The Curse is Not Reversed

Last year, it seemed like every weekend we were scheduled to fly into Florida, another hurricane reared its ugly head. For all three hurricanes, we literally were scheduled to fly to Orlando and had our flights cancelled. I became convinced that I had inadvertently ticked off a gypsy and was suffering the effects of an arcane curse. I mean, come on...three hurricanes in a row? And all three plowing through Central Florida with a fury that is usually reserved for coastal areas?

This year, I figured that the curse had to be over. Surely one bad season is enough. But here I am, preparing to fly to Chicago today, and Tropical Storm Arlene is busy whipping up a windy, rainy mess.

Granted, Arlene is not a hurricane and is not on a direct collision path with Celebration. But she's close enough and strong enough to have a profound effect on our weather. According to the weather forecasters, we'll get a dose of strong, windy thunderstorms starting today and running throughout the weekend.

I don't think my flight will be cancelled, but chances are high that there will be a delay. If lightning starts crackling through the sky, Orlando International Airport will shut down their ground operations. In the Land of Lightning Strikes, it's not safe for ground personnel to be out working on metallic equipment, surrounded by metallic aircraft. And even if we just get a soaking, the heavy rains will probably mess things up by inhibiting visibility.

I'm not a very brave flyer, even in the best of circumstances. Add bad weather to the mix and it a recipe for a white-knuckled terror ride. Worse yet, since I'm flying Southwest, I will need to stake out a good position in the "A" line in order to have my pick of seats. I prefer an aisle seat towards the front of the plane for two reasons: 1) My nervous bladder necessitates at least one trip to the restroom, and I hate tripping over strangers from an aisle or window seat; 2)I only bring a carry-on bag, so the quicker I get off the plane, the quicker I can be on my way.

Only totally inexperienced travelers would dare to check luggage for pick-up at Midway Airport. Waits of more than an hour are the norm; tonight, I'll probably be back at my condo while my unfortunate fellow travelers are still praying for their bags to appear. Worse yet, the baggage handlers are a cruel breed, on a par with the dentist in "Little Shop of Horrors." They will toss two or three "teaser bags" onto the belt almost immediately. An excited murmur of expectation will ripple through the crowd, but soon their hopes are shattered. Those bags will circle endlessly, taunting the waiting throng, since they are decoys that don't belong to anyone. Any real luggage is still a good 45 minutes away from making an appearance.

On one memorable trip, the wait was so long that the impatient crowd started amusing itself by tossing various items on the empty belt. By the time any bags showed up, there were several food items (candy bars and a bag of potato chips) and a Buzz Lightyear doll making the rounds. Of course, since we were in Chicago, someone who was not Buzz's original owner tried to "claim" him, resulting in a heated dispute. Fortunately, he eventually made it back to the correct person.

Being up front in the A line is critical because the number of people pre-boarding in Orlando often rivals the entire population of Osceola county. Florida apparently attracts the world's largest number of pubescent "four year olds" (the supposed pre-boarding age limit). Handicapped people are also allowed to preboard, and every now and then you can witness a miraculous cure. Perhaps Southwest serves water from the Shrine of Lourdes, because my husband witnessed one such incident with his own eyes. A girl on crutches preboarded with her family, dragging herself along as though she might collapse at any moment. After take-off, she decided to use the restroom, and Praise the Lord! She was cured! She headed down the aisle like an Olympic sprinter. But alas, her cure was short-lived, as another family member whistled and pointed to the crutches. Suddenly her limp was back, even worse than ever, as she returned to retrieve them.

Once the pre-boarders have taken over the plane, the seat pick can be rather limited. I have no problem with hanging out in the A line for an hour or so to ensure a decent seat. The challenge arises when there is a delay, which triggers my nervous bladder. If I'm with my husband, he can hold my place in line. But if I'm traveling along (which I am today), I am torn between temporarily abandoning my bag and hoping it won't be mistaken for a bomb before I can sprint to the restroom and back or suffering my way through an unknown timespan of crossed-leg discomfort.

That may be the situation today if the storms decide to roll in around my flight time. I restrict my liquids before leaving for the airport, but it doesn't help. I think that my bladder would suck out my eyeball fluid if it had to, just to make my life inconvenient.

It wouldn't break my heart if my flight were cancelled altogether, but I can't wish for that because many of my fellow flyers probably have to get to Chicago today. Actually, I'd be somewhat disappointed, too, because I am returning to see "Wicked," the play about the college years of Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West in Oz. You've got to admit that it's an intriguing story idea. Everyone fully expected "Wicked" to walk away with the Tony Award last year, but it was glommed by an off-Broadway upstart called "Avenue Q," featuring dirty-minded Muppets and their human counterparts living in a New York apartment building where Gary Coleman is the superintendent (no, not the real Gary Coleman...he is played by an actress). I was hoping that "Avenue Q" would have a touring company, but instead it moved to a permanent home in Las Vegas. Oh well, at least I'm seeing "Wicked," "Lion King," and "Little Shop of Horrors" this year.

