Judy Hill Online

the little prince, chico's, addictions and more ...

Judy Hill — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 14:28:00 GMT

The Little Prince, a k a John Michael, the eldest grandchild, got his regular drivers' license a couple of months back. He got a part-time job, too, at the Sports Fanatic at John's Pass. What he didn't get when he achieved the ripe old age of 16 was common sense.
So ... in the first couple of weeks of his solo driving career, he rear-ended someone in his father's car and a week or so later got a ticket for driving 24 mph over the speed limit.
I think the cop gave him a break and didn't charge him with driving 25 over the limit.
Anyway, after each incident, his parents did what parents are supposed to do: lectured him about responsibility, how awful he'd feel if he hurt someone else, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.
Then they sent him across the street to my house because they knew I'd call a spade a spade.
Actually, I called him Shit For Brains.
That he understood.
SFB withstanding, he and I have a wonderful relationship. He knows I know what's going on. And I know he's a 16-year-old with ranging hormones and an undeveloped brain. All he wants to do is propogate the species and slay the dragons. Too bad he - and all the rest of the 16-year-olds in the world - live in the 21st Century.

And now to another modern problem.
I work part-time at Chico's in BayWalk in downtown St. Petersburg.
I do it, I joke, to pander to my addiction to Chico's clothes.
My kids are amazed that I have lasted there for about five months. (Me, too) I've never had to be nice to people. I have chosen to be nice to people who are also nice. But when you work in retail telling some nasty woman to FO only gets you fired.
One came in the other day. She wasn't getting her catalog and she nagged and nagged and nagged. We can't do anything in the store but be sure her address is correct.

Anyway, she puffed herself up and said, "Do you know how much I spent when I was in here last year? $700."

I spend that in a month, I told her.
It's true. Or nearly.
Me working in Chico's is like an active alcoholic working in a bar.
I don't think it would be any different if I worked in Stein-Mart or Beall's or Macy's or Dillards.
My name is Judy and I'm a shopaholic.

What to do, what to do?

My buddy ...

Judy Hill — Mon, 12 May 2008 01:05:00 GMT

I'm having trouble writing about this. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've numbed myself to the pain and writing about it makes the pain inevitable.
It has been more than a week. I'd hoped by now that I'd no longer imagine that I hear the clank of the tags on his collar or see him out of the corner of my eye.
Or call out, "Hello, buddy," when I walk in the door, having forgotten what happend last week.
Of course, I can't really hear him. Or see him, either, except in the wonderful portrait of him that a dear friend had done for me for Christmas.
Saying hello is futile, as well.
Baxter is gone.
The house is still and empty. It's as if all the air has been sucked out.
It's hard to stay home, even harder to come home and not find him here.
I wrote a column a few years back when he wasn't doing well.
I wondered then if I'd know when it was time to say goodbye.
I knew. The time came all too soon. He was 14. A true gentleman to the end.
I have a hole in my heart.

Takin' a trip down memory lane

Judy Hill — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 14:41:00 GMT

Well, it wasn't all that dramatic. But I did drive to Tampa the other day to have lunch with sticks of fire guru Tommy Duncan.

We ate at Kojaks, one of Tampa's most renown eateries.
It's funky, fun. The food is good, too.
Most of all, it was delightful seeing Tommy.

The drive there was not without reverie and more than a little irritation, however.

The reverie was fun. Now that I don't have to make the drive from Northeast St. Petersburg to downtown Tampa unless I want to, I can enjoy the view. Even at noon on a Thursday, Brown Water Beach along the west side of Gandy Bridge was a popular spot. Lots of people and their dogs. I particularly love watching the dogs chase around in the water.

Note to beach-goers: Watch your step.

The irritation comes on the east side of Gandy.

If you haven't been on Gandy Boulevard in Tampa recently - particularly the area west of Lois - avoid it. Road construction makes the route no damn fun.

I did see a bumper sticker while stopped in traffic that made me laugh: "Smile," it commanded. "It confuses people."

