Hayseed at the Beach

In August, Miami moves from being the seventh circle of hell to the second. The only reason it isn’t first is because I’m told the heat in hell is a dry heat, not the humid variety that we here in the tropics enjoy. How appropriate that a break from the heat would come in the form of a tropical storm.

We were told to prepare for Tropical Storm/Possibly Hurricane Faye. A newbie to such weather, I obeyed. We brought the lawn furniture inside to the living room (no room in the garage). We dragged in all the potted plants. We cleaned out the garage so we could temporarily park a car in there. In order to extract myself, I had to crawl out the back because our garage isn’t wide enough to both hold the car and allow one to open the door of said vehicle. We dutifully removed anything in our yard that Mother Nature could use as a projectile. Yes, I noticed that none of our neighbors were doing the same. I figured these were the same folks who shrugged at Hurricanes Katrina, Rita, and Wilma and paid the price.

I volunteered to babysit a few of my daughter’s friends, because although schools closed, Corporate America didn’t see the need. This time Corporate America was right. The eleven year old Florida natives smirked when they saw my lawn chairs piled in the foyer. One gently remarked, “Er, Mrs. Anderson? It’s not even a category one hurricane. We aren’t in the cone. We aren’t even on the dirty side.”

Cone? Dirty side? Well kid, while living in Peoria I didn’t always flee to my basement during tornado warnings. The fact that I survived untouched doesn’t mean that was a wise choice. Of course, the tweens were right. As it turns out, tropical storm and hurricane forecasting is far from an exact science. There are many possible outcomes, the storm may organize itself into a hurricane at anytime, change direction, pick up speed and head straight for my house, only to make a hard left at the last minute, pick up even more speed, and clobber Tampa instead. I could pack up and drive to Orlando in an attempt to avoid the entire mess, only to end up driving directly into the heart of the storm. We have friends who responsibly evacuated Miami during Hurricane Andrew, the only problem was that they fled to Homestead which was unexpectedly flattened.

In this situation, it was hard to know if I was joining the paranoid or just taking sound precautions. I didn’t see anyone else removing lawn ornaments, and yet there were no milk or eggs left at the grocery store. In fact, fearing that power would be lost, the grocery store in our neighborhood closed.

In the end, Faye ended dumping a lot of rain on us. They tell me the rain is badly needed because Miami is suffering from a drought. It’s hard to wrap my brain around that fact with all the moisture in the air. Seriously, if you leave a damp towel outside it will grow spores of mold that very day. Faye’s wind didn’t so much as cause a palm frond to fall, let alone damage a limb or a branch. For a few moments it looked as if our swimming pool might overflow. On the other hand, Cuba and Haiti were not as lucky.

What did I learn from this experience? Better safe than sorry? Paranoia self destroya? When in Rome -or Miami- do as the locals do? Not exactly. Frankly, the only thing I know for sure is that warm rain is very odd.

When I tell people in Miami I moved here from Peoria they typically reply, “Aren’t you so glad to be living in Miami? Don’t you love it here?” The only honest and somewhat positive answer I can give to this questions is, “Er, it’s okay.” At first, I thought that Miami folks envisioned Peoria as being far more rural than it actually is, and thus the strong negative reaction. The negative reaction has nothing to do with Peoria’s size, or any characteristic except the weather. I have never met so many people who hate the cold. At least they think they hate the cold, many have little to no experience with it. I have encountered quite a few grown adults who have never seen snow first hand. No, not just recent Cuban immigrants, but twenty, thirty and forty somethings who were born and raised in this country. People avoid the cold like your average Peorian avoids a tornado. What I find amazing is that these people endure far worse hardships than freezing temperatures by avoiding them. For example, I live four miles from my kid’s school. Four miles. If we exit the house by 7:00 a.m., a full hour before the first bell, we have a stop and go commute of “only” an half hour. Leave the house after 7:00, say 7:15, we then have a stressful, cursing, honking, stop and very rarely go, brake slamming, turn-signals-are-for-the-weak-why-in-the-hell-did-we-ever-agree-to-come-here commute of forty-five minutes. On such mornings, I fondly daydream about those cold January mornings in Peoria and the crisp chill I endured all the way from my house to my car.

When I met my neighbor he exclaimed, “Oh, wow! Illinois! How did you live through those winters? You must love Miami!” He asked me this in September as we stood on my front lawn. We both had sweat running down our faces. We were both swatting mosquitoes a rate of a one hard slap to one’s own skin per second. I wish I had the heart to tell him that if you wear parka you can insulate yourself from the cold. Step outside in Miami anytime from June through September and you will be hot, sticky, and every insect’s dream dinner regardless of what precaution or preparation you take. Insects around here are prehistoric and on steroids. Bug sprays have little effect. My bug bitten legs look as though someone has been extinguishing cigarettes on them. I wish that was a humorous exaggeration, it’s not. I currently reside in the tropics, but I don’t see myself ever wearing shorts in public ever again.

Before I lived in Peoria, I resided in Chicago, before that San Diego, New York, and Colorado. I thought I knew expensive. In Peoria, a $250,000 mortgage will buy you 2,500 square foot, four bedroom home, with a three car garage and three quarters of an acre, and that’s if you’re like me and overpay. We moved from Chicago, it seemed like a bargain at the time. Currently I live in a 1,500 square foot,1950s characterless ranch home with a one car garage that few modern day cars will fit in. I do have a pool -slightly bigger than your bathtub- and a backyard slightly larger than a postage stamp. All this luxury for a mere $1.1 million dollars. You wouldn’t believe the property taxes. No, I can’t afford the mortgage. The financing of our home is done with smoke and mirrors and a hefty dose of denial. I used to happily pay all of the bills. Now it gives me chest pains. My husband has to do it.

The expense does not stop at housing. When I left Peoria two long years ago, milk was $2.69 a gallon at Schnucks. I currently pay $5.49 a gallon at my neighborhood Publix. Our grocery bills have more than tripled since moving here. Again, financing thoughtfully provided by denial.

I could weigh you down with more Miami woes, but I’m not attempting to gain your pity. My point is, I don’t think most Peorians know how good they have it. A married couple, both who make their living as public school teachers, can own a nice home in a very decent neighborhood in Peoria. In Miami, fat chance. A five or ten minute commute time in Peoria… standard. Such a commute is almost unheard of in Miami.

I thought I would never allow my kids to attend any school that was not public. I am the daughter of a retired public school teacher. I was raised to believe that any shortcoming at a public school could be easily cured by sending a child who was eager and prepared to learn. Private schools were for snobs. That said, I would not send my dog to a Miami Dade public school. Lockdowns are a weekly occurence here. Overcrowding and temp buildings standard. Both of my children attend private schools. I won’t bemoan the cost, but tuition at Peoria Academy is bargain basement Walmart clearance table cheap in comparison. Please don’t misunderstand me. District 150 has problems. Big ones.

The mere idea of cutting 45 minutes out the school day is lunacy. Cutting 45 minutes out of the school day while approving back raises for administrators is criminal. Stating that the 45 minute cut will be compensated for by some collective genius planning period by teachers is an insult to teachers, parents, and most importantly, students. Peoria’s shortcomings are not dire. However, cutting the school day by 45 minutes is a dire over reaction to a $800,000 shortfall.