So far, the rain in a no-show, so we'll see. I'm sure that it's saving its fury for when I climb into Canyonero and head off to 417. I am planning to park off-site, so I may be swimming to the shuttle bus.

Arlene is an early bloomer, since we're barely a week into the 2005 hurricane season. She's a surprise to some people, but definitely not to me. I thought that my curse ran out last year, but obviously it's alive and well like some bizarre version of the Stephen King novel "Thinner." Oh well, I don't mind being stuck in Florida. I just don't want to get stuck on the Chicago end!

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Swim Season

The other night, I was tempted to head over to Celebration Health for a few laps in the swimming pool. The delicious peach ice cream at Coldstone, not to mention an evening snack of Oreos, had undoubtedly offset any benefits of my morning walk for the next two weeks. I figured that I needed to burn a few more calories to at least maintain the status quo.

But I was still working, and the huge video file that I was uploading took longer than I expected. I had some travel agency work to do, too, so journeying to the club would take too long. Then I had a bring idea: why not swim right down the block, in the East Village micro-pool? It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed a dip right in my own neighborhood. I'd be able to get in some exercise and still get home in time to finish up the travel reservations.

We live at one end of the East Village play field, and the pool is located at the other. I was too lazy to get out my bike, so I just hoofed it. I was clad for action in my swimsuit and flip flops, with my purple Figment towel flopping jauntily on my shoulder. There were some dark clouds off in the distance, but it looked like any lightning and rain would hold off long enough to get in some pool time.

When I arrived, there were two boys already in the pool, continuously jumping off the center island. I've never really understand why the island was installed, rather than making the pool larger. It's small enough to begin with, and the big concrete island takes up valuable real estate. Vandals are constantly ripping down the umbrella in the center, and it's a magnet for jumping and diving. That makes it virtually impossible to actually swim laps, and with all the craziness I've witnessed, I'm firmly convinced that someone is going to break their neck, or at least crack their skull, when diving into the shallow water someday.

I dipped my toes into the water, expecting an unpleasant chill. But a few weeks of temperatures in the 90s had warmed the liquid to a balmy, comfortable level. Instead of easing my way in, I was able to take an immediate plunge. Swimming laps was out, but I was able to do some water jogging while avoiding the flying bodies.

Shortly thereafter, another family arrived for an evening swim. They began a spirited water football game on one side of the pool, while the leapers focused on the other. I weaved my way through the bodies and managed to get in a nice little workout. Even with people all around, I can mentally move myself into my own little world while exercising. It's a sort of meditation time for me, when I ponder any pressing questions in my life or simply contemplate the state of the world.

On this evening, I remembered the last time that I'd been in the East Village pool. I was amazed to realize that I hadn't been there since my husband and I moved to Celebration full time. The "big move" was in Jnauary, and our local pool isn't heated, so our winter swims had been at nice, warm Lakeside.

Previously, visiting the pool had been a melancholy occasion. When we were coming to town on weekends, we'd gotten into the habit of taking a dip on Sunday morning before getting ready for our flight back to Chicago. The pool would usually be virtually deserted, and we'd paddle around and try to ignore the fact that our time in Celebration was rapidly ticking away.

My deep thoughts on those occasions were usually focused on what it would be like to live in Celebration full time. I would ponder how we could manage that logistically and wonder how long it would take. I dearly loved visiting our house, but 48 hours goes by too quickly. It's like dangling a moist, delicious devil's food cake under a starving chocoholic's nose. You let them have one bite, then suddenly take it away. The taste is sweet, but now they're worse off because the sample leaves them craving it all the more.

The last time I was in that pool, late last summer, I had no idea that my dream would be fulfilled a mere few months later. Now here I was, jogging around with no depressing thought of catching a plane. What a luxury!

All too soon, I realized that dusk had given way to true darkness, and the hour was approaching nine p.m. The Disney Cruise Line office is open until 10, so I needed to hustle back to Duloc Manor to get in my last phone calls of the day. Then I could update client paperwork until bedtime.

As I walked home, I noticed that the new townhouses lining the park are nearly ready for occupancy. One of the end units has a really cool two-tier porch. It's the only one with a two-story porch that I've ever noticed in all of East and South Villages. The outside and inside lights were on, and I could see that the interior was almost done. It looks like my favorite townhome will be hosting its new occupants soon.