Anyway, Tommy is great. A kind, funny, wise guy.

We talked about this and that and I promised, PROMISED to renew my contributions to sticks.

Now that I've taken the year off that I should have committed to in the first place, I'm feeling a little more "talkative" again.

So maybe I'll see you on sticks of fire.

Thinker ...

Judy Hill — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:26:00 GMT

OK. So I am going to start calling myself a writer and thinker. Will. I. Am, of the Black Eyed Peas, calls himself an artist and thinker. I like the idea that people think - and that thinking is something to be proud of. So ...

That I'm thinking about thinking may reflect all the thinking I've done in the year since I was axed by The Tampa Tribune.

I ran across the Will. I. Am "thinker" reference in the December 2007 issue of Vanity Fair. I'm a little behind on my reading since I've been doing all this thinking.

There's plenty to think about these days: the presidential race, the great depression of 2008, the skyrocketing cost of gas, milk and George W. Bush.

Bush is the most costly item. But Jan. 2009 is coming.

That's one of the things I've been thinking about. No, not Bush. I try very hard to ignore him. But whether I should reveal in a public venue my disdain for Bush.

Should I reveal anything in public at all any more?

It's been a year since my life as a columnist ended. Obviously, since my blog entries have been so sporadic, I'm not even sure I want to take the time to write anything any more.

There is life away from the computer. Kids, grandkids, volunteering, Chico's. So why am I at all drawn to expressing myself in public?

I'm not sure.

Ego maybe?

Stories that I'd love to share?

Maybe that too.

In any case, it's April 19, 2008. Baxter is still around; the cats are too. The Little Prince is driving. Even borrowing my car. The rest of the clan is thriving. Claire, the youngest, just turned 3.

I'm working part-time at Chico's - and it's costing me a fortune even though I get a discount.

The Chico's in BayWalk in downtown St. Petersburg is full of stuff I want to buy - and stories I'd love to share.

I bumped into Eli Weisel, the Nobel Peace Prize laureate, in Chico's. Yes, it's true.

He sat in the guy chair while is elegant wife shopped.

I met Roger Penske's wife in Chico's during the Grand Prix weekend.

Both women were gracious, friendly, warm considerate.

Unlike a few of the other women I've met.

They were pigs. Imperious, snide, bossy and so uncouth they left piles of clothes in their wake. Apparently they were born in barns - or thought themselves just too important to pick stuff up off the dressing room floor where they'd dumped it and hang it back on the hangar.

I've held my tongue.

So far.

Stay tuned.

Welcome 2008

Judy Hill — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 00:20:00 GMT

Two months since my last post and I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.
That 2007 is over is a great relief.
Considering what's going on in the rest of the world I'm in great shape. So I'm not complaining, mind you. Just still waiting, I guess, for the epiphany.
The only "message" I've received recently is that I should not have moved the ngamo erte. It now appears ddae.
If you're not up to word scramble so early in the morning or so early in the year, the ngamo erte is the mango tree the kids gave me for Christmas 2006. Since they couldn't wrap it and put it under the Frasier fir, they put Scrabble tiles in a box and wrapped that.
I never did figure out the scramble. A mango tree was not on my top 100 in terms of things I thought they'd give me. So I probably could have stared at those tiles for 100 years and not interpreted the letters correctly.
Besides, the grandkids couldn't stand the suspense and after about two minutes, spelled it out for me.
Anyway, I had the tree planted in a spot it did not like. So about two weeks ago I had it moved.
It didn't much like the actualy transfer and it apparently hated the recently cold spell.
That it appears ddae means, of course, that it looks as if it's gone to mango tree heaven.
I'll give it a few weeks to revive. Should I give it longer? If you know, let me know.
I don't want to turn it into iinkdlng.

