Roosevelt Update

After several hours at the local vet, and at the emergency vet hospital in Daytona Beach--where the only orthopedic veterinarian resides in a 100 mile radius--it is official. Our sweet Roosevelt has broken his hip. 

Roosey is a young cat (about 18 months old) and is relatively healthy otherwise. So there's no reason not to perform surgery. We are told he should recover nicely. When Marty and I left the vet hospital and I looked at the astronomical estimate we're committed to, I said to Marty, "That boy owes me grandchildren."*

Our vet said the injury is common in young male cats. The analogy for this type of injury that was created was along the lines of a 22 year old man, out past 11 p.m. in the wilderness with his buddies. Before fate slaps him upside the head, the young man in question utters the words, "hold my beer." Essentially Roosevelt's not fully developed frontal cortex talked him into doing some dumbassery stunt thinking it would go well. Our theory is this happened when he zoomed out of the house two days ago and tried to jump the fence.   

Currently, Roosey is sleeping in the dog crate, doped up on two different pain meds and curled up dozing in the (unused) litter box instead of his comfy pillow. When Buck wakes up, I have a few ideas on how to modify this arrangement to create more room in his cellblock, but it will take a bit of engineering. 

Looking forward to the day he can do this again.

*Lest you have an opinion about who should pay for Buck's cat's surgery, please keep it to yourself, thankyouverymuch. Marty and I are fully aware of what we are doing and don't need others sharing their thoughts with me about our young adults and their life journey. I've heard from enough people over the summer who offered their unsolicited opinions. I wrote the above because I'm interested in grandchildren. Eventually. 

Arbitrary DeBary

 

Roosevelt in more content times

Just a typical day in the Sunshine house, in the Sunshine state. Oh... how I missed sunlight when I lived in East Texas. Even on a clear day in Texarkana, the sunlight was muted. 

But on to the week's events. 

Roosy has a bum leg. It is bad enough to need vet attention. Buck, who is fretting about not being employed is beside himself, not only because his cat is hobbling, but because he hates debt. However, life will work itself out, the vet bill will be a thing of the past and our sweet furboy will be all cuddles again. 

And as a side note to Roosevelt: had you not run outside yesterday, you would be jumping into our laps right about now and purring. So, let's call this a life lesson and be an indoor cat. Please--! because there were about five hawks or osprey (though it seems a bit far inland for osprey) circling above your head.

It has been four weeks since I broke my hand. The finger is not healing super-fast. The hand and wrist are about 95 percent and my typing is coming along--as long as nothing I write needs question marks and quotation marks. And there's a lot of backspacing. 

Marty and I haven't heard from the zoo. I'm slightly annoyed we aren't even worth of a rejection letter. I think Marty has opted against the job if they call. I see it as an opportunity to get out of the house, pay the upcoming vet bill and fodder for my next book.  

Karen, my sweet neighbor, invited me over again to visit with the ladies and play cards yesterday. I walked in the door and one of the woman announced "Oh good you came back. Ladies, she's a hoot!" I don't know if anyone has ever referred to me as a "hoot"* before. 

*quotation marks, courtesy of copious editing. 

The K-Mart Group Therapy Session (or, "Job Interview")

I'm not making this up. I swear. 

And I will type this out, even if it takes me a week (stupid broken hand). 

So, I applied for a customer service job at the zoo. I mean, that sounds like something I can do. "Yes, the elephants are this way." "No our zoo doesn't have snakes. Walk 3 feet off the property in any direction and you can see all the snakes you like. And seriously, you just spent money in FLORIDA to see snakes?" "Would you like to buy a hat? Here is our fine selection." 

It also turns out Marty applied for the same job. The ad said they were hiring multiple people. He saw it as a fun, customer service retirement kind of thing. We could work there together. What could go wrong?

Because this is the first interview I've formally had since Bush 1 was in office, I put some thought into the entire thing. Marty and I went back and forth on what to wear. This appeared to be a lower-level job. However, I figured I couldn't go wrong looking more put together, so I shelled out $16 to Amazon for a new skirt. After all, job interview. Marty went with black jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. 

We were overdressed. Of the four women, I was the only one who looked like I hadn't just left my job supervising the daycare playground. Of the four men, Marty was the only one who looked like he hadn't just left his shift at a meatpacking plant. 

Additionally, the three folks on the interviewing panel caught me off guard, mainly because I was expecting something professional. But the three folks started this way: Tiffy wanted to wait an extra 15 minutes to start this group interview so that anyone who hadn't shown wouldn't feel shamed by coming in late. Tiffy also announced she was flying to Ohio in the morning, making me wonder exactly how she'd get through the TSA with three tons of shrapnel coming out of her face. Mykael let us know upfront his bedroom preferences. Now, I don't care about anyone's sexual orientation, but this was supposed to be a job interview. And then there was Jay, who began by giving us a commentary of our current presidential administration. Again, don't care about his politics, and do I need to know any of this in a job interview? 