At the corner, I passed a large family, or more likely some sort of combined group, as there were more than half a dozen people, most of them toting swim noodles. They appeared to be headed to the pool for a refreshing night swim.

Celebration Health is my preferred venue for serious exercise, but the neighborhood pool is a great place for a quick interlude. Soon I was back at Duloc Manor, refreshed and ready to tackle the second half of the workday.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Seamy Side of Celebration

My last blog entry discussed the WFTV expose on health violations at Orlando-area restaurants. Now, I'm firmly convinced that their next inspection will focus on the seamy side of Celebration...more specifically, my beyond-messy home. I can see it now...it will start with a somber voice-over:

"Celebration, Florida. It has a reputation as a pristine, upscale community. But let's bring our cameras past the neatly manicured lawn and rainbow-hued flower bed of a typical East Village home. The porch swing sways sedately in the breeze, and the stained glass 'Welcome' sign in the window lulls casual visitors into a false sense of security. But cross the threshhold and you'll enter another world: The World of the Hellacious Housekeeper."

Duloc Manor used to be relatively low maintenance. It's a modest sized home, and most of the first floor is tile, so in theory it should be easy to clean. But as soon as we added our pets to the mix, it turned into the Land of Cat Hair and Bird Dander. Cat litter crystals turn up in the most unlikely places, and the kitties add their own touches to the interior decorating by barfing up hairballs on a weekly basis. Living here full time also means that my husband and I are continually tracking in grass and mulch through the back door.

On top of that, the water contains an uholy mineral that results in an instant toilet ring that intensifies with every flush. Multiply that by three bathrooms, and you've got an ugly mess. I won't even get into my water-spotted mirrors and the fact that dirty dishes seem to mate and multiply in my kitchen. And every time I microwave lunch or dinner, it explodes and spatters all over the nuker's interior like a dead whale loaded with dynamite (I know that for a fact, as a bizarre Fox special once showed a town that tried to dispose of a whale carcass by blowing it up).

Normally I keep up with things pretty well, and I call in reinforcements (a house cleaing service) once a month. But this week, the mess has gotten away from me because we were on a cruise over the long weekend. While we were gone, the dust and cat hair continued to build, and the toilet rings evolved to a new Darwinian hardiness. I was hoping to devote some time to cleaning when we got home, but job responsibilities intruded.

It's several days later, and I'm still trying to get my work under control. That's sort of like a one armed juggler trying to keep three watermelons aloft, since I have two jobs and am travelling to Chicago in a couple of days. I hate flying because it wastes nearly a whole workday. Even if I bring my laptop, the battery is dead within an hour. But most of my work requires internet access, so that doesn't matter anyway.

At this point, I'm pondering the wisdom of knitting some clothing made entirely of cat hair. That would probably make more sense than constantly brushing and vaccuming the furniture and doing a full-body patdown with a lint roller every time I leave the house. It would only take one vaccuming session to yield enough hair for a full outfit. Better yet, if I can roust Tooncinator, my crazy cat, from his next under the bed, I can find enough to clothe an entire third-world nation. Toonce is very large and very furry, and he sheds profusely. His under-bed den is out of reach of the vaccum, so the hair nest builds up until my husband does his monthly bed move so we can do a thorough cleaning. Sometimes the hair is so thick that we're firmly convinced we've discovered a fourth cat.

Perhaps I should also mulch the first floor of Duloc Manor. Many steakhouses have sawdust floors, so why not wood chips? I wouldn't even have to buy any supplies. If I stopped sweeping and Swiffering, I'd probably be able to track in enough to coat the entire first floor within a week. The odd thing is that no matter how much mulch I clean up in the house, the amount in the backyard landscaping never seems to dwindle. It must multiply like the lizards and frogs.

I'd really like to know what rocket scientist designed the triplex landscaping in the first place. We have a nice garage and driveway, so I rarely park in front of the house. My husband and I constantly parade through our yard to the back door, and neighbors visit frequently, too. It would seem a no-brainer that people would continually be trooping through that area...but some brilliant designer decreed that there should be a mulch bed and bushes completely ringing the yard! Thankfully, several of the bushes died within weeks of being planted, so I removed their twiggy skeleton bodies. But anyone who comes through the yard still has to navigate the mulch pit, and the chips are magnetically drawn to their shoes.