Stranger in a strange land

Judy Hill — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 16:40:00 GMT

With apologies to Robert Heinlein for the headline, I'm sorry I haven't been around for more than a week. But my godaddy.com Web hosting account (Aren't you impressed that I know what a Web hosting account is and that I have one?) was a no go for a few days. Talk about a stranger in a strange land.
On another topic that also leaves me dazed and confused, I wanted to share a column I wrote for the St. Petersburg Times that ran in LifeTimesOct. 30.
If you have any ideas, observations, contributions, comments, you can e-mail me at JudyHill@JudyHillOnline.com, or, preferably, Bob Jenkins, the LifeTimes editor, at BJenkins@sptimes.com. Put coping with retirement in the subject line.

My career ended with a whimper.

No gold watch. No plaque.

Just, "Your position has been eliminated."

Five words ended a relationship that had lasted just months short of 20 years.

I had become a victim of the changing face of the newspaper business.

Fortunately, I could retire.

Until that moment earlier this year, retirement had seemed a distant mirage, one that offered the blissful absence of a job that had lost its allure.

As I left the Tampa Tribune building after being laid off, the relief was overwhelming.

The fact that retirement also came with new challenges and opportunities didn't occur to me until a few weeks later.

Whoa!

Even while yearning for retirement, I had not done one thing - financially, emotionally or psychologically - for the day my traditional work life ended.

The reality of life without a 9-to-5 framework - and without the comfortable paycheck - was somewhat sobering, particularly when I came to realize that I had subconsciously foiled any of my own feeble attempts to prepare for retirement as the day neared.

Was it denial? An inability to concede my age? The fear that after years of having my picture in the newspaper the absence of that public face would translate into a loss of identity? Or was it plain stupidity?

Probably all of the above.

In any case, six months into my new life, I'm still trying to figure out what to do and how to do it. The epiphany that I must have thought would enlighten me never struck.

The U.S. Census Bureau estimates that about 6,000 Americans turn 65 every day. Many of them have already retired or are planning to do so soon.

I just turned 66 this month, so I'm in good company.

Where am I?

But I feel disoriented. Without focus.

Is this common? What do you do about it?

What do you do about the subconscious mandate to "get things done" that still frames each day?

Will that ever go away? Should it?

Even with that little bit of conscience nagging at me, the garage is still a mess, the quilts are still unmade, the office a disaster area, and I've played 10,000 games of free cell solitaire on the computer.

All the things I had delayed until the day I "had time" to do them are taunting me now. I do have the time - but no motivation.

Yes, I know. I'm supposed to volunteer or go back to school or take a cruise or join the Peace Corps.

After all, it's Dennis Hopper, of Easy Rider fame, telling me on behalf of a company that sells financial instruments that modern retirement has nothing to do with withdrawing from the world.

Still, I have no passion to do much of anything.

Maybe I need more Zoloft. Or more to do.

Yes, I've visited the Web sites giving advice, information, direction:

I could play bridge, go to swing dances, learn a foreign language.

Taking Up Time

Actually, it isn't as if I do nothing. I have a part-time position as the community liaison for the Animal Coalition of Tampa, a small nonprofit group that operates a low-cost spay/neuter clinic in Tampa.

Freelance writing takes up some time, as well, as does a blog of my own and contributions to the area blog, Sticks of Fire.

There are also three children, their spouses and five grandchildren whose lives I am privileged to be part of.

I'm not whining. I have a great deal to be thankful for, including a severance package, a pension, Social Security, Medicare. I have affordable retiree health benefits with prescription drug coverage.

Money may be a problem down the road. Now, things are manageable.

I am able to pay the mortgage, property taxes and homeowners and flood insurance for my little 1,200-square-foot house on a canal in northeast St. Petersburg.

And I pared down many household expenses when I was laid off: I cut out the cleaning service. I significantly reduced the expense of cable, Internet Service Provider and telephone by opting to have one company provide all three.

I axed most of the premium cable channels, and most magazine subscriptions were allowed to lapse as well. Premium coffee became history, too. And the prescriptions are filled, when possible, with generic drugs.

Even so, the impact of reality - financial and otherwise - is dizzying.

