Dumpster Diver

"Stop buying the unneccessary.  Toss half your stuff, learn contentedness.  Reduce by half again.  List 4 essential things in your life, do these first, stop doing non-essential.  Clear distractions, focus on each moment.  Let go of attachment to doing, having more.  Fall in love with less."  - Minimalist's Mantra

Always, I'm reiterating my lack of attachment to material things and the obvious neglect of accumulating that one would except of someone my age.  In my early 20's I made very little money but some how managed to travel and see and do more than could be justified if put on a balance sheet with income vs. expenses.  I smile now because of all the things I missed about "growing up", being able to go and see different places was it...and it's worked its way back into my life.  What I make now is a laughable fraction of what I had at one time accomplished but I am the happiest of my life.  We just returned to reality after spending Thanksgiving in south Florida and before that we pulled a hastily put together 4 day trip to Islamorada. On the short trip we only packed one litttle bag and as an after thought realized we could've saved the money and put it all in a back pack.  As we waited for the baggage carousel to start up, we hear Velcro being paged.  Our luggage it seems took the later flight and was currently enroute to NY.  They gathered our hotel information and let us know it would be in later that night and they would deliver it to us.  All the quicker that we could get our little rented car headed south.  Alabama Jack's on Card Sound Road was our first "neccessity" stop.  One can not live on Bailey's and Coffee alone, but add conch fritters and beer to the mix and respectable food pyramid can be accomplished. Being that I was in jeans our next stop was at the big lobster for an $8 sundress.  Our list of things we figured we didn't want to live without follows.  Liquor, styrofoam cups, bananas, toothbrushes and toothpaste, peanuts, and some lotion from the dollar store....and a pair of flip flops for the man.  Our luggage didn't show until late morning the next day...we had decided over coffee and bananas that qtips and deodorant were the essential second day items if still no bag.  For the Thanksgiving trip I made sure the phone charger was in the backpack along with a pair of shorts and flip flops, all other "things" can be lived without.  

I have over the years found some of my coolest possessions by or in dumpsters...other's discards have become my little treasures.  Thinking back, the first dumpster score that I recall also is one of only two times that I've ever had to actually "dive" as most things are left more accessibly propped beside said dumpster.  It was a dark room enlarger.  I had a little darkroom at the time, set up in the back of the dive shop and the enlarger that I had was tiny, ragged and very limited as to what I could accomplish with it.  The one I found was the cat's meow.  Luckily there was little else in the dumpster and it was behind a strip center of businesses so no nasty stuff was in there.  Over the years I've gotten a covered cat pan, a Gamecock dog leash, a fake palm tree, a whole box of plates, glasses and knives (even an electric one), a carved african statue, a foldable wheelie cart, and a surfboard that was signed and painted by a what appears to be a group of college kids that were on a bus trip with a surfer driver named Rich.  He made quite the impression, judging from the things they wrote on the board.  It now hangs in my living room as my main piece of "art".  There are more, but I just can't remember them all right now.  My plates came from the Habitat Store for a quarter a piece and they look just like the ones Junior Saprano had, thankfully I don't have his wallpaper.  I have, had several very nice and probably decently expensive sets of dishes.  Someone else still has them.  I am accustomed to dropping everything and walking away.  It's just what I do. I am a runner. When things start going south...I run.   I would be lying if I said I never try to figure out why I am... how I am.  I can't pinpoint any one thing but as with all of us life as a process is what makes us what we are.  My dad was a preacher and when I was a kid we moved about every 5 years.  The house was provided furnished so all we did was box up our stuff and throw it in a truck.  I remember that they had a bedroom set for me that got moved along each time.  When we left we were instructed to "make a clean break" so that the new preacher and his family could form bonds.  Basically leave, don't stay in touch and don't come back around.  Now it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the collation between that and how I am now.    