My husband's theory is that the designer assumed that the triplex owners would park in their garages and enter the yard through the garage door. There are three things wrong with that logic: A) No one, and I mean no one in the state of Florida parks in their garage. Three-quarters of the state is occupied by northerners who are used to having a basement. Now that they live on a slab, they turn to their garage as an auxiliary storage shed. B) Most people own two cars. Even if one is in the garage, the second one would be on the driveway, meaning that someone would still be traipsing through the yard. C) Neighborliness is encouraged in Celebration, and neighbors often forgo the formality of the front. We are back and forth so much with the people next door that we're worn a visible path in the grass. Why close off the backyard with landscaping when people will most likely be using it for egress?

Eventually we are going to have a brick walkway installed, but for now we just plow through the mulch. Between getting the landscaper to draw up the plans, submitting them for architectural review, and then getting the job actually done, I figure that the walkway might happen sometime around 2007.

I do maintain the illusion of cleanliness by hosing off my porch each day. When I'm done, it's clean and pristine. But 24 hours later, it's once again scattered with "landmines" left by the frogs and lizards and assorted flower petals from my overflowing pot garden. I wash it all down again, taking my place in the Great Circle of Life, knowing that it will be deja vu the next morning. I figure that if the exterior looks clean, I might be able to sucker passersby into thinking that we live like civilized humans inside.

Oh well, with any luck I can get things under control before the camera crew comes calling. I'm going to call in the house cleaning reinforcements, and hopefully my happy home will soon be halfway sanitary and liveable. If not, watch for me on WFTV news!

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

A Great New Diet

Warning! Not a blog entry to be read before eating!

Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time knows that my husband and I love to support the restaurants in and around Celebration. Even when we were still tourists and didn't rent a car, we ate our way around Disney World property. In a decade or so, we managed to sample virtually every restaurant at WDW. One of our favorite treats was to book an all-inclusive package. The name seems to change every year, but the package benefits are always similar. You can choose from a variety of dining locations, including some of the pricey ones like Yachtsmans Steakhouse and the eateries at the Grand Floridian, and the meal is included in your package. You pay one fee up front, and then you stuff your gullet with as much fine dining as you can handle.

Depending on the plan specifics, you might be eligible for two or three meals a day. You typically get to choose an appetizer, main course, side dish, dessert, and non-alcoholic beverage. Since the tip is also included, based on what your meal normally would cost, many of the servers are expert in helping you maximize the dollar amount. Whenever we vacationed on "The God Package," as we called it, we were never happy unless we saw Mickey crying as we pulled away from the hotel at the end of our trip.

Now that we live in Celebration, we obviously don't do vacation packages anymore. But we purchased the Disney Dining Experience card, which offers a 20 percent discount at virtually all WDW restaurants. It even provides a lesser discount at Max's in Downtown Celebration, which can be combined with the Market Street Cafe VIP Rewards Card (as you might have guessed, I'm a money-saving fanatic). Now we eat out at Disney World a couple of times a week; we try to vary our routine, but we seem to end up at Jiko, Artists Point, or Ohana most frequently.

Since we are residents, we have a car, so we've expanded our dining horizons to the whole Orlando area. We tend to gravitate to the Crossroads, Sand Lake Road (Dr. Phillips area) and I-Drive, where Chevy's, Bahama Breeze, Melting Pot, TooJay's, and Cage Tu Tu Tango are favorites. If we feel like staying closer to home, Logan's Steakhouse, Red Lobster, Perkins, Friday's, Bennigan's, and Cracker Barrel can all be found (often in duplicate and triplicate) right out on 192.

Due to all the temptation, it's been a constant struggle to eat healthy most of the time and to keep up a regular exercise schedule. But this week, I discovered a wonderful way to diet: simply visit the WFTV website at http://www.wftv.com/money/4467314/detail.html (link will open in a new window) and watch the video about restaurant sanitation. UGH!!! When viewed shortly before going out to eat, it's a very effective appetite suppressant.

A fellow resident posted the link on Celebration's Front Porch intranet, since some of the restaurants featured are pretty close by. Fortunately, I have never patronized any of them, as I was ready to toss my cookies by the time the clip was done. There is a restaurant called China One in Champion's Gate that I've actually heard good things about. But when I saw the food stored on the floor and the loosely wrapped, bloody pork resting right on top of an open bowl of pineapple chunks, any chance that I would ever try their cuisine flew right out the window. The mold in the ice machine was unappetizing, too, but I eat blue cheese and the "blue" is mold, so I supposed it would be contradictory to have a problem with "blue ice." Perhaps it actually has antibiotic properties that protect diners from illness that could be caused by the pork-tainted pineapples.

There was another restaurant where the clean pots and pans, as well as food, was stored outside in a wide-open shed! Dead and live roaches were found everywhere, including actually crawling on the workers.