Essentially, if I were to be hired, these three would be my bosses.

Mykael asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves and say what "hospitality" meant to us. Because Marty threw me under the bus, I went first. Marty spoke. Adam--who gave off serious school-shooter vibes gave an answer. Izzy shared she was part of the LBGQABCDEFGHIJK movement and provided her answer. Then Mykael redirected and offered the answer he wanted the remaining applicants to say (something along the lines of what Marty and I said). However, the next person slated to reply was Terehrie (pronounced "Terry." He wanted us to know how it was spelled) who announced he was too shy to talk in front of people and wasn't comfortable answering. Tiffy said that was fine, everyone needed to feel like this was an inclusive space. 

Did I mention this was a job interview? Just making sure that was clear. 

I'll skip over the next 90 minutes of crazy and go straight to Mykael's last getting to know you directive: we job applicants were to walk around the room and find out five bits'o trivia about the other candidates, because I guess, Jay, Tiffy and Mikael didn't want to do anything else. Marty referred to this as a "K-Mart Group Therapy Session."

One part of this Group Therapy session of note: one of the candidates publicly announced they were a gamer and then asked if anyone would be interested in playing some online video game with them that night, while passing along their long list of video game credentials and contact info for the rest of us. And nobody found this to be strange. 

When this madness ended, the three bosses declared they'd be in touch. There was no commitment to a discussion about salary, hours, expectations or even a job description. Just "Bye. Have a nice weekend." 

Marty thinks he and I are too normal to be hired. I'm sure I can deal with the three bosses better than Marty. Buck seems to think if they bring me on, I'll be running the place in six months. However, if hired, my true motive is to get out from under those guys and find a position with the botanical garden division anyway. This is just a stepping stone. But I'm thinking Terehie has a better chance of being hired than we do. 

The Epitome of Fall in Florida

 

Fall in Florida

I never had a colorful front yard in Arizona full of tin doodads. I learned in Texas, a colorful yard attracts pollinators--the type which help farmers and gardeners grow food. I am prepared to live and die on this hill if the HOA wants to quibble. 

Wins

Welcome to another edition of "I've spent more time fixing this post's typos than actually typing it out."  

First, Buckaroo just celebrated another year around the sun. We are making this a month long event because his celebration bucket list is extensive. His birthday present from us was a Saturday martial arts seminar, where he and his sister paid money to channel their inner Bruce Lee. From what I understand, a good time was had by all. Later this week: minigolf and eventually a family trip to the zoo. 

Buckaroo, 20 years ago. 

I am in talks with a small publishing house to work with them in a sales capacity. I am not sure this is a good fit for me. I was approached by them. I'm asking a lot of questions and I think I am making the leadership squirm. I do not know if I am a good fit. I do not know if I am not. I do know that I am not super excited about a sales role. 

Speaking of zoo, this coming Friday I have an interview for a seasonal, part time position at the zoo. It pays very little, but sounds like fun. In fact, as I write this, I am thinking this would be more fun than selling publishing services to independent writers. If I get this zoo job (which isn't mutually exclusive to the publishing gig), I am already counting my hundreds that I will spend creating my garden.  

Let's talk about other's employment. Polly is the first of us who got a job. She's working at a martial arts instructor--a job she once held in Mesa.  

Speaking of wins, today is the first day since we moved here that it hasn't rained. I celebrated by repotting two plants and finding a place for them in the front yard.  

Random DeBary Rain Day Edition

Doc says my hand and wrist are healing nicely. The jury is out on my finger. It will be reevaluated in three weeks, but I've been warned it could be 12 or more weeks for full healing. Sigh. Typing punctuation is coming along, as long as question marks and quotation marks and apostrophes aren't needed. 

No master gardener meeting today because Marty had an interview. That was okay with me because I got to talk to my friend Valerie instead. Plus it is raining. It rains a lot here. A lot. 

Speaking of rain, I've heard from four folks in four different states in the past 24 hours, concerned if I'm prepared for this upcoming storm. News flash: there's a hurricane brewing in the Gulf. 

A word about hurricanes brewing in the Gulf: they tend to be slow moving, storing up energy as they take in more warm water. When they get going, they can be super-powerful. But not always. This one is currently a category 2.  

However: 1) this particular hurricane is scheduled to make landfall around the Florida panhandle and cut through Alabama (oh, what a bummer). 2) I live about 25 miles (ish) from the Atlantic Ocean and about 85 (ish) miles from the Gulf. I think I'm gonna be just fine if this particular storm changes trajectory.