TL;DR: Ranty rant.

This is the fifth day in two weeks the kidlet has missed school due to inclement weather. This afternoon we received a call that tomorrow is a snow day. Very likely Friday is, too. Seven days in two weeks with no school, not counting the past holiday.

Husband has seen his schedule adjusted, people in this town can’t drive in slush, and I – a person who works from home – am wrapped in a terry robe and a Snuggie and am still cold. Also distracted. Because people. In my house. Who aren’t at work and school.

When situations like this arise, I try to view things from other angles. I’m fortunate to work at home because I don’t have to commute in this sludge and I don’t have to pay a sitter. We’re fortunate to have a place to live. We have it better than some. We live in the South. Where it’s supposed to be warm.

Why the hell isn’t it warm? WHAT THE HELL, MAN?

via Tumblr

via Tumblr

I’m originally from Florida. I spent the first half of my life there, but as I grow older I imagine that fraction of my time will shrink as the remainder of my years are spent elsewhere. I hope it doesn’t end that way. Long ago I accepted that I will probably not retire. Writers don’t retire, and I’m not the type to leave a to-do list completely checked. Given my current position, and the hope it doesn’t change, I like to think I could work anywhere in the world. Florida? Sounds nice.

I shouldn’t miss Florida now, considering what one expects to hear about happenings in my native state. A headline begins with Florida Man… and you click knowing the news will involve either the theft of an 18-wheeler full of tampons or a penis caught in the suction tube of a bank drive-thru. To believe social media, we perceive Florida as the national joke – the Lord’s waiting room, America’s dangly bit.


It’s more than that – there’s nature and good people, art and good food. I’d like spend my twilight years there, near the coast, and if I’m estimating correctly when I die I’ll have missed the inevitable sinking when global warming really hits hard.

I’ve dreamed of finding a small house in St. Augustine, within walking distance of the Salcedo Kitchen for my daily empanada and Coke. I’d walk the beach by day and write in the afternoon, maybe form my own round table at some pier bar and entertain tourists…when my attention isn’t focused on a wall of HD monitors showing Tony Stewart’s grandson wrecking Dale the Third at Talladega.

I want to celebrate holidays with my side of the family again. When you marry an only child, you tend to default to his/her side. I love them, but they live where it’s cold. I miss the crowded Thanksgivings in Fort Pierce, when we could wear shorts and enjoy the condo pool before dinner.

I want to buy an annual pass to EPCOT so I can drink around the world once a month with friends. I want to ride the boats at the Mexican pavilion non-stop and drink twenty-dollar tequila shots. Dare I say it, that’s where I want them to find my body.

I miss the Florida heat, even in the triple digits. Florida heat has a sound. It envelops you in a sticky film that doesn’t bubble and streak with your sweat. It’s glorious and I want it here so I don’t have to live another day in this damn cold.

The other day my friend, farther north than me, lamented the worse weather they’re suffering. He wants to move south, but his idea of south is Jersey. I’ll be kind to New Jersey because we’ve all had it rough so far.

My ringtone is Rush’s “YYZ,” which I now associate with bad weather for all the snow day calls I get. I hear it go off one more time, I’m packing a bag. Shorts.

Photo courtesy of Unsplash