Since loosing my little girl, Roger may be getting just a bit spoiled.  We celebrated his 13th birthday on November the 15th.  I'm not really sure about the date, but I got him when he was 8 weeks old and that was mid January so I picked a date and it stuck. For his birthday he got a beer and  a treat puzzle.  The beer was stretched out over 2 days... he burped like a shirtless pot bellied man at a Nascar race, then started barking the top of his lungs while cirlcing us...drunk talk.  The puzzle was an attempt of giving him some entertainment along with his snacks.  It has 4 little trap doors for kibble and it spins around inside...pretty challenging.  He had it mastered inside of 5 minutes, my dog is obviously a genius.  He takes after me.  For a 91 year old he is amazingly busy.  His hearing kind of comes and goes...most times I come in I have to go upstairs and nudge him awake...then it's on just like he was a puppy.   I spend time with him on his bed...it was in the closet and once lying in there with him,  I figured out he has the best room in the house.  It's small and confined and dark...something my bedroom isn't since it's a loft and  the living room skylights double as bedroom skylights. I considered pulling the cushions off the couch and taking over the closet.  When I come in at night I sit in the floor beside my bed on his bed with him and read or watch netflix on the ipad until he falls asleep.  The problem was even with his little doggie tempurpedic bed my ass was making it to sleep before the dog.  After a few vodkas, it occured to me that I had an airo mattress in a closet so dragged it out and pumped it up for him.  Now in my bedroom there is my queen size bed with a queen size airo bed in the floor beside it.  Some nights I sleep down there with him...he is a bed hog.  

I am in a good place.  Despite all of my quirkiness, I have someone that likes me just like I am and humors me when I stalk Iguanas or when I want my picture made doing the Heisman pose with a coconut that I found on the street.  Everyone should be so lucky.

(No Iguanas where harmed for this photo op)

My Little Girl

Carletta - April 1995-September 30, 2013.

"Being a Mother doesn't mean being related to something by blood.  It means loving something unconditionally with all of your heart."

The back cushion of the couch is still dented from where she would jump off the counter after eating.  She would run wild and bank off the furniture...dig on the corners like she was shreading the couch even though she had long been without claws...lucky for Roger.  I would hear a squeaky sound from another room and come in to find her scratching on the tire of my bike, making cat music.   Sometimes her meows would get stuck and last for atleast 10 seconds. She bailed off the second floor balcony twice... one time she was gone for 2 days.  Just when I called Scott over to help me find her (I was convinced she had hidden and died in the house) he opens the front door and calls me to come see who was sitting on my porch.  She came running in demanding some food.  She could punch roger in the face from standing underneath him, which is where she would wind up most of the time as he danced excited all over and around her.  I wonder how many times he got slapped by her....and still never understood the look she was giving meant an ass kicking was headed his way.  As much abuse as she dealt out to him he always watched out for her.  One time she got outside and Roger was going nuts running from me to the car and barking like crazy...he had hemmed her up under the car and was freaking out cause he knew she wasn't supposed to be outside. She would stand on her back feet and dig at your waist to be held and as soon as you would pick her up she would drop her head to butt it into me...it was her way of kissing...I would make the clicky sounds on the top of her head and she would wrap her little paws around my shoulder like a hug.  That clicky sound is how I called her and Roger when they were little and she never would respond to anyone using "kitty kitty" on her.