It's as if after a great deal of anticipation and a long, long trip, I've ended up in a foreign country where I don't know the language, the customs, the culture or the currency.

What works for you?

My situation may be considered a cautionary tale for those of you who still have time to prepare for the changes that accompany retirement.

For those at the same stop as mine along life's highway, I'm sure my story is not so different from yours.

I can't be the only one having trouble coping with something I looked forward to all my work life. If I am, please let me know how to become a more successful retiree.

If I'm not, let's talk about how to add some luster to the so-called Golden Years. The St. Petersburg Times' Life Times section is providing an opportunity for a conversation about retirement. This column is an introduction and an invitation for you to share your experiences, your mistakes, your successes.

Tell us how you have managed - or failed - to conquer the new world.

No cammo? What's up with that?????

Judy Hill — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 15:08:00 GMT

There I was Saturday morning reading "Florida's Best Newspaper" when I was confronted with ugly news.
"Damn," I said to Baxter the dog.
"DAMN!"
My beloved camouflage pants and my cammo shirt are gauche, trashy, low-class trendy, says "Florida's Best Newspaper," which went on to say I should can my favorite pants and shirt.
My slinky Chico's gauchos, too.
"DOUBLE DAMN!!!!!"
Thank God I don't have any of those short sweater-shrugs or a cammo visor or rubber thong heels that writer Sharon Fink says should also be relegated to the garbage can, or I'd really be bummed.
I'm not sure why I'm so outraged. I've never been accused of being fashionable although I buy a lot of clothes. My idea of being chic is that there should be no visible stains, no missing buttons and no split seams or sagging hems.
Beyond that I buy what I like, wear what I like - and usually don't pay a lot of attention to fashionistas who try to tell me what's in or what's out.
So what's up with my visceral reaction to the banishment of cammo?
If the indictment of cammo was that old ladies like me shouldn't wear it because it's too young, I wouldn't be so pissed. (Of course, I would pay no attention to that admonishment, either.)
Maybe I just don't want to be considered, well, so common.
If cammo is common, it means I have to give up my cammo Crocs, too.

Stride over - now back to normal

Judy Hill — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 14:56:00 GMT

Stride for Strays, the Animal Coalition of Tampa's major annual fundraiser, is over. The event last Saturday featuring the Johnny G Lyon Band, 26 teams of walkers and 30 vendors, raised about $42,000. Hundreds of folks showed up to Al Lopez Parkdespite horrendous traffic at nearby Raymond James Stadium due to the USF Bulls football game at noon.

Special thanks - and great admiration - to Linda Hamilton, executive director of the coalition and its low-cost spay/neuter clinic, who works tirelessly towards making Hillsborough County a humane community, one in which no companion animals are euthanized because they have no home.

ACT employees and volunteers went far above and beyond the call of duty to help at Stride. They arrived at the park as early as 3 a.m. to set up tables, get food ready to sell, made coffee and staffed the registration table.

I'd been to the event in years' past as a guest. But now that I'm working with the coalition I learned first-hand this year that the event is a lot of work, but a lot of fun, as well.

Rock on

Judy Hill — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 14:32:00 GMT

OK. So I'm in Publix with a short grocery list.

I take a gander at the Monday crowd, which is relatively new to me since Mondays were not shopping days until I was recently released from Camp Tribune for time served.

It's a mixed group of shoppers including the usual folks walking around with blue tooth phone thingies in their ears, talking to themselves - or so it seems.

Other people sans blue tooth talk on their cell phones as they stroll down the aisles driving the basket with only one hand instead of two.

I sniff to myself. I wouldn't do that. It's rude, particularly in the check-out line. Dangerous, too, when some mom with one of those huge car-carts filled with kids is trying to navigate around corners and other shoppers while yelling at the kids and talking on the cell phone all at the same time.

Anyway, I continue my quest for half-and-half, eggs, yogurt, Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches (I take statins, so I can indulge), paper plates and "Cooking Light" magazine.