But what I found most amazing about the whole sequence was not the atrocious violations but the fact the restaurants involved actually allowed a camera team inside. WFTV hired a professional inspector and asked permission to enter the businesses. To me, that says these places are so clueless that they don't even know that they're doing anything wrong.

After watching the video, I searched the internet, trying to find online restaurant inspection reports for the places that I regularly patronize. I found a link for District 4 (Osceola and Orange counties) on the official FL government website, but all it did was run some weird executable file that has probably placed my laptop under the control of Governor Jeb.

The restaurant that I most wanted to look up was the IHOP across from Celebration on 192. Of all the places where I've dined in Florida, that's the only one where I actually feared for my health. The dust was half an inch thick on the ledges, and the few glimpses that I got of the kitchen while waiting nearly an hour for my food were enough to turn my stomach. But if I needed to be sick, I would have been out of luck. I had dared to attempt to visit the restroom, and the toilet was missing its tank lid. Worse yet, the bowl was filled completely with paper, and someone had simply "let go" a nice, big pile on top of the mess. By the time our food arrived, I don't think I ate more than a few bites.

Now I know how to curb my appetite when needed. Simply follow the link to the WFTV website before every restaurant visit...safer and more effective than diet pills. Plus, it gives me a reason to stick to stick to two of my favorite restaurants. Both are rather pricey, but now I have justification. At the Melting Pot, you cook your own food. At Jiko, you can view the kitchen from the dining areas. No food on the floor or bloody pineapples there, thank goodness.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Wake Time/Sleep Time

This week, my erratic, night-owl-leaning body clock is quite thrown off. I try to stay on a regular schedule by waking up for an early morning walk and avoiding caffeine in the afternoon and evening (it has a long-term effect that leaves me wide awake in the wee hours if I drink it after 3 or 4 p.m.).

But we were on a cruise from Thursday to Sunday, which wreaks havoc with any semblance of a normal schedule. On the ship, I like to partake of the nightlife and then sleep in until it's time to head to the spa (where I tend to nap even more while on a massage table or in the heated tile loungers in the sauna/steam room area). And now that we're home, my walking buddy is out of town for part of this week. To top it all off, I had to drive my husband to the airport on Monday morning at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. I crashed as soon as I returned home, and the cats all piled into bed for an extended sleep time. I can sleep late as long as I'm willing to work late, so I had a nice, long snooze. Then, I made the mistake of consuming iced tea around 3 p.m., followed by homemade Barnie's in the early evening. Now, it's approaching 1 a.m., and I'm still working off the caffeine buzz, knowing that I will regret it tomorrow morning.

Hard to believe it was 20 hours ago that I drove my husband to the airport. The fog imparted an eerie feel to the normally routine drive down 417. Even with my driving glasses on, everything looked fuzzy and hazy, as though I was viewing it through cotton gauze. To prevent being lulled into sleep while piloting Canyonero home, I put on my favorite station, WDBO. It was much too early for the radical talk shows, but I listed to the building traffic horror on I-4 (it wasn't too bad yet at such an early hour).

In the winter, I drove hubby to the airport in darkness, and the sky was pitch black when I returned home, too. Now, as the days lengthen, the night sky is usually starting to yield to daybreak by the time I return to Duloc Manor. The black is edged with royal blue, and I know that the sunshine is peeking over the horizon. It reminds me of the Drive From Hell, when we trekked through the Atlanta ice storm on our move to Florida. It was just before daybreak when we hit the first vestiges of hellishness. The expressway was closed down due to an accident, and I sat wedged in the forward-tilted driver's seat, watching the sun rise with tedious slowness while my neck, back, and shoulders found new ways to cramp and spasm. That was probably the longest daybreak I've ever witnessed in my life; time slows to a crawl when you're waiting to resume your 18-turned-to-24-hour drive with a menagerie of animals in the cargo area.

Now, barring intensive therapy, I'm apparently doomed to remember that drive whenever I'm on the road in the wee morning hours. Oh well, the flashbacks shouldn't get too intense because it's highly unlikely that I'll encounter an ice storm anywhere close to Celebration.

The house is very quiet when my husband is out of town, although the cats see to it that I don't get too lonely. The only challenge is to force myself to get out for a while; otherwise, I become too wrapped up in my work and the clock gets away from me. Usually, if I haven't been out during the day, I force myself to visit the health club at night. In the hour or two before closing, I usually have the lap pool at Celebration Health almost all to myself. I doggedly paddle back and forth, cheating through the use of a swim noodle since I prefer the deep lane (it's 6 feet deep, and I'm only 5'2"). Deeper water makes for a more challenging workout, especially if I decide to throw in some water aerobics.