Carletta came from a neighbor of a friend...they had a calico kitten they wanted to get rid of but when I got there to pick it up they had changed their mind to keep that one but wanted to give away the little black kitty.  They told me the calico was a bit bitchy but the black one was a sweetie, so I took her.  She was named in the drive thru of the Kentucy Fried Chicken in Kings Mountain.  I remember leaning upside down to ask her if she liked Carletta or Carlitta better.  She was under the back seat of the van hunkered down...she never did like being in the car.  I can see her just like it happened yesterday...its funny how our minds freeze certain moments for us.   She opted for Carletta because Carlitta sounded a little trashy and a touch hispanic.  I can't even fathom the number of times over the last 18 1/2 years of everydays that I've said that name.  I called her Leetle Gurl and picked on her about her dangle belly as she got older...when she would run it would swing side to side.  She has been the only constant thing in my adult life outside of her little brother.  She was with me through all the good times and bad stuff and moving and breakups.  She never got nervous when boxes started packing the way Roger does...she would raise hell from the kitty carrier on the ride to the new place but as soon as I opened the door she would scout out the new place for sunny nap spots and locate the closest heater vent to lay on. She loved laying on the balcony in the sun or in front of the sliding glass door looking out.  one time she had a relationship with a lizard that would come hang out on the glass door everyday with her...she would put her paw on the glass where he was then fall asleep in the sun.  We use to  living room dance when Roger was a puppy...Carletta and Butthead and him...the two waiting for their next dance would sit patiently around me while I spun and sang to whichever I had in my arms.  She thought that if you were sitting she had to do her best to hold you down in case gravity wasn't enough.  She was the lovingest sweetest little girl I could have asked for.  Roger was the only one that could ever bring a grump out of her...she would look at him like he was a big dumb dog but would make biscuits on his fur when he laid down.  Her biscuits were brutal for no bigger than she was...I use to rub her little shoulder blades and it would make her ease up on the spastic biscuits.  She made her last biscuit on my arm a few days ago.  Her last day she didn't pur...I use to say to her..."I hear that little motor boat running"...she had the loudest purs.  I would wake at night to a pur on the left ...next time it would be on the otherside and the next down at the foot.  She loved to be held in my crook of my arm for naps...she would fall so hard to sleep that she would be limp and you couldn't make her move, I've even stood her up and she still stayed asleep...or it could've been a ploy.  I spent her last night with her in the closet floor, I  slept beside her on Rogers bed.  I wish I had held her more and loved on her more and fussed less when she meowed at the top of her lungs for more milk.  As I held her at the vet's office for her last few minutes, I cried into her fur and told her I loved her and breathed in her smell...I hope she knew that she was so loved.  That night she sent me the most beautiful sunset...it was as if she wanted me to know she got there ok.  I got her ashes back and a card with her tiny little paw print and some of her fur...it smells like her.  It feels better having her back home with me and I will forever talk to her like a crazy old cat lady.  Her little milk bowl will go back to being my salsa dish but Carletta will always have a little sunny corner in my heart all to herself.

This is from sometime around 1995 when both of us were babies.

Carletta giving me one of her head butt hugs on my 30th birthday.

This is how they woke me up every morning...it would reach a level of near frantic if I tired to ignore them.

Carletta being the lap cat that she loved being.

Things I'm Beginning to Figure Out

"In the end we conserve only what we love.  We will love only what we understand.  We will understand only what we are taught." - Dioum

I made a list of the things I say on a regular basis.  Sparkyism's if you will.  

- There are 2 things you can't hide. Money and stupidity..they both eventually show up.

This one is normally used in response to someone flashing around expensive stuff or being a moron.

-Timing is essential.

The biggest and smallest things in life happen when the time is right.

-Perception is reality.

This plays into the next one.

-There are only 2 things in the world that you can change - Your mind or your situation.

On an old cork board that I've hauled around forever I have a little push pin holding this up "I made some studies, and reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it.  I can take it in small doses, but as a lifestyle I found it too confining.  It was just too needful...it expected me to be there for it all the time, and with all I have to do, I had to let something go.  Now, since I put reality on the back burner, my days are jam-packed and fun-filled..."  I have no idea who wrote it but it speaks the truth.  If we pay attention to all the bullshit thats available for us to focus on, it's easy to stay less than happy.  Our thoughts create our feelings.  Change your thoughts or get up and pack your shit and head to an island...the choice is all yours.  We are victims to no one.

-Denial is a strong pill.

Normally this is in response to someone turning a blind eye to a blaringly obvious situation in order to maintain a lifestyle of accumulation.

-If you don't feed them or fuck them...don't worry with them.

That really narrows down the people and things that we  have right to worry about. It takes it down to Velcro and my fur babys that I need to be concerned with.  Everyone else is an adult and I believe should have all the same rights to bad decisions.

I'm learning that maybe we don't have to "figure life out".  The simple of it is this, we come here alone, we leave alone...the shit in between is called life.  Life ends when our body decides to tap out.  In our existence we are only given one human suit and we alone are responsible for it.  I don't believe that we are only allowed one trip around and get stuck listening to choirs of angels or exposed to mass heat and damnation begging for a drop of water... or whatever.  But I do understand that we only get one shot in this lifetime...with these people and this hand of cards.  I am not one that wants my trip to end early because I forgot to take care of the ONLY FUCKING THING keeping me here.  Now I'm sure there are those who would argue about my drinking, but as I see it Vodka takes the corners off of life's coffee table so that I don't bang my shins.  