As I head around into the frozen food aisle, I notice some old dude looking at me.

I'm relatively clean with only a tiny coffee stain or two on my shirt. I surreptitiously check the zipper on my jeans (it's zipped) and my nose for boogers (none that I can feel).

So what's this guy looking at, I wonder.

Then it dawns on me.
While I'm sniffing in disgust at the cell phone users, I'm rocking down the aisles. Not skipping, mind you. Just sort of dancing - you know, doing the head bob and the shoulder shrug.

It's impossible NOT to do that when U2 is blaring "Bloody Sunday" in your ears.

Damn iPod makes it hard to feel superior to the tech-addicts these days.

I must be living in an alternate universe

Judy Hill — Thu, 04 Oct 2007 20:22:00 GMT

My horoscope the other day promised that the sun was finally in my house (whatever that means) and that for the next few months things will be rosy in my life.
Since 2007 has, so far, been kind of a bummer - the job loss, the dog with chronic diahrrea, the revelation that my cheap junky watches turn my wrist green - I was reassured. Relieved even. After all, who can argue with astrology?
Then ... and you knew this was coming ... Then my just-three-year-old air conditioner's whatchamacallit's thingamabob sprang a leak and allowed Freon to waft up into the already depleted ozone layer - Freon that my Carrier air conditioner needs to cool my tiny little house. Without Freon, the air conditioner blows air but not COOL air. By the time I called Larry, the air conditioner guy, it was 84 degrees inside.
Larry, the air conditioner guy, understood my angst and in a span of just three hours found replacement parts and installed them.
There was a but, though. A big BUT.
Turns out, the warranty on my Carrier air conditioner doesn't cover the whatchamacallit's thingamabob - just the whatchamacallit, thingamabob attached.
If I wanted to replace only the thingamabob, the part would cost $600. The whatchamacallit AND the thingamabob cost about $1,000. So it was penny wise and pound foolish - not that I care about money in the least - to replace the thingamabob without replacing the whatchamacallit, as well, which is what Larry did.
I haven't yet gotten the bill.
Well, whatever it is it will just have to go on the card on which I charge all of Baxter's vet bills. A visit on Tuesday cost $386. That's the fourth or fifth pricey trip to the vet in the last couple of months.
But this morning, as I drove to the Animal Coalition in Tampa, I thought about how lucky I am. I have a card on which to charge all this stuff, the air conditioner is now working, my horoscope says life is going to be all thumb's up for the next little while, at least - and Baxter no longer has diarrhea.
I enjoyed this smug high until I got home.
Then ... and you knew this was coming ... I discovered Baxter's bad poopies are back.
At least the air conditioner still works - at least for the time being.

Legs and toes and angels - oh, my!

Judy Hill — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 13:55:00 GMT

It was probably not the best way to explain how excited I was the other night to visit with the Women's Guild at Nativity Catholic Church in Brandon.
The topic of the gathering - a tea party, with hats and gloves and tea sandwiches - was, not surprisingly, Hats Off to Women.
The guild is trying to expand its membership - tough in these times when many women work. But about 130 women attended, and most were adorable in "tea" appropriate outfits and chapeaus the likes of which I hadn't seen since a Red Hat luncheon at University Village in Tampa a few years ago.
I was at Nativity as the guest speaker and was supposed to have talked about women who make a difference.
There's a bunch of such women gracing the Tampa Bay area. I had a list a mile long.
Sister Claire LeBouef, of the Village of Everyday Blessing. Connie Sikkema, of Mesiah Lutheran Church's migrant ministries program. Guadalupe Lamas, who brings health services to migrant women.
Unfortunately, I only got as far as Lamas before ending up babbling on about heaven knows what.
Anyway, my opening remark was, "I was so excited about coming here tonight that I shaved my legs."
That got a laugh. Leg shaving is a drag.
I also mentioned that for the first time in my life I had a pedicure not long ago. It was so, I don't know, indolent, self-indulgent, expensive - and divine.
That also got a laugh.
Women like humor that speaks to them.
A bra column I did on the blog awhile back has had more hits than almost any other post.
One of the women at Nativity - many of whom flattered me by saying how much they missed my column in the Tampa Tribune - said she particularly loved the column I did about my favorite lipstick color being eliminated by the cosmetic company.
Another said that she loved the columns about my grandchildren.
"You were real," she said.
Yes. I still am. Now you just have to find me here.
Spread the word.