But on this day, I went out at lunchtime; my neighbor and I needed to do some errands downtown, and then we headed over to The Earl of Sandwich for lunch. That's probably my favorite eaterie at Downtown Disney, although Wolfgang Puck Express is a close second (squash soup and goat cheese pizza...mmmm!). Normally I get an All-American (turkey with ranch dressing and cranberry sauce), but my neighbor and I decided to each get something different and then split our choices. That turned out to be a great idea, as I discovered that the roast beef and ham/cheese sandwiches are both divine.

Even though it was lunch, we got there around 3 p.m. I topped off my meal with a large iced tea. Caffeine has a lasting effect on me, so even though it's nearly 12 hours later, I'm still suffering from its stimulant action. The cats know that it's past 1 a.m., i.e. a reasonable bedtime, so they are lurking around the family room, trying to entice me upstairs.

I have to work tomorrow, so I'd best stop my blogging and heed the cats' advice. I'll probably be a zombie in the morning, but I'll have to make a pledge to myself to avoid any caffeine. It will take a concerted effort, but tomorrow I'll overcome my night owl programming and get to bed at a decent hour.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Too Much of a Good Thing?

Can there ever be too much of a good thing? Lately I've been wondering that as our town gears up for the premiere of a new movie, "Tugger, the Jeep 4 x 4 That Wanted to Fly." "Tugger" was created by Genesis Orlando, a Celebration-based company started by former Disney animators.

For a long time now, there have been sneak previews of "Tugger's" progress. My husband and I were anxious to see them, but they always seemed to coincide with a time when we were in Chicago (that was back in our "commuter days"). Now, the movie is complete, and since its roots are here, the big premiere is being held on the company's home turf.

I've known for a while that "Tugger" was going to premiere over the Fourth of July weekend. It seemed appropriate, since that is a major event for Celebration anyway. What I didn't realize was that this was not going to be low-key. It will be a full-out extravaganza, complete with an appearance by James Belushi's band and a fireworks display capper. Rumors are pegging the number of expected attendees at 60,000 (think Magic Kingdom-sized crowd), although I'm hoping that a more reasonable estimate might be 40,000 to 45,000.

There is another aspect that is causing a great deal of controversy: on July 2, the date of the premiere, Celebration will be closed off to everyone but residents. Passes will be issued to those of us fortunate enough to live here, and we'll have to show them at the entrance to town in order to re-enter our "bubble." Of course, that's only for those foolish enough to attempt to leave in the first place. I'm already picturing the back-ups and the carloads of crazed, argumentative tourists, so I plan to bunker down in East Village for the entire Fourth of July weekend. It will be good practice for hurricane season anyway.

There are also fears that our little burb might not be able to handle such a huge onslaught of visitors. Personally, I have never experienced anything of this magnitude. Up until now, Fourth of July has been the largest event that I've seen in town. All I can remember from last year is cars parked on any available inch of surface space and people squabbling madly over "their" spots to watch the fireworks. My husband and I didn't have to be a part of that; we lucked into a perfect viewing spot that was virtually deserted, but I'll never disclose it short of torture.

We had walked downtown on the Fourth with our neighbor, who was meeting a friend from Kissimmee. This very brave friend drove and parked downtown amidst the insanity. After the fireworks, we literally got home to East Village on foot before she even managed to drive out of town.

My imagination is multiplying July Fourth by a factor of 10 to try to get some perspective on "Tugger's" potential magnitude. Of course, it could all be a wild exaggeration; then again, that dire prediction of 60,000 could come true. I'm steeling myself for the worst but hoping for the best: another fun gala Celebration event.

This is where I wonder: Is there ever too much of a good thing? I've been very vocal about our parking issue lately because I believe that if it gets too bad, it has the potential to kill downtown Celebration as it currently exists. No tourists and residents equals no stores. No stores equals empty buildings with soaped-over windows. In the hot residential real estate market, I supposed they could be converted into condos. But part of the reason I moved here was because of the vibrant commercial downtown. With the stores gone, we'd be just like any other cookie cutter Florida resort development, only a lot more pricey.

Big events draw visitors, which in turn draws money, so I'm happy to see an event like "Tugger" that will help to support our downtown. I also think it will be interesting to see how well the off-site parking works. While residents will be able to get into town with their passes, others will be routed to parking lots and shuttled in. If that goes well, it could be a model for the future. If it fails, then we know we need to find another solution. Although it will be inconvenient to wait in line to drive home and then pony up a pass, I would be willing to do that a few times a year as a trade-off to keep our downtown lively and to host special events.