All the 20 some yr olds seem to know what they are doing. From being there I can only beg to disagree. Actually the 60-70 some year olds I know are still very aware of not knowing what they are doing. The difference is with age we can admit not knowing what the fuck is going on. Of the people that think they know where they are, I'm afraid they are blissfully unaware. Much like politicians they are liars regardless. They either lie to us or lie to themselves.  I wrote that when we were in Charleston a few months back, more specifically at the Shem Creek Inn and found our way to the tiki bar that sits next door.  It was full of kids.  By kids I mean anyone mid 30's and under.  The ones that are still trying to find their way via over dressing and over spending to impress people they either don't know or don't like.  Why I have always felt so unattached to people around my age range is yet to be determined.  It's like me not being able to hang out and be one of the girls.  Most women talk about whoever leaves to go to the bathroom. Me... I forget about whoever left and am somewhat surprised when they come back.   

Perpetual Mid Life Crisis

"The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why" - Mark Twain

Clearly I have one of the two figured out, but that second one is eluding me in a major way.  I heard the other day that women typically hit their mid life crisis at age 34 and it lasts for 5 years.  Men at age 43 and it normally lasts for 10 years.  The signs that you may be having a mid life crisis include the sudden and overwhelming need to simplify your life.  The list went on from there but I stopped paying attention.    I guess since we can't count my lack of giving a damn in my 20's then its pretty accurate for me. I was 34 when I threw in the "fuck it" towel on my marriage and walked away from all the tethers of possessions and real estate.  Then I bought and filled up another house only to feel suffocated and get rid of all of that stuff too.

On my 40th birthday I went to the gym with my pants on inside out and a tag the size of Rhode Island hanging out the crack of my ass...I know this because some old lady came up and pointed it out to me.  I thanked her for the information and finished my work out and walked my ass and tiny state dangling from it home.  My right boob currently has second degree burns on it from the curling iron (I have no idea how the fuck it happened but it just typical of me. Surprisingly I was sober. ) And I still make a habit of boiling eggs for half an hour.  I've struggled lately with failure or my perception of it...perception is in fact reality.  Velcro has hugged away more tears in the last few weeks than he has likely ever seen from me before.  The grown up day job, I've walked away from and gone back to bartending for now.  All hope isn't lost but the wind was knocked out of me to with the admitting of defeat.  Like the car sick feeling you get when the world is spinning out of your control.  My footing feels to be regaining and I'm working on letting go of the feeling of needing to be in control of my life.  The illusion of control.  I am proud of my cat like reflexes that always seem to get my feet back underneath me before I smack the ground.  This time though, I must admit I didn't do it entirely on my own and that's a good feeling too.  In the past, the last few weeks would have triggered the packing my shit and an exit stage left, but running isn't on my agenda anymore.  I have though taken 2 loads of shit to Goodwill, so I am positive I'm not settling into an accumulation stage.  The balls of my 40's may not be in my death grip yet but I'm working on it.  

"Know you're not the only ship out on the ocean. Save your strength for things that you can change, forget the ones you can't.  You gotta let it go." - Zac Brown

Purple Bathrooms

"The world of the Pirate is thought to be radically different from Kings and Warriors.  While Kings and Warriors are exalted more, the Pirate is envied most by the King." - William Corinthus

That was written by a friend almost 20 years ago.  I went in search of it after in a conversation with Velcro I brought it up but couldn't remember the exact words.  It seems the less we have and the happier we are with it, the more others take notice of our minimalist approach.  I've always wanted people see life a little bit differently from knowing me, but lately I've noticed it's more him being that example to others. 

I've been intrigued by the idea of house boat living for longer than I can remember.  Once I found John MacDonald's Travis McGee novels it only fueled the fire.  In case you are in the dark, Travis McGee was the main character of a series of novels that he wrote from the mid 60's through the mid 80's.  I think there were 20 some books.  He was Magnum PI ish and lived on a houseboat name the Busted Flush (that he won in a poker game) at the Bahia Mar Marina in Fort Lauderdale.  Slip F18.  Our never miss bar in Ft. Lauderdale, Bahia Cabana, sits on that marina and I never sit there that I don't think about Travis McGee....even if he was fictional.  I wonder if there is some kind of marker on F18, or if that slip even exists.  One day I intend to walk those docks to find out.  All this came about from seeing a handful of house boats last night.  I guess that's more of a Florida thing because you seldom see them in these parts.  It reminds me of a trailer with pontoons and I'm pretty sure I'd be a good candidate to live on one.  I'd like it if a car wasn't necessary and one could exist with just a bicycle and a kayak and a floating trailer.  A bar within walking distance would be a necessity as well. 

