Dear Kid,

Did I tell you I went to Orlando for the Global Pet Expo?

There isn’t much related to pets that isn’t at Global (I’m an insider now, so I can use the diminutive).

Stuff for fish? Yep; proceed to the Aqua section. Bunny, ferret, gerbil stuff? Yep; proceed to vendors who offer things for small animals. Cat stuff? By the boatload. Even coops and ramps for chickens (I kid you not).

But mostly Global is about dogs.

At Global, one can find everything a dog might need (the Puppy now has a new collar), and many, many, many things that no dog ever needs.

And some things that made me smile, like Dean Russo art. As a matter of fact, the artist himself was at the show and signed a print for me (yay!).

There are really creative displays hoping to capture your attention. Which is not easy because this thing is huge. Big. Ginormous. Sneakers required. Except by the people who run the thing—they used Segways.

Not only were there about a zillion people at Global, there were a surprising number of dog attendees. Some were acting like dogs.

Others, not so much.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Something about being in a hotel room (especially the first night) often leads to a night of not great sleep.

My first night in Orlando, I slept great. Right up to 4am when I completely ceased sleeping altogether.

Getting up that early was annoying, but it completely eliminated the question of whether or not I would attend a breakfast presentation about pet grooming. I was up, I was going.

The email we got had instructed us to be waiting for the bus by 6:20am. Since the first hotel pickup was at 6:15am and we were neither the first nor second nor third (rinse and repeat) hotel, that seemed a bit early. But, I was up, so I went downstairs.

Bonus points: I met Cynthia, a groomer from California, so I have a new friend.

By 6:30, the bus had not arrived. Several other people had joined us, one of whom had the phone number for the Dude in Charge. She called. We were told to wait. We’d been doing a good job of waiting, so we continued.

The thing about a breakfast presentation is that it starts early in the morning (in this case it was called for 7am). If one is up and about at that hour, one wants to be there for breakfast, the presentation, and most importantly The Coffee. It was 6:40 and I was not yet caffeinated. Neither was anyone else which didn’t exactly improve things.

We waited. No bus.

More phone calls.

A fair amount of joking around.

Still no coffee.

More waiting.

Approximately 6:59am the bus arrived. Very few groups of humans have ever been so delighted to see a vehicle pull up.

Turned out that the person who designed the pickup route eschewed the traditional idea of starting at one end of the route and methodically working stop by stop to the other end. No, no. The person who planned the route preferred the type of creativity employed by the cubist painters. Or possibly spaghetti cooks. Or knot makers.

After a few more loops, twists, and coils, we arrived at our destination. There were hoots and hollers of joy that the unofficially named Sunrise Tour had finally ended.

The thing about a breakfast presentation is that you expect breakfast. The good news was there was breakfast. The bad news was that it had been sitting out for an hour or so before we arrived.

There is nothing good about scrambled eggs that have been sitting out for an hour or so.

Unless you’re on a diet and need a reason to eat something other than scrambled eggs.

Fortunately, the content of the presentation was excellent. As was the coffee. And the muffin that I shared with my new friend Cynthia.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

The first few hours in Orlando left something to be desired.

Things started out brilliantly.

We left Cincinnati late afternoon just before all the Weather hit.

The flight was full, full, full and Delta was happily offering to check bags rather than having to deal with overstuffed overhead bins. I had a middle seat. As I sat down, I apologized to the guy in the aisle seat saying, “I’m sorry for crushing all your hopes and dreams.” He laughed and assured me he knew the flight was full.

Except.

That the window seat remained empty and as soon as they locked the cabin door, I scooted over. Space, secured. WIN!

I had earphones with me (the fact that the cord was slightly broken and I only had sound in one ear was a mere minor technicality) and watched the movie Coco on the screen built into the seat. Score!

The captain came on the intercom to give us an update. All good.

The captain came on the intercom to give us an update. Orlando airport was closed due to weather.

The airport is open.

The airport is closed.

The airport is open and we scoot in for a landing before anyone changes their mind again.

The Weather was over, but it wasn’t nice enough to eat dinner outside (which is what you’re supposed to do when you live in Ohio and you visit Florida in the middle of the winter).

Tune in next week to hear what happened at 6:10 the next morning.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Hummingbirds are Mother Nature’s tiny little helicopter birds. They spend their days zooming around from flowers and hummingbird feeders and avoiding been seen by certain people (not naming names–you know who you are).

Despite their small size, hummingbirds are one of the most aggressive bird species. They will regularly attack jays, crows and hawks that infringe on their territory. Backyard birders often have one dominant hummingbird that guards all the feeders, chasing intruders away.

They are the smallest birds in the world (and in the galaxy as far as I can tell), but for their size they have the largest hearts and brains of all animals. Don’t try to train a hummingbird–they spend all that brain power searching for food (kind of like the Puppy).

Unlike the Puppy, they have no sense of smell, which makes it amazing that they visit between 2,000 to 5,000 flowers a day. But they have to visit that many mini-restaurants because they eat twice their weight each day. They do not suck nectar through their long bills, they lick it with tiny fringed forked tongues. That is a lot of eating. They also eat an occasional insect for protein.

The do all this eating because they work hard. They beat their wings up to 60 times–per second. Per second. This is Olympic rate my friend. And their teeny weeny little hearts beat between 500 and 1,200 times per minute. You’d eat a lot if your body worked that hard.

I’m trying to convince my metabolism to pay attention.

Hummingbirds cannot walk, they can only perch (tiny feet are useful for efficient flying). They are the only birds capable of flying backward. When they fly forward, their average speed is 45 miles per hour.
The ruby-throated hummingbird flies 500 miles nonstop across the Gulf of Mexico during the spring and fall migrations. Personally, I think they should consider a cruise, but none of them asked me.

