Dateline: The Smoke

Gainesville

People in Elizabethan times (and probably before) referred to London as "The Smoke." Let's just officially call Gainesville The Smoke. Life at the bottom of god's own giant ashtray, two nights after god's own party from hell, and no one has bothered to clean up. It stinks indoors, but worse outdoors. Eyes burn. Throats are scratchy. Taking a good deep breath-- definitely not advisable. Once again this afternoon, I thought perhaps I was on Mars-- the shadows cast by the star (locally known as The Sun) were pink. The sky was various shades of pink and gray. Visibility was foggy at best, downright murky more realistically. Or maybe we're actually IN in hell. (Oh wait-- I learned on Stephen Colbert last night that Hell is actually in south Jersey.)

It's Finding Nemo: we're in this fish tank and somebody forgot to change the filter! We're all gonna suffocate!

Whatever. Metaphors are no help. Bottom line: THIS SUCKS!

I drove out in The Smoke this afternoon to do the supplemental Publix shop. It's all anyone could talk about. And I have to say that the air inside Publix was probably the best I was able to breathe all day. Our poor system is struggling-- but it is definitely better than outside. I am torn between staying home tomorrow and working to fireproof the house, or going into the library and breathing some marginally better air. I do qualify as a person at risk (being elderly and all) being advised to stay indoors.

Or should I be thinking about packing up the important things to evacuate if need be? Oh hell.

Indeed. Enough. I shopped. I cooked, or should I say overcooked some shrimp, and roasted some asparagus with parmesan. I have a lamb shank I will attempt to do in the slow cooker tomorrow, and a few quick things to go with it.

Bill has decided to go to Orlando early Friday morning, so I'll be here. Doing rain dances. But very slowly, so I don't have to breathe too deeply.

Oh yeah. Finally I can give you a link to the article officially announcing my retirement, the self-interview. The sad part is that all the women I mention influences (with the possible exception of Martha Jane Zachert) are all dead. The good part is, all the men are still alive and well.

Bill thinks I should stay home tomorrow, all things considered. He's probably right.