Where does the time go?

Judy Hill — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 14:30:00 GMT

For all of you who have inquired, Baxter is OK. We're just taking things day by day. After all, in doggy years he's 98. I'm grateful for any time I have with him. So we're doing a lot of cuddling.
When I'm not cuddling Baxter, I'm working on the Animal Coalition's Stride for Strays, which is coming up Oct. 13 from 9 a.m. to noon at Al Lopez Park in Tampa. I hope you all come out and visit. I'll be there, as will Dick Crippen, now of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, who is so famous he has his own entry on Wikipedia. Some other area notables will be there, as well.
Entertainment will be provided by the extremely popular Johnny G Lyon Band.
Bring a few dollars and your dog if you can. It's a whole lot of fun.
The money raised supports ACT's low-cost spay/neuter clinic in Tampa. We need all the help we can get. You've heard this before from me, but I'll say it again. About 44,000 companion animals were euthanized in Hillsborough and Pinellas counties last year. It has been proven in other communities that the availability of low-cost spay and neuter can reduce those numbers.
Oh, yes. And this week I'm attempting to herd two teenage boys. My oldest son and his wife are in Nashville celebrating their 20th anniversary. Where did all that time go?
Anyway, I'm supposed to be in charge of the Little Prince and the Laid Back Guy. That's a laugh.
All I do is schlep them to the bus stop, to soccer, to church ... And then there are the older girls, the Fashion Icon and The Woman Who Would Be President. I schlep them around, too.
To soccer. From soccer. To Study Buddy, from Studdy Buddy.
How do modern parents do it?

Contradictions

Judy Hill — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 14:53:00 GMT

A friend forwarded me one of those ubiquitous e-mail messages that multiply like bacteria and exceed the speed of light as they go around the world: a video link to a performance by the recently deceased Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti singing one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written, Nessun Dorma by Puccini.
Thank God she did.
I opened the message and played it over and over. I needed a shower of beauty after hours of contemplation about the allegations against - and suicide of - St. Petersburg City Council Chair John Bryan.
To be fair, all Bryan apparently admitted in a family court hearing Friday morning was that he had a sexual relationship with a "nanny" who turned 18 before he bedded her many years ago. This "nanny" was also, apparently, an adopted daughter.
The allegations against him also include charges that he sexually abused his two teenage adopted daughters, 12 and 15.
A judge ordered him to leave his home - neighbors said Bryan had told them he and his wife were getting a divorce - and stay away from his wife and daughters, but there is no official confirmation of those charges.
Even so, I am outraged at Bryan.
I know his wife. Maybe that's what makes this all so devastating. I've known her since she was a teen who played football on my front yard with my own kids, raided my refrigerator for drinks and snacks. She grew into a wonderful, accomplished, dignified woman who must be grief-stricken, mortified, humiliated, stunned.
And only God knows how those girls, if there was sexual impropriety, will survive.
Bryan was not a teenager with no moral compass. He was a grown man who, if he did something so base, should have known the consequences. That perhaps explains his suicide. But his death also prevents him from defending himself against the charges - which leads one to believe, perhaps unfairly, that something rotten was going on.
That's what brings me to the existential contradiction: how can humans create something so beautiful, so exquisite, so inspirational that it can bring you to tears, while also being capable of behavior as base and ugly and unforgivable as the sexual abuse of children?
Maybe the answer is that Nessun Dorma or Michaelangelo's David or any piece of art or literature or music that can make us weep, exalt and reach for goodness and purity is what allows us to tolerate all the ugliness in life.

