There's NOTHING about Orlando.....

There's nothing about Orlando that I like, with the possible exception of the ride where you can fly in the blast of a propellor, and practise your skydiving technique. And this time here I didn't take advantage of it.

Orlando is the living manifestation of the results of the American Dream. It's good, I suppose, for many. There's happy families, no doubt about it. There's moms dragging little kids up and down the streets, and there's kids with smiles on their faces.

But Lord, help us, everybody's fat. Everybody's fat. Did I mention that we're all fat? There's not one person who meets the ideal of fitness. At least, not that I saw.

And excess? Take the hotel I stayed at, for instance. Spanish Colonial is the style. Maybe 1500 rooms. Maybe a few hundred manicured acres. Thousands of happy conventioneers milling around. Bazillions of dollars changing hands it feels like.

And not a thought to the amount of conspicuous consumption going on. What a relief I'll feel to get on the plane and be done with Orlando.

Nice place, wouldn't wanna live there.

Ahh Port Orchard

Been a long time since the last posting. Not for lack of things to say, as anybody who is vaguely acquainted with me will be only too glad to tell you.

No, it's because I've been so busy enjoying my new home.

I've discovered the joys of gardening, and playing the odds. The odds being, if I buy and plant ten growing things, there's at least some chance that by the end of the summer something will be growing and thriving.

The operating theory has been to pay no particular attention to the design of the garden, the placement of each bulb or plant, annual or perrenial. That is, no attention has been paid with ONE notable exception.

It is, of course, a story.

Many years ago, my wife and our children and I lived in a waterfront home in Woodlands, BC. at the middle of Indian Arm. Faced east, beautiful sunrises and daylight sunshine, evening shade. We had a glorious rose bush out on the front of the lawn, facing the beach and the water. And, living down the beach was the chief horticulturist for the Stanley Park Rose Garden, a world renowned facility. One day he strolled up and asked me for a cutting, because the rose impressed him with it's late season flowering and beauty.

A year later, I asked him about it. He said it was nice, but not superb, and I finally figured out why. It wasn't the genetics, it was the environment, getting reflected light off the water, particularly in the fall with the sun being low on the horizon.

So, I've planted a Lincoln rose out on the tiniest point that sticks out in the channel, which gets the maximum amount of light, sunrise to sunset. And, playing the odds, it was the single profuse ly sprouting cutting of the five I'd planted. Three failed to sprout at all, and the other struggles to survive. But really, all I care about is the Lincoln rose.

So now I have a bistro table and two chairs sitting out on the point, with a beautiful rose bush and a view to die for of Mt. Rainier across the island. Missing only the beautiful woman, whom I've actually met, just need to become friends. Met her across a volleyball net last weekend. We'd actually met online, had decided that we'd like to meet in person, and with no previous knowledge that we'd both be at the volleyball game, I recognized her from her photo and said hello.

So, Friday we dine together. And perhaps some day in the future, morning coffee on the point with roses on the table from the Lincoln cutting.