Dog just farted.

I finally upgraded my tired Droid and got an I Phone.  Although I love the little notes screen so I can jot down all my random thoughts, me and the phone are still on a get to know each other first date.  It keeps auto correcting me.  If I type pussy that does not mean I meant pussyfoot...and not for nothing, I thought my dad was the only one that used that word.  Shit is not shot...and hoohah is not hookah.  Your next question may be why me and my phone were making notes about pussy.  First I must point out an obvious.  Our skin is basically the same all over our bodies...with the exception of the elbow...and the nuts.  Why is the elbow make out of the same stuff as "the boys"?  That leads me to tell the story of a woman I worked with many many moons ago in Charlotte.  She had one of those big brown flat moles on her forearm, right close to the elbow.  That in it's self wasn't really the problem.  Problem was it had black hair growing out of it ...like a lot of it.  It creeped the shit out of all of us in the office.  One day I asked my buddy if he thought she might have an elbow "down there" since her pussy was apparently on her arm.  Twenty years later I'm still laughing about it.  The folks in that office use to tell me I was driving the bus to hell.  When I left, one of my going away presents was a set of keys. 

To update on my most recent egg boiling ...as I predicted I forgot them again.   It wasn't quite 30 mins but the house smelled like an omelet.   By a similar token I've noticed some asshole turns my clothes inside out and when I do laundry I have to reverse...every. single. thing.  There is never one thing turned right side out...socks...tshirts...shorts...nothing.  The only thing separating me from being a teenage boy is that I do put most things in the hamper and there are no playboys or stiff tube socks shoved under my bed.  I'm fucking awesome.

Trying to think back, I can't exactly remember if have had purple bathrooms in 3 or 4 of my houses, but it was always the thing I wanted...my purple bathroom. It also always went hand in hand with moving almost immediately.  I'm not sure why as soon as I redid a bathroom purple I felt the gig was up, but it has always gone in that order.  Not very long ago I made a list of all the places I've lived and times I've moved.  When comparing that extensive list to my 3 or 4 purple bathrooms there probably is no collalation to the color of my bathroom walls making me move.  My spare bath, better known as, where I keep the cat pan, is one of the last rooms that I've tackled in my condo.  I've had purple paint swatches wedged beside the medicine cabinet since a year ago when I had tile put in.  I also have not had a mirror in there in that amount of time.  Divine intervention in the form of a $13 mirror this week got me back on track.  I opted to fore go the purple paint and landed on a funky muted kind of Caribbean blue.  I feel like I am where I'm going to be for a while and didn't want the strange vibe purple bathrooms seem to carry with them. 

How To Boil Eggs

The Truth in 13 words - "Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the fuck happened."

How to boils eggs, or at least how I do it, put eggs in pot...add water...put on stove...wait for water to boil...note time. Go about your business for a minimum of 30 minutes or until you start asking yourself why the fuck your entire house smells like an omelet.  Recall vaguely something about eggs.  Cuss.  Run to kitchen.  Cuss again.  Run cold water over them.  Put them in fridge and eat as normal.  Actually they were much easier to peel than the last batch that I cooked for the "right" amount of time.  Now I'm out of eggs and the whole bizarre process will start all over again and I already know I will completely forget them and cook the water out of the pot.  On a more adult note I've discovered how to get the same bad egg cooking 40 year old to take vitamins...they have grown up chewables that taste just like Flinstone vitamins. Only problem is that they don't have purple ones shaped like Dino and now I'm over vitamining myself cause there is no one to stop me from eating them like candy. With all the wrong stuff I manage to consume I'm thinking a few extra vitamins is really the least of my worries. 

It's been just under 3 years since I decided upon moving that there just wasn't enough room in my car or my life for an iron much less an ironing board.  At some point late last year I broke down and bought an iron.  The only reason I bought it was because I found it super cheap at the Ollie's store.  I wondered why it was in a brown box and not the kind you normally see in the store.  When I got it out there was a sticker on it something to the effect of "refurbished".  This mattered little to me since it took me probably 5 more months to pair it up with an ironing board.  The newly formed couple sat propped against the wall of my bedroom for another month or so before last week I finally took the twisty tie off the iron cord and rubbed this strange hot metal thing across my wrinkled little Harley shirt. Don't get too excited I'll always be more of the "turn the dryer back on girl" than I will the iron wielding domestic goddess. 