Cranky ...

Judy Hill — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 17:08:00 GMT

I've been that for awhile.
Retirement is disorienting. What the hell do I do with all this time I have now? How do I force myself to do things that need to be done? How do I find some direction?
The worst thing is my dog, Baxter, is sick.
He's at least 14 and has arthritis of the spine. All the pain medications he's been on just tear his stomach up and he's been in and out of the doggy hospital four or five times in the past couple of months.
I had to rush him there again today. This time it wasn't just his usual diarrhea - sorry to gross you out - but blood, too.
I didn't want to leave him. He didn't want me to leave. He stood by my side as the vet tech tried to cajole him into going into the back. Finally, he went with her.
I cried when I left. This isn't good.
He's been a great friend. Always there for me. Never questions anything. Just wags his tail when he sees me and can't wait to jump in bed at naptime and at night so we can cuddle.
He has me trained. I know when he licks his lips he's hungry or wants a treat.
I've cooked for him for years. Rice, mixed vegetables, ground turkey.
Both my sons whine.
"You don't cook for us anymore, but you cook for the dog!"
That's right.
He's my guy.
What am I going to do without him?
Even if he comes home this time and we limp along for awhile, I know it's going to happen sooner or later.
But even later will be far too soon.

Deja vu all over again

Judy Hill — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 00:17:00 GMT

Seeing my byline in the St. Petersburg Times Tuesday was a hoot.
In another life I used to work there. When I left I never thought I'd see my name in the Times again except in an obituary.
But life's journey takes many twists and turns. Sometimes it even comes full circle.
Come next month I'll be contributing regularly to LifeTimes, the Times' monthly section for readers over 50. I'm really looking forward to reconnecting with many of you.
My blog is fun. So is Sticks of Fire. So, while the platform is somewhat different than before, it still exists.
The great family news is that all five grands (see below) are now in school.

From left to right, they are: The Woman Who Would Be President, The Adorable Bossy One, The Fashion Icon and the Little Prince. The Laid Back Guy is behind the Adorable Bossy One.

The Little Prince is a sophomore in the International Baccalaureate program at St. Pete High.
The Woman Who Would Be President is a freshman at St. Petersburg Catholic High in the honors program.
The Fashion Icon is now the only Di Vito at St. Paul School, which is a very good thing when you're older sister is absolutely driven to excel and succeed and you've lived in her shadow for many years.
The Laid Back Guy has segued from private to public school. He's in the magnet program at BayPoint Middle School in St. Pete - the very same school his Uncle Russell attended.
And speaking of Uncle Russell, his daughter, The Adorable Bossy One, started pre-pre-kindergarten Monday.
The first day didn't go well.
She puked.

Anyone missing an iguana?

Judy Hill — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 00:57:00 GMT

The phone rang.
"Judy, it's Ann. There's an iguana in your son's back yard."
Huh?
"An iguana."
Ohhhh. I wanna see. I'll be right over.
I was thinking something big. Not Monitor Lizard size, but dog-size at least - and they do get that big, according to Wikipedia.
My son and his family live across the street from me, so Ann's call was not surprising.
I went into Ann's back yard, rather than my son's.
If it was a dog-sized iguana, I wanted to look, but not touch.
Lizards I can deal with. Catch them in the house and toss them outside so Lilly, the Great Hunter, won't kill them.
But not a dog-size iguana.
Ann stood in her back yard with a broom in her hand.
She was ready, she said, to fight off the beast.
Where is it?
She pointed to my son's dock. "Over there."
I looked.
Where?
"OVER THERE!"
I looked again but still saw no beast.
From the way she talked on the phone, I thought the iguana was at least eating the orchids or attacking the screened porch.
But I still couldn't see him - or her.
Where?
OVER THERE UNDER THE PADDLE BOAT.
Ah. There was the beast.
His - or her - bright green head peeked out from underneath the overturned paddle boat.
He - or she - must have sensed we were looking at her - or him.
He - or she - crawled out from under the boat and trotted down the sea wall to another neighbor's house.
The beast was hardly a creature to fear - at least individually.
It was a little bigger than the one in the photo above. But not much.
It will grow, however.
And given that the green iguana has become an invasive species in Florida - particularly along the gulf coast including in Pinellas County - he - or she - will multiply.
Great - another destructive invasive species.
Too bad they don't eat punk trees or Brazillian pepper.

