(no subject)
Yesterday, I saw a story on Carl Hiaasin on 60 Minutes. I had heard of him briefly, but now I know that I must seek him out. The story focused on his writing about his home- consequently south Florida. He is a columnist and a bestselling novelist who uses writing as therapy in the midst of the most bizarre state in the union. And I just found out we have one of his books! It's called Stormy Weather. After I'm done with my current books (Sophie's Choice and Pretties), I'm so on it.
My relationship with Florida, like Carl's, is one of love-hate. The enviroment is like nowhere else in the world, exploding with more flora than one anywhere else could imagine, so full of swamps and rivers and flowers and year-round sun that my romantic tendencies threaten to overpower me. And then there is the animals-from little finches to brittle stars, from lime green lizards (I saw one today!) to red and black velvet ants as big as a quarter. The ecosystem here is truly unparalleled.
Then there is, of course, a pot full of the nuttiest and most people in the country. Corrupt politicians and suicide-bombers-in-training and child molestorers abound in greater concentration here than in any other state. And there is rarely an imaginative person in sight. Which is what Carl writes about- this state that was once tranquil and beautiful and is now a refuge for the scum of the nation.
But the resounding fact at the end of the day is that at least I have a place to call my home, something that is part of me. No matter what that means.
My relationship with Florida, like Carl's, is one of love-hate. The enviroment is like nowhere else in the world, exploding with more flora than one anywhere else could imagine, so full of swamps and rivers and flowers and year-round sun that my romantic tendencies threaten to overpower me. And then there is the animals-from little finches to brittle stars, from lime green lizards (I saw one today!) to red and black velvet ants as big as a quarter. The ecosystem here is truly unparalleled.
Then there is, of course, a pot full of the nuttiest and most people in the country. Corrupt politicians and suicide-bombers-in-training and child molestorers abound in greater concentration here than in any other state. And there is rarely an imaginative person in sight. Which is what Carl writes about- this state that was once tranquil and beautiful and is now a refuge for the scum of the nation.
But the resounding fact at the end of the day is that at least I have a place to call my home, something that is part of me. No matter what that means.