When I moved to Celebration, I knew that I would be trading some privacy and convenience for the opportunity to live in the infamous "Disney Town." For me, the trade-off was worth it; we've only been here full-time since January, but I can't imagine living anywhere else.

But I can understand the worries of many of my fellow residents, too. You can read them at www.34747forum.com, but you will need to register for the message board. Basically, since we've never dealt with something of this magnitude, people are worried about what will happen if the crowd gets out of control. And what about the mess that tens of thousands of people are sure to leave? Will they be roaming the streets and trampling people's yards? Hopefully these things won't happen, but realistically there is always a chance.

"Tugger" is being held on July 2, and our usual holiday extravaganza is taking place on the 4th. Will we be able to hit the "reset" button that quickly, recovering from the big premiere and getting ready for Round 2? We'll see.

Another sore point with many residents (myself included) is that there was virtually no communication within the town. I am getting used to the fact that our official newspaper, Celebration News, is a sanitized Pollyana version of what's going on. If you want the real scoop, go to the unofficial sources. First and foremost, there's the Celebration Independent, the "rebel" newspaper. Some people deride it as the Co-Dependent, but I think it serves a very useful function. It offers a different, and often more realistic, view of what's gong on in the steamy underbelly of Paradise.

Second is the 34747forum.com discussion forum. Granted, we have a lively intranet, but that is for residents only, and it requires posters to use their real names. On 34747forum, you can take on a secret identity to say crazy things and bash your fellow posters at will. Of course, I'm saying that with tongue in cheek...even though things can get nasty over there, if you read between the lines, you will learn a lot. It was on that site that myself, and quite a few other residents, learned just how large this event might be and that we would need passes to get into town on the 2nd. The current issue of Celebration News, which came out after the poo-poo hit the fan, mentions the event in rosy tones that make no mention of the logistics.

Personally, I think (hope) that "Tugger" will be a good thing for our town. I was very disappointed when Disney-MGM shut down their animation studio and morphed from a real working animation facility to a clone of the lame California animation tour. I'm proud that Celebration is home to Genesis Orlando, and I'm hoping that this first movie will launch them on to continued success. My only fear is that it might be too much of a good thing, but I won't know for sure until after the last celebrity has headed back to Hollywood and the straggling tourists have been shooed onto the shuttle.

Will Celebration survive? And perhaps more important, will Tugger get his wings? Tune in shortly after July 2nd for the verdict.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Time to Build the Ark

Well, no, despite the title of this post, it's not quite time to build an ark and line up the animals two by two, but we're in our second day of rain. Yesterday there was a reprieve of sunshine in the afternoon, but today it looks like the gray skies will last well into the evening.

Our cat, Stitch, loves to go out in the yard, but he absolutely hates getting wet. When we adopted him, the shelter told us that he'd been found in a field. I don't know how long he was out there, but I suspect that he had some experience with thunderstorms. Thunder and lightning seem to cause flashbacks, and when there's a downpour outside he usually won't cross the door threshhold. If he does, he positions himself carefully on the porch to protect himself from the moisture.

Today he's been quite frustrated; his outside time was limited yesterday, and today's steady rain has confined him indoors since morning. Even when he's out, we don't let him go too far. He's always on a leash, so he gets to poke around the yard and wander a bit in the park across the street. Sometimes I take him to the neighbor's porch, or we go for a walk around the alley. I guess it's just the principle of the thing; he likes a taste of "freedom," no matter how much of an illusion it might actually be.

Now, he is so desperate that he actually ventured outside and off the porch, even though it was drizzling steadily. I let him slink around the front yard for a few minutes, grazing on the moist grass, before putting him back on house arrest. Usually, when I pick him up to return him to the house, he curses me with some crabby "meowwwrrrrs." Today, he accepted going back inside with no complaint.

His buddy, Farquaad, was also lurking around the door. Quaad is insatiably curious about the great outdoors, but he's also very shy around humans he doesn't know. He'll bravely stalk the front porch, and perhaps even venture down into my flower bed, but he flings himself at the door and cries desperately to go back inside if anyone walks by.

Quaad came out for a brief moment, but the wind was whipping my flag and playing a mad symphony on the windchimes, so my timid orange kitty quickly decided to return to safety.

I did manage to get all my chores done despite the rain. I had to go to the bank and post office, so I armed myself with an enormous red and blue umbrella and set off in Canyonero when there seemed to be a break in the monsoon. I had to park a block away (I could have imitated all the people who were studiously ignoring the "no parking" zones, but I try to be law abiding), but the rain had tamed itself down to a steady drizzle so it wasn't too bad. Despite the breeziness that was flinging the raindrops around, I managed to stay relatively dry.