Bless Sharon Taylor

Judy Hill — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 01:28:00 GMT

She more than holds her own on AM Tampa Bay, the popular morning show on News Radio 970 WFLA featuring Jack Harris and Tedd Web.
In fact, Taylor is the wise voice of the news from 5 to 9 a.m.
That great voice is also the lead in the hot local band, Sharon and the Boys.
Taylor is also one of the kindest folks in the Bay area.
She did a blog item updating folks on what Bob Ross and I are doing since being canned by the Tampa Tribune in April.
Bob, of course, easily shifted his thoughtful, entertaining movie reviews from print to online at Bob Ross Movies.
And I'm blogging on Sticks of Fire, working for the Animal Coalition of Tampa, freelancing for the St. Petersburg Timesand blogging a bit here.
Thanks, Sharon, for the plug.

You'd think I'd learn

Judy Hill — Thu, 09 Aug 2007 23:58:00 GMT

I ALWAYS fall for the wipes. Clorox wipes. Lysol wipes. Mr. Clean wipes.
It's the coupons - and a longing for truth in advertising - that gets me.
Of course, when I get them home they ALWAYS disappoint. They don't do much more than a wet paper towel despite all the promises.
So why don't I learn?
Getting a "deal" is what sucks me in.
OOOOOHHHHH. $1 off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Of course, that the stuff costs about 10 times more than paper towels doesn't seem to disuade me.
The compulstion to take advantage of the "deal" also sucks me in when I'm shopping for clothes, which seems to be all of the time these days.
OOOOOHHHHHH. 50 PERCENT OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Plus my coupon for $20 off, plus my Passport discount of 5 percent off my entire order, plus the 10 percent off the entire order when I buy a $70 pair of jeans.
How can anyone resist?
I can't.
So an untellable dollar later - my kids will kill me if they found out; they fear they're going to have to support me one day - I walk out of my favorite store, Chico's of course, and add the results of yet another financial coup to my closet.
There's always a black cloud to go with that silver lining, however.
I get confused trying to decide what I'm going to wear, so I always grab for the same outfit unless I'm going out - the same old ratty camoflage pants and green shirt.
Yes, you'd think I'd learn.

Pardon my trash mouth

Judy Hill — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 01:06:00 GMT

I do apologize to anyone who was offended by my expletives undeleted in the post about fireworks the other day. I have to remember that most people have not worked in a newsroom for 30 years.

That's not an excuse, I know. But newsrooms are - or were - places where salty language was common. So there wasn't much motivation to clean up my potty mouth, which tends to run like bad toilet when I'm angry.

Upon reflection, it wasn't smart, sensitive or courteous of me of me to use language that might offend in a column about people who lack courtesy.

My bad.

Cut it out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Judy Hill — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 01:38:00 GMT

I'm sitting here, pissed.
There's an asshole in my neighborhood (pardon the expletives that I have chosen NOT to delete) who thinks it's fun to set off firecrackers.
The problem with firecrackers - in addition to the fact that they're against Florida law unless used in agriculture - is that dogs, cats and a whole lot of humans don't find them entertaining or amusing.
They're bad enough on July 4th. But on Aug. 3 at nearly 10 p.m., they indicate a complete lack of common courtesy on the part of whatever asshole is setting them off.
I can't help but jump to the conclusion that the assholes setting off the firecrackers are the same assholes who speed by my house.
I guess I'm just getting crotchety in my old age. But I'd like to go down there and ring his neck.
Am I over-reacting?