsieur cockroach!

I know I am being TERRIBLY American about this, since we only see maybe three a night.  I just have to fight them.  I cannot accept it.  It feels too wrong.

Once we left the french "Home Depot" with our weapons and the parting advice that our insect invaders are "very very difficult" to get rid of...the rain had stepped up ten fold.  We dashed down to the deserted waterfront.  Even in the pouring rain, everywhere you look it is surreal.  From a movie or a painting.  We found several apartments for rent along the way, one overlooking the beach and within our price range. Very exciting!  Up and Up the secret stairs we climbed back to our street (Ave General-Leclerc) to make fresh salmon and green beans for lunch.

Here, France in the rain is quieter.  The splash of the traffic below our apartment moves slowly.  There are no voices drifting up through my open window, just cool air and raindrops.  No seagulls or pigeons calling to each other.  Everyone has found shelter to wait for the rain to end.

  

Is this writer's block?

Sitting cross legged on my bed, looking out through the window toward Monaco and the Alps, I can smell someone smoking and at the same time the warm sent of fresh bread.  Scooters jet by on the street below and everything is bathed in the late afternoon summer sunlight.

I can't think of anything to write.

Dennis says I feel blocked because I'm sitting in here locked away from anything inspirational, with Mary and baby Jesus looking over my shoulder.  He is probably right.  But it seems too distracting to go outside.

So I open my iTunes and fire up the last mix CD Kathryn made me.  I don't know any of the artists but whenever I listen to one her mixes I feel cooler.  As if I suddenly become hip and current and artistic just by listening.  Its funny how we see ourselves.  Walking along the beach this afternoon, I was struck by how no one I saw seemed self conscience at all.  The topless mixed in with the children, the Italians mixed with the French, big and small body types, firm and loose,  sitting on the rocks and swimming in the blue waters. Heavy men in tiny Speedos, the old and the beautiful young sitting along the boardwalk eating gelato or walking three dogs at a time, skipping out between the parked cars, heedless of the traffic.  Everyone seemed carefree to me.  On the outside.  No worries, no fears.  No one looking over their shoulders.  Free.

I hope I can learn some of that while I'm here.  Along with some communication skills.  Several people we know have already given me their long discarded French for Dummies and other tools.  I hope that the background noise I find so charming now will filter into words and sentences soon.

We have been eating mostly at home since we arrived 6 days ago.  Dinner parties hosted in my mother-in-law's house.  My brother-in-law Louie did the cooking but I had the honor of cleaning dish after dish after fork after knife and each and every wine glass.  The table settings confused me but Dennis helped.  Just remember to put the napkin in the right spot and the fork face down.  I needed a flow chart or a map to keep it all straight once he was done explaining.  We start the dance in another room with aperitif (a before dinner drink of Porto or some such liquor along with nuts and crackers.  Thirty minutes later we are seated in the dinning room, white wine is carefully poured and then arrives the first course of shredded carrot salad and celery roots and zucchini all seasoned and dressed.  Served cold.  Next comes hard salami sliced thin and placed on toasted baguette rounds.  More wine.  Plates are removed...second course of seasoned and roasted potatoes in olive oil with onions, steamed broccoli with melted cheese, roasted chicken.  More wine is passed.  This course also heralds the arrival of the bread basket and a change in plates.  Then the glasses are rinsed and more plates are removed....my head is spinning when I think of washing them all while bent over the tiny Barbie sink in the kitchen....so I am grateful for more wine when it comes...this time red.  The Cheese Course begins with four different kinds..passed around with more bread...and more wine...and then comes the salad course.  We finish the wine.  Plates are exchanged for new dessert plates and here comes a platter filled with cream puff pastry and multi-layer chocolate and coffee mousse cake with dark chocolate and candied fruit...and coffee.

 And then...dessert wines, in tiny glasses, are passed.  Done! And this was the noon meal that day.  After several hours of eating and drinking, I was still able to pull myself from the table and clean all the those plates. All those months spent at the gym building my endurance have paid off!

But we don't do that every night.  Just when we have guests.  It is an event, to eat here.  No matter what the time of day or who you are with.  There doesn't seem to be any survival eating that I have seen here in France.

So as I sit in my quiet little room, thinking about when and what we are eating next (now that Louie is back in CA the cooking is all on me) I still can't think of anything interesting to right.  Maybe I need to get some wine.....

