Is it wheelie Wednesday?

Everyday is the same being a lady of leisure. I'm waiting on my papers to allow me to work here and trying hard to keep busy. My usual routine of morning treadmill running has been kicked to the curb while I rest an injured foot, so to avoid being a total lazy arse I decided to take the mountain bike for a spin to the shops, the long way round.

Where we are here in Jacksonville is actually a great spot as there are loads of nature preserves within walking or cycling distance.

William Sheffield Regional Park is on the way to the local Publix store. There’s a shortcut through a nearby estate over a wooden bridge which then leads on to a beautiful shady trail and loops around one of two lakes there. Lake Dumont is the bigger lake and I’m told, although yet to be convinced, that there are no alligators there. It does look very inviting I have to say. Not chancing it today either so on I cycled over the tree stumps, avoiding some soft sand in places, halting for the deer or wild pig, listening to the birds singing from the tall pines, the rustling in the woods, and watching out for spider webs and snakes. Its an eventful but enjoyable ride.

Sweaty and red faced I stopped off at Publix to do a small shop. I barely recognise myself. I’m shopping for fucking flour and baking powder to make buns… yes, buns!!!

Loading up the backpack with baking supplies I cycled back a different loop to get home. At 8 miles I decided to extend the cycle and went up another road I often walk the dogs in the morning.

All going great until I passed a gateway and heard a dog barking, realising the gate was open I turned around and there he was, a huge black Pitbull closing in on me. GO HOME, GO HOME, GO HOME!!!!

Florida dogs don’t understand an Irish accent I guess because he did not GO HOME. My yells caught the owner’s attention. “He’s just a puppy” he said as he approached with a not so concealed weapon. I don’t know whether I was now more afraid of the “puppy” or the owner but he turned out to be very friendly and we had a great chat while the puppy circled me and my shaking legs. Waving goodbye, he held the dog and I hopped on my bike and went back home to wifey duties.

All women are working women, some get paid, others make buns.

Walking in Florida ~

Eyes up. Watch out for giant spider webs. Brown recluse, waiting to give you a face scrub.

Dogs stop. Pee and sniff. Feet burning. Fire ants. Find water. The lake. Cool down feet. Alligator eyes. Back away.

Eyes down. Watch out for snakes. Too late. Dog bitten. Contact snake identification Facebook group. Venomous pigmy rattlesnake. Contact snake support Facebook group. Make way to vet.

Loose Pitbull, identifying as a golden retriever. Cross the road. Always a Pitbull.

Mosquitos. More bites. Nothing works. Nothing. Horse flies. Other flies. No idea.

Geckos, hitching a ride on dogs back.

Red admiral. Wow! Black racer snake. Fuck!

Hot. Sticky. Extreme weather warning message. Tornado.

Thunder bolt and lightning. Very, very frightening me. Mama Mia, let me go...

HOME!!!!

Busy ~

Keep oneself occupied "she busied herself with her new home" - Oxford dictionary.

After walking the two dogs this morning, I fed them, brushed them and then swept up the hairs. They're our dogs, but his dog is the hairy one. Then I prepared a pot of tea to have while I caught up with the gossip back home. Making tea is an art form, if you're Irish.

There are different forms of tea making depending on where you come from or how old you are. Some go down the old Classics route and pour boiling water over just the right amount of tea leaves in a teapot, let it sit for just the right amount of time and then pour it in to a China cup sitting on a matching saucer. The impressionists, they use Earl grey or some other fancy flowery teabag. Contemporary style is a favourite for most. This is where you throw a bag, any bag, into a mug, fill it up with boiling water, give it a stir and a squeeze, and convince yourself it's a proper cup of tea.

I myself am the surrealist tea type. I learned this style from my Aunt in Wexford. She kept greyhounds and ran a Post Office, always busy, but still had time to make tea. It involves putting a Lyons teabag in to a pot, adding cold water from the tap, place the pot on the hob and stew the fuck out of it so it resembles tea but looks more like tar. You get a fierce kick out of it and it makes you say "aaahhh".

Of course it's all cawfee over here. Ach, is maith liom cupán tae.

The day is almost done back home so there is a lot of gossip to relay and tea turned in to a chilled white. There is no art form involved with the pouring of a glass of alcohol, if you're Irish.

The rest of the day I busied myself untangling a wind chime.