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August 7, 2008 Issue Laughing
Matters Moving to Florida a few years ago was one of the best decisions I ever made. For years I lived on the west coast, thousands of miles away from my immediate family, in a crowded residential neighborhood where the houses have no front porches, garage doors are kept shut, and the only time you see your neighbors is when they have something to complain about. Now I live only minutes away from my family, my neighbors are friendly (and visible), and my front porch, with its porch swing and lazy ceiling fan, contributes to the feeling of community and belonging that I never knew existed. I love living so close to my family. The weather and wildlife here is diverse and interesting, and I never know what I’m going to see in the morning from my front porch. Okay, the guy hauling his trash out to the curb in his boxers isn’t exactly “scenic,” but the neighbor who practices his fly-fishing and the woman hopping sideways down the road thrusting a large stick in the air (this must be quite an effective workout, she looks great) are both definitely memorable and always put a smile on my face. And it’s not just the neighbors I’ve seen while sipping my coffee from my cozy front porch. I’ve also seen foxes, coyotes, red, blue and yellow birds, deer, lizards, snakes and squirrels, and for the past few mornings, there has been a turtle the size of a dinner plate settled down in my front flower bed. His back is shiny, round and green, and from the comfort of my porch, I’ve watched him happily munching on leaves sticking out of the mulch with a big, sappy, turtle-smile on his smooth, friendly face. I have a morning routine which consists of feeding my dogs and cats, watering my flowers, taking care of the mail, fixing some lunch to take in to work, and when all of that is finally done, I grab a cup of coffee and wait out on the porch in the porch swing for my oldest daughter to show up with her dog. She doesn’t like to leave her dog at her house because she thinks the dog gets lonely, so she comes to my “Doggy Day Care” each day to play with the cats and torture the other, older dogs. I look forward to their arrival, because that’s when I get to maneuver myself down my front steps in my long pajama gown and bulky house shoes and traipse out to her car for a quick visit with my three-year-old granddaughter. My granddaughter calls me “Gravy” rather than “Grandma,” and is in that stage where everything is a question. “Where’s your truck, Gravy? Is it at the doctor? What’s in your cup? Where’s kitty?” I eagerly answer her questions while sipping my coffee. I also tease and tickle, hoping to provoke a giggle out of this normally serious, inquisitive child. This morning I decided to point out Mr. Happy Turtle. Big-eyed, she asked, “What’s that? A tur-tul?” “Yes, it’s a great big tur-tul!” “Touch him, Gravy, touch him!” “Uh, okay.” I mean, what could it hurt? Mr. Happy Turtle seemed pretty tame compared to the lizard I’d chased down in the kitchen last night, so, with her looking on, I crept towards the turtle, uttering baby talk as I got closer and closer. "Hello Mr. Turtle, how are you today? How is that leaf you're eating? Are you coming back here again tomorrow? Should I plant something different for you to munch on, Mr. Tur-tly-Wurt-ly-Cutt-ly-Wutt-ly?” Imagine my surprise when Mr. Not-So-Happy Turtle lunged, hissing at me. It's amazing how fast turtles can actually move and how loud and sinister a hissing turtle can sound. None of that hiding in the shell for this turtle—no sir, he came right at me. I jumped back...or tried to jump back, but in the process got tangled up in my long pajama gown and bulky house shoes, and ended up on my well-padded rear—on the ground, covered in coffee. Satisfied, he
went back to his leaf munching. |
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