“I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.” ― Dodie Smith

Florida is one of those odd places where spring starts in February and moves into summer by April, at the latest May, and it will remain summertime until November.
And by "summertime" I mean sunny over 90 degrees in heavy humidity (what is this thing you call "dry heat?") that has you sweating and exhausted even making a trek from the parking lot into the mall, yes, even if you are in shape. It's oppressive, peeps.

So far, the air is just now beginning to feel hot and thick.  Our pretty 70-80 degree weather is fading fast.  I was a dunce and missed most of the pretty blossoms (we do have plants that burst into bloom in February that are vaguely reminiscent of happenings up North . . . vaguely), but managed to catch some flowers that surprised me.

 Behold the little lilies that could! They made my heart happy!
After failing to catch my dozen azalea bushes in all their blooming glory (darn it!), I wasn't go to miss these little guys :]

Other things come with spring besides the heat and the buds: the bugs. They are swarming. The cockroaches are awake again, those vile demons from hell itself.  I found one trapped in my bedroom trashcan the other night.
"Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!!!!!!!"
"You need to be asleep!"
"I can't!!!"
"Why?"
"There's a roach in the trashcan! Kill it! Kill the bloody little assassin!"
"Sarah, go to sleep!"
"I can't! I can hear it scuttling around! It's evil! You can't sleep with evil in the room."
So I huddled with my dingo until Chris could squish it.

Then there's this guy:

Remember the Godfather Spider?
Yeah, he's back. 
His fat, bloated orangey, quarter-sized, ugly body perches itself on a MASSIVE web beside my door on almost a nightly basis. The web itself stretches about four feet from my house wall to a nearby bush and is wide enough to almost trap me for lunch. It's terrifying. Luckily, it's beside my door and not in front of it. Apparently, he remembers what happens when you put yourself in FRONT of my door (ANNIHILATION!!!). I allow his new arachnid-condominium to exist because he eats nasties, stays out of my way, and cleans up his web by morning.
He was there every night like clockwork for about two weeks, but his visits are becoming less and less frequent. Either he's found better hunting grounds or was killed by those less sympathetic to his web-wielding cause.

A few night's ago, Chris caught me having a conversation outside the door.
"Sarah, who are you talking to?"
"Do you see that wolf spider?" I pointed to a spindly creature the size of my palm near my step.
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to make sure we had an understanding. He can be there, but he can't come near my feet or in this house or else he will die a brutal death.  He seems to get the picture and let me come to the door without charging."
"Uuuuh . . . ok."

When I walked up to my step (it's not really big enough to justify being called a "porch") this beast was huddled by the wall, and I had to make a decision: flee, stay paralyzed and scream for Chris, attempt to squish it before it crawled onto my foot and then hope I can get his guts off of my favorite shoes, or let him know who's boss and go right up to my door. I chose the latter . . . but only after making severe threats and then darting to the door in a panic, one eye fixed on him from over my shoulder. He was a compliant little (er huge) bug . . . for a bug.

Sometimes, I have to talk through my fear . . . with my fear.  I don't make a habit of talking to bugs . . . usually I just kill them, but I can appreciate a good spider only in the context that they eat roaches. I'll take a hideous demon-eater over the demon any day.

Miscellany Monday

To Do 

After tonight, Lord willing, my after-school to-do list will be complete and my cleaning-out-the-apartment-to-get-ready-to-move and planning-middle-school-English-lesson plan lists can begin. Suddenly, that sounds like a lot of work. Hmm . . .

Moving On or Why Apartments Get Old Fast

There is nothing particularly nasty about our apartment. It's been a lovely "just married" nest. But it's time to go.

• Having no room for bookshelves, my boxed up books are screaming to be released. And my closet is wailing to have all the book boxes removed. So, you know, I can actually walk to the back of it and really hang my clothes up so they aren't just leaning against box mountains. You may say this is a sign of too many books, and in response I say "There's no such thing as too many books." All that to say, I'm looking forward to bookshelves. And more space. Period. 
• I also look forward to living without the paranoia that the neighbors hear everything. Including my early morning conversations with the cats. I've stopped singing all together because I don't want to irritate the neighbors. I can't jump around and dance because I might disturb the neighbors. I'm afraid to vacuum because it may be too early or too late for the neighbors. And those are the LEAST of my audio worries. Yikes. No one's complained, that we know of, but still . . . walls are only so thick . . . 
• Not having to walk across a parking lot and up stairs with tons of groceries. 
• No pet limitation. Now, before you think that I'm going crazy cat woman, no; our apartment complex has a two furball limitation. Meaning, with our two cats, a pup is just not an option here. There, it will be. And we are so excited. Oh please, Lord, let it be a good dog and not a furry case of chaos. Please please PLEEEEEEEEAAAAAASE.
• Having a yard with flowers and a private dirt road for walking/running will be splendid. Here, if I run, it's in a tiny gym that may or may not be open or the single treadmill or elliptical occupied. Plant-wise? We have a potted bamboo plant that also serves as a cat chew toy. We wish it didn't.
  But my First Grade classroom parents just sent me home with this:

Favorite Flower. And WOW. LOVE!!!

The interesting thing with moving to "the cottage" is that the current renter can't find anything nice to say about it (the bugs, the water, the tile, the appliances . . . the list goes on). But the renter before her can't find anything bad to say about it--she says it was the most wonderful place ever and she and her family absolutely adored it. I think it has everything to do with attitude and very little with the 29-year-old cottage in the woods. At least that's what I'm hoping.

Where Flowers Bloom . . . 

Speaking of gardening and plants, we had a cookout at my parents, so I decided to take some snaps of Mum's flowers. She has butterfly gardens in the back and front yards, and I just love them. This is the time of year when everything is blooming and fabulous. No color editing on these because, really, God's artistic efforts are flawless.
 

 

Turtle Tale

Later this afternoon, the boys visiting and my baby sisters found a Gopher Tortoise. You can imagine the great excitement that ensued. That poor turtle.

No, we didn't hurt the turtle. It didn't even seem too upset.
Eager to escape, yes, but I don't think it was having a heart attack.
At least, I hope it wasn't.

Still how fun is this? And how CUTE is that tortoise?

Run little turtle! Run!
P.S. That little tail? Love. So awkwardly adorable

Can you find the turtle?

Another fun creature. Chris caught the shot of this skink and was pretty proud :]