Time in New England

It took me away.  I was spoiled and I loved every minute of it.  Unfortunately, there was simply not enough time for me to see all the people I love and wanted to visit with and I hope that they will forgive me.  It wasn't because they were less loved or less important then the people we did see.  The opportunity just never presented itself and our departure day kept shifting.  I here offer my humblest and deepest apologies and with all sincerity I assure you all that hopefully still love me, we will be together soon, un-rushed and laughing, I promise.

That being said, here is a little recap of my days in New England.  Happily, with much help from my family and much sweat as well, the dreaded elephant of a storage unit was finally emptied.  Thrown away, given away and packed away, the pieces of my life before Dennis have been dismantled and that chapter is over.  For good or ill.  

We enjoyed a family dinner at my sister's house and we were able to include Denise and David.  It makes me sad that everyone in the family can't be together.  But we had a crazy fun time, eating and laughing.  It was a belated anniversary celebration complete with a strawberry shortcake with a whipped cream frosting ending.  Perfect.  It capped off my splurging on pasta salad and bologna, kielbasa and sausage. YUM!

The next day we enjoyed Dennis' side of the family at a gathering in Newport.  Beautiful weather and food made for a memorable time.  Too fast moving though. Every moment we try to spend with people, family and friends.  But no matter how hard we tried, the days grew shorter and quicker. 

Before it seemed possible, we were packing our plastic trunks and weighing them, planning and checking and planning and then saying goodbyes.  Leaving Anna with my parents and sisters.  My heart is heavy still.  I'm sure she is over the loss of us and enjoying the extra treats and constant attention of my family.  But Dennis and I miss her every day.


Once in Boston Logan, we spent some time in line at the airport, naturally.  And once we made our way to the Delta agent with our heavily laden carts, she informed us that we were too late for our flight and then....wait for it....the next flight was canceled due to thunderstorms.  So off we went to the Hilton and after we checked in we made our way via the T to explore Boston Common and find some dinner.  We really enjoyed the cool breezy weather and the sites of one of my favorite cities.


By the next morning we flew into JFK early, around 11 AM and then waited the six hours until the flight to Nice. Now let me preface this next part since I know my sister Jen will be mocking me something fierce.  We have flown first class most of the times we have visited France.  I know very few get to do that and I am exceedingly spoiled.  Yes Yes, I know.  So it would seem that Karma had had enough of us being spoiled with champagne and ice cream sundays, with seats that fully recline into beds and being waited on hand and foot in the front of the plane.


Because


We flew steerage with the rest of the normal, average and regular 300 passengers.  And I sat in the middle, in the middle row, between Dennis and an unknown young woman who fell asleep on me.  Actually I became the meat in an airplane sandwich when both of the ends fell asleep on me.  Right now you may be thinking that there is nothing extraordinary about my tale of woe, who hasn't been stuck in the middle seat for 8 hours with people on both sides of you leaning on you, breathing on you in their sleep while you try to figure out exactly what it was you just ate in that tiny plastic container dubbed "chicken" and you listen to children cry. 


True you may be...however...have you also had a crazy woman walking through the plane and randomly sitting in whatever empty seat she comes to, when the original occupant is in the lavatory?  And when the flight attendants cannot convince her to move and the pilot and first officer must come out and try to talk her back to her seat...and she doesn't know where she is sitting, or even her name... and then, finally she walks back to the area she came from...only to resurface after an hour or two...go into the first class cabin's lavatory and emerge a few moments later without her pants on or her panites...calmly dropping her clothing on an empty seat and walking back and forth down each aisle, for all to see... When the flight attendants try to wrap her in a blanket and herd her back toward the lavatory and back into her clothes she demands to be allowed outside, for some fresh air. 


I    kid    you    not


Dennis of course slept through the entire theatrical presentation, but I enjoyed every moment, including the view as she strolled back and forth past our row.  I'm so glad she was tall and wearing a very short shirt.  And I'm glad "dinner" service had long been over.


But I must admit, after having sat in that horrible seat for 8 hours, I was ready to strip my clothes off and demand to be allowed outside.  We all have our limits of tolerance. 


So the adventure continues.... 

Castle Wilson

During my visit in RI  with my family, my older, younger looking sister Jen invited me to sojourn for a night at her house.  A vacation within a vacation.  Is that a riddle?