Many hummingbird species can breed together to create hybrid species. This is one factor that makes identifying hummingbirds very challenging.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I was in Atlanta last week, so I did what people who visit Atlanta do.

For lunch, we ate BBQ while we admired the Twin Smokers and photographed staff TShirts.

Then I went to visit The Shrine of My People.

Yes, I went to The World of Coca-Cola, more informally known (to me) as the Home of Diet Coke.

As a museum, World o’ Coke, um, kinda sucks. They happily leave out pieces of the story and stop narratives right when they’re about to get interesting.

As a marketing machine, The World of Coca-Cola is stupendous.

One gets a free sample drink (there are a couple of options—guess what I picked) before being given an into to Coca-Cola Land.

Then one is ushered into a theater where they show a 6 minute movie. Six tiny little minutes. And I kid you not, Child, when I tell you that I cried. Not sobbing hysterically, but real tears running down my cheeks. I was impressed with their ability to pull heartstrings like that.

Then more meh museum, the opportunity to pose with the Polar Bear (introduced into the C-C marketing mix in the US in 1993; personally, I’m more a fan of teaching the World to Sing in Perfect Harmony, but you probably don’t know what that means). I declined the opportunity to look worse than a bear in a photo.

Coke bottle art (very cool stuff, but I’m a fan of things like that), and then into the tasting room. Angels sing in the tasting room. The world is at peace in the tasting room. (Aside from the 4 billion people—and I was there on a very not-crowded day. And the sticky floor.)

The tasting room boasts dispensers offering beverage that Coca-Cola manufactures in different parts of the world. It was great fun.

And then I saw it. In the North America section. Mixed in with the Diet Cokes and Powerades.

My first Love.

My first real long-term commitment.

The reason I woke up in the morning and went into the garage in the afternoon.

TAB.

The first (in my world) diet soda.

I dispensed some TAB into my cup. I drank. Bubbles fizzed and memories rode in on little carbonation scooters. The angels reached a crescendo. The world stopped turning.

It. Was. Awesome.

Then on to the store where people were rapidly parting with coin in order to have Coca-Cola bottle openers, plates, and luggage tags.

I thought of you when I saw the FANTA! shirts (Fluffy!). I did not buy you one. Even though they were scented. Or possibly because they were scented.

It was freezing in Atlanta (wind chill negative everything) but I walked back to the hotel warm and happy.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Pay Attention!

Today is not the day to go around with your earbuds in and the tunes on High. Today is a day to be vigilant! To Watch One’s Back (and front). To beware of small green people (not the leprechaun type).

That’s right–today is Alien Abduction Day.

We’re not entirely sure why; presumably the people that know why aliens prefer abducting people on March 20th are currently elsewhere, planetarily speaking.

Back in the dim recesses of time (and by “dim recesses of time” I mean 2008), Toronto hosted an Alien Abduction Festival. Some people say that’s where the holiday originated.

If we delve further back in time (and by “further back in time” I mean 1961), Betty and Barney Hill were driving along a dark and deserted road (aren’t they always) in New Hampshire when they saw flashing lights in the sky which turned into a spacecraft. Two bipedal humanoid creatures emerged. Two hours later, Betty and Barney found themselves in the same spot with no memory of what happened.

It was the early 60s, but IT WAS THE 60s! What do you think happened?

Let the research continue…

Way, way back in time (and this time I’m referring to November 1896) Colonel HG Shaw was driving through the countryside (told you it’s always on the dark and deserted byways), when he came across a landed spacecraft.

And I quote:

Shaw described it as having a metallic surface which was completely featureless apart from a rudder and pointed ends. He estimated a diameter of 25 feet and said the vessel was around 150 feet in total length.  

These beings were 7 feet tall and very slender with small hands, fingers without nails, and feet that twice as long as normal and functioned similar to a monkey’s feet, according to Shaw’s description.

All of the beings carried with them a bag of some kind with a hose which they often stuck in their mouths, obviously to breath with. Although there was still some daytime left, the beings also carried with them egg-shaped lamps which glowed.

They approached from the craft while “emitting a strange warbling noise.” The beings reportedly examined Shaw’s buggy and then tried to physically force him to accompany them back to the airship.

The aliens were said to give up after realizing they lacked the physical strength to force Shaw onto the ship.  

They entered the hovering cigar UFO by springing up from the ground and above their craft, and then floated down into the craft through an unseen entry. Soon, the object flew away.

Clearly, this was part of the Martian frat hazing from the days before stricter rules were put in place.

All of these stories are bunk and bologna. We know this because of the detailed notes taken by JJ Neanderthal, one of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Neanderthal’s less idiotic offspring.

It seems that one day, a spaceship landed while Mrs. Joe Neanderthal was cleaning up the cave. The neighbors were coming for dinner and she was trying to straighten up the dirt to make a good impression. The children were not helping and Joe was off hunting something for dinner.

Being that kind of neanderthal, Mrs. Joe ignored the spacecraft until a small purple martian emerged (my story–they can be purple). Mrs. Joe immediately recognized another being to put to work and handed the martian a broom. The martian asked a series of complicated questions including when the wall-to-wall carpet was arriving. Mrs. Joe handled the inquiry the only reasonable way and punched the little dude.

When he came to, the martian was in his spaceship with no idea how he’d gotten there, but a very good idea about not visiting with Mrs. Joe again.

Once this was reported, martian explorers have headed in other directions where they presumably don’t get punched.

Happy Alien Abduction Day.

Love, Mom