Right now I'm sitting on my balcony listening to my neighbors argue.  Not that I'm "listening" but its hard to ignore.  One of the best parts of the Velcro and my relationship is our ability to talk to each other.  I know that my clamming up has been the demise of most of my past relationships.  I've gotten old enough and smart enough now to recognize patterns.  It came up while we talked on the balcony one night this week, that I question why it's "shaming" to have had several substantial relationships that didn't work out.  And in the same breath no one shames people for over staying an unhappy marriage by 25 years.  Why do/should I feel bad that when things started going the wrong direction I choose to move on.  Is that not fate's way of getting you to the right place at the right time?  You have to wonder how many people are missing out on their true destination because they are doing what we've been raised to think is right.  Rules are bullshit...and living by imaginary ones has never been in my cards.  

"No matter where you are in life right now.  No matter who you are.  No matter how old you are...It's never too late to be who you are meant to be."  Jerry & Ester Hicks

Is This The Edge Or The Middle Of The Road?

"We should all start to live before we get too old.  Fear is stupid.  So are regrets." - Marilyn Monroe

Some how I turned 40.  I've been asked if it bothered me....and my answer was no.  Truth be told I half expected it to but it was just like any other day, except everybody made a big deal over me.  I am, however, the person who jumped out of a plane at 14,000ft free falling at over 100mph only to land and think that it was short of  any thrill factor.  I sit in the middle of the row when it comes to being excitable or up settable.  Since our kayaking venture in the mangroves one has arrived here for us to spend our summer on.  Its a tandem, which is a first for me but my 5th kayak to date...Velcro's 1st. When it arrived I realized, like I some times do, that I tend to do and have done more than most when it comes to adventurous and outdoorsy stuff...although it doesn't seem like living on the edge to me, just normal.  I rappelled a 100ft cliff...climbed the side of mountains trusting a rope a carabiner and someone I barely knew.  Free bouldered rocks relying only on my fingertips and toes and shear determination.  Saw 169ft of the Bimini Wall with thousands of feet of ocean below me.  Sat on the ocean floor taking pictures of sharks being fed just feet away from me.  Para sailed...did a body building competition...fished 60 miles from shore when I couldn't even guess which way land was....and now ride my own motorcycle only to be highly annoyed when I cross a state line and am forced to wear a helmet.  I guess its no surprise that I bore easily and have a tough time sitting still.

For my birthday Velcro took me back to the Keys.  We kayaked the mangroves again and he actually let me chase a crocodile until we were right beside it...so close that I couldn't paddle that side of the boat without wacking it.  It was a little guy which is probably the only reason he let me get us so close but awesome none the less.  I've mentioned before that the only form of history I give a shit about at all is that of the Keys, which leads one to think (one being me)I may have been there in a previous life...or something.  Some where in my early 20's I learned of the Atocha, the Spanish galleon treasure ship that sank somewhere between Marquesas and the Dry Tortugas in a hurricane in 1622.  If you don't know the story it was found by Mel Fisher's dive team in the 80's after he spent the better part of 20 years looking for it.  I can talk forever about such things and as easy to ignore as one of these rambling stories of mine could be, some months and months ago I told Velcro that I had always wanted a coin made from the silver they found on that wreck.  My unexcitable zen white peaceful self jumped up and down and squealed when my little birthday box was opened to my very own Atocha coin.  

My early 20's were spent diving and traveling and in general spending way more money than I made but living like there was no tomorrow.  Somewhere in my late 20's I got all serious about work and started taking all the things that don't matter way too seriously.  Accumulating stuff and in turn relating that to being successful. My early 30's brought on marriage and houses and cars and vacation homes and more and more stuff.  So much stuff that I never imagined being able to walk away from it.  But at 34 I did.  Still not done with trying to have stuff I bought another house and furnished it all the way.  Three and half weeks before my 35th birthday I watched a good man die before he was done living...and you know what all I've done since then.  Now at 40, I find myself having reverted back to my early 20's where material possessions mean nothing and I have little clue as to what I want to be when I grow up. These days our lives are planned around sunny days, tide charts, motorcycles, kayaks, boats, the balcony and trips to Florida.

Happiness is having something to look forward to and some one to take along for the ride...Yep, think I've got it covered.