I packed up a few things from my parents' house and headed out to Providence.  Every time I drive anywhere I feel so happy to be home that I find myself smiling like a fool, with the windows rolled down and the AC on in the car.  As I pass landmarks of my life, I am happy to see things unchanged. The same iced coffee spot with the pawn shop next door and the same scary looking customers.  I drive down 146 to Providence and notice that the road is still torn up from the snowplows.  I realize it will take me a week of driving the roads again to be able to learn them and which way to swerve to miss the holes.  And just as I crest the hill near the Branch Ave exit, I see the first view of the City and I feel really happy, deep in my bones and even my liver, to be home.  I have rose colored glasses on for sure.  Everything is beautiful.  The drivers are still crazy and annoying though.  Nothing could rose that up enough to be beyond my focus.

Once at Jen's,  we went to India Point and walked her little peanut Mickey (who is an attention addict) and stopped for some frozen yogurt at East Side Creamery. We are convinced that it is thinly disguised ice cream.  There is no possible alternate explanation for why the black raspberry with chocolate chunks should taste so good.  Add chocolate sprinkles and I lost track of my place in the universe for at least ten minutes.  Or at the very least I blacked out. Thankfully we were parked and not driving.  What is it about eating ice cream from a cone that makes it feel like summer summer summer time more than a cup?  Cups are for sissy's.  You need to get your hands dirty.

Upon returning to Jen's house I quickly realized that food and eating where going to be my main activities. For dinner, at 9 PM, we gorged ourselves on homemade tacos.  Believe me, I wasn't even hungry yet and I managed to pack it in.

A lazy breakfast of toasted Italian bread, salami and melted cheese followed some time later.  But we burned it off shopping and laughing and walking Mickey on the Boulevard. It was the perfect day, sunny and cool with a breeze.  Almost like RI is purposely teasing me.                                                                                                                

It was a perfect day and a perfect visit at Castle Wilson. Jen catered to my every need and desire (as she should) and it was really tough to leave.  Although staying at my parents' house I am catered to as well.  But with Jen it's different.  Jen is the first, the older sister.  When she takes care of me and spoils me I feel special, treasured.  It was worth being away so that I could come back and be loved so much.

Beach Day

I have forgotten what day it is. That is a good feeling, isn't it? When you are in a place without worry or guilt and the greatest concern is whether or not you remembered to charge your Ipod over night.

Beach day

I have a love addiction to the beach. And to add to that, when I am at home base, home beach, my euphoria reaches astronomical proportions.

So today I woke unable to sleep anymore.  I went for a run through the drowsy New England neighborhood where my parents and I have lived for almost half my life.  Down through quiet suburban streets lined with Victorian homes, soft green grass front lawns with sprinklers running, soaking the sidewalk and me.  The streets where dappled softly with the sun trying to sneak through the thick canopy of leaves from the maple and oak trees.  Everything smells like home. I saw fat robins bouncing along and panicking squirrels with somewhere terribly important to go.  The coffee shops are exactly the same here as they have been for decades, with the same cars parked out front and no doubt the same customers sitting inside eating their crullers and drinking their bad coffee. Even the ripped up, pothole infested roads are a welcoming reminder of home for me.  Sick, I know.

No one is awake yet.  The grandfather clock is ticking away beside me, mixing with the chirping of the birds outside and the whirr of the air conditioning unit as it wakes for a few moments and then dozes again.  As soon as Kerri and Kathryn stir, we will bustle off to East Matunuck or some other state beach to bronze the day away.  I am determined to grab a Dell's frozen lemonade on the way home.

Home. No matter how exciting the adventure or how sought after the change may be...there is no escape from the place you are from.  Its soil runs through your veins.  The smell of the air is so familiar and so unchanging.  You may change or think you have.  You may feel unrecognizable to the people you've always know, but home...home remembers you.  And somehow, it always calls you back.  Like a friend that can not be fooled or distracted by any outward differences.  Home always knows you.

I am a Rhode Islander.  The waters of Narragansett Bay pump my heart, the sand from East Matunuck is in between my toes and in my car. I have gathered shells and rocks from every beach here and treasure each one of them.  Dell's lemonade is summer time to me. I use landmarks to give directions and its never miles when measuring distance, everything is 20 minutes away. The only thing that's changed is the merging 95 down in Providence and I have to carefully read the signs or I'll end up totally turned around because I'm so used to the way its always been.  This is my home, for better and often for worse. I love it here for all its faults and beauties.  I forgive its accent and terrible driving habits.

It feels so good to be home again.

Old Friends

Spent the day with my family and friends that I haven't seen in what feels like a lifetime or more.  Some of them have children grown enough to not remember me, some of them look totally different then when we last spoke and still others haven't shifted in any way.  That amazes me.

Most people who weren't expecting to see me looked genuinely surprised.  They said Hello but then did the double take "Hello!" immediately after.  I hope its because I looked so good that they didn't know it was me.....or maybe they just never thought they'd see me there.  Either way, they were shocked.

Funny how time passes and life passes and a year can slip so quickly for some of us and crawl by so painfully for others.  I felt the loss of one friend just as sharply as ever, the empty seat where she should have been like a beacon to me, pulsing her absence, glaring in my face.  I saw her family, raw still and wounded from losing her.  I am happy to have seen each of their loved faces and held them in my arms, even just for a moment, but the loss of her was like a terrible bitter taste in my throat, strong and burning making breathing difficult and filling my eyes with tears. Its almost been a year. It feels like no time has passed at all without her. I'm still holding my breath, waiting for her to sit down.

Most of all I was with my family, my whole family, together under one roof...as it should be, as I have wanted it to be for a very long time.  The only one missing was Dennis, since he was abandoned by me back in Florida (for further guilty confessions on this subject please see the previous blog entry)

The empty seat next to me was a reminder of the fact that my life and the me I am in my life now has changed in a year too.  Dennis is my life now and even being with all these people I love and miss, without him there is no home.  I am home in location but Dennis is where I hang my hat.  Its a seemingly obvious conclusion to many, I'm sure....but a reassuring one to me nonetheless.   Missing my husband is a good thing in my eyes.

I feel exhausted from the day, all tattered around the edges but not in a negative way.  I feel spent and satisified that I was able to connect with so many people from the pages of my memories.  Especially some toward whom I had given up for lost, scratched them off completely whenever they entered my thoughts.  I am happy to see their faces again and share a laugh with them, as if we saw each other only yesterday.  I have missed them and being in their company again, falling into the old ways with them again was so natural and so right.  Easy....as if nothing has changed.  In a spinning world of change, an island of something constant has a nice feeling to it.

Old friends...old friends..sat on their park bench like bookends....

can you imagine us years from today..sharing a park bench quietly

how terribly strange to be seventy......

time it was and what a time it was it was

a time of innocence, a time of confidences

long ago it must be, I have a photograph

preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

Homeward Bound

It has begun. One life over and another begins.

I worked my last week employed as an official eye poker and said goodbye to the friends I made there at St Lucie Eye.  It feels like I have spent an entire week saying goodbye.  I am sadder than I ever thought I would be in leaving Florida.  Despite my terrible attitude about this state, I found myself truly sad as I packed to leave it behind.   It amazes me how quickly the time slipped away from when Dennis and I first decided to try this move to France, to here we are...the condo is packed and Dennis moves everything this weekend.  Conveniently I am currently visiting my parents and sisters in my hometown, having abandoned my patient husband to the horrors of moving.  And then, to make it even worse, my dear Dennis is driving Anna up to RI next week.  He says he will make the trip non-stop in 18 hours....we shall see.

I decided to pack cardboard boxes instead of luggage so that I could get as much for the 100 pounds I was allowed.  Brilliant!  After all, standard luggage on its own weighs ten pounds...that's just ridiculous!  Except that my boxes came out of the luggage conveyor at the airport looking like they had been dropped from the airplane's cargo bay at 30,000 feet.  Not so brilliant after all. I am undeterred.  So a plan B is needed to get my 100 pounds of clothes and shoes to France in 13 days. I'm thinking maybe I just need thicker, stronger cardboard. I will prevail.  Who needs conventional luggage? Not me. Soon everyone will want to be cool like me and bring cardboard to the airport. Who needs Louis Vuitton?

My mother and I spent the morning in the backyard sunning ourselves peacefully, until my sister Jen (otherwise known as the skin cancer/safe sun time police) arrived and began nagging us, like a well intentioned fly.  "zzzzzzzzz I can't believe you two buzzzzzzzz...you guys are such freaks laying in the sun....zzzzz...don't you know how dangerous the sun is?....zzzzzzzzz ...its so hot out there......zzzz".) After a few minutes of that,  I gave it up and Jen and I went out to a local favorite restaurant of mine for lunch.  Walking out to my sister's car I noticed a handsome sock monkey sitting in the backseat, giving my a jaunty smile. His name? Pierre.  We fell in love instantly.  I can't believe I ever lived without him.

So Pierre and I are relaxing in my parents' house as we await our dinner to be ready.  The house is kept at a brisk 65 degrees, so to stay warm I have a hot cup of tea with me, that keeps cooling off before I can finish it. It's 90 degrees outside. I think the windows may ice over soon.

So I am being spoiled while my husband and my dog live out the next few days in a cardboard jungle down in Florida.  I am a terrible person.