The bank and post office seem to be "feast or famine." Either they are mostly deserted, or else there is a line from hell. Fortunately, the threatening weather seemed to be keeping the crowd down today. At the post office, which was my first stop, there was a handful of other patrons, but not enough to create a significant wait. At the bank, there were only a couple of people ahead of me, so I was in and out within minutes.

When I was done with business, I decided to stroll down to Herman's for some fresh lemonade. Normally, I would have sipped it in a rocking chair down by the lake, but with the gray, steadily-spitting sky, that wasn't an attractive option. Instead, I enjoyed it while heading back to Canyonero.

Oh well, this is a good time for rain. I have a lot of work to get done before we leave on our cruise tomorrow, so the yucky weather reduces the temptation to take some time off for a swim, bike ride, or trip to the theme parks. It's helping my flowers and lawn, too. While Stitch was out on his brief soujourn, I checked the worst of the dead patches. They still look pretty bad, but here and there I noticed little bits of rejuvination. Brave green grass blades are poking their way up now that they've gotten a good drink. It will take a while for them to fill in the bare spots, but I will nurture them carefully.

Speaking of weather, today is the first day of Governor Jeb's Florida tax holiday on hurricane survivial supplies. I heard on the radio that there was a mad rush on generators. Heck, if I'd know that I was moving to Florida so soon, I could have picked up one for a song in Chicago after the Y2K craziness. In the Midwest, we get occasional tornados, but it's unusual for a natural disaster to wipe out utilities over a wide area for an extended length of time, so generators are not a commonly-owned item.

I only remember a long outage once in my forty years. A microburst in our Chicago neighborhood kept us without power for several days, which we spent living by candles and camp lanterns. I was in first grade at the time, and I don't remember it being a major hardship, other than having no television. I don't think the outage was very widespread; probably only a few blocks.

In Florida, hurricanes can destroy whole towns. I remember the damage that they caused in Kissimmee and Poincinana last year. And if that happens in the summer, it's very, very difficult to live without a refrigerator in the sweltering heat (not to mention air conditioning). Given the greater danger, generators are a more popular item.

I do want to pick up a weather radio during the tax holiday. Recently, I realized that Celebration doesn't have a tornado siren, so we need some type of early warning if we're not watching television or if a tornado springs up overnight. Up north, every town has a siren that blasts out a "take cover" warning when a funnel cloud has been spotted in the area. Over here, I guess the "early warning" is seeing one when you look out your window.

Hopefully the rain will slack off over the weekend. If not, I can build an ark if necessary, but the animal pairs might be a problem. I can probably round up two gators and a pair of deer from the Aquila reserve area, and maybe my visiting armadillo has a mate (if not, perhaps he can link up with the black snake that was hanging out by the garage last week). But all of my cats are neutered and my bird is a swinging single, so repopulating Celebration's animal life might be a bit of a problem.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Rain...Finally!

The rain finally came! It poured down in rivers last night and well into the morning. I woke up to skies so dark that I didn't even realize morning had arrived until I glanced at the bedside clock. Outside the bedroom window, I could hear a waterfall (literally, since our back porch awning turns into Niagra during any substantial rainfall due to its poor design).

When I went to bed, my husband assured me that the storms had detoured around us and that there would be no rain until the afternoon. I don't know what forecast he was looking at, but we had ourselves a major Florida monsoon overnight. I suspect that there were strong winds, too, because our neighbor's garbage can was tipped and one of the newly planted trees by the condos across the alley was toppled.

My morning walk was a washout, but as the day lengthened into afternoon, sunshine was trying to peek through the gray cloud cover. The temperature was in the 70s, which was a real treat compared to the muggy 90s that we've been having lately. My husband and I decided to head over to Disney World for lunch. We had a pre-paid voucher that is only good at certain restaurants. Normally we would have used it at Epcot, but we were afraid that the downpour wasn't completely over. Parking far away and walking through the park was not an attractive option.

The voucher was also good at several of the hotels, so we decided to choose a restaurant that we hadn't tried before. That's a difficult task, since we've tried virtually every WDW eatery over the years. Finally, we settled on Olivia's at Old Kay West. The seafood oriented appetizers and tempting sandwiches and desserts won us over.

The sky was still spitting when we arrived at the resort. Fortunately, we found a fairly close parking spot; armed with tightly clutched umbrellas, we sprinted to the building. There was a large crowd of people waiting, but fortunately I had called ahead for a priority seating reservation. If you want to dine at the Disney World resort, the telephone number 407-WDW-DINE is your friend.

We were seated within 5 minutes, and soon we were deep in negotiations to maximize our choices. My husband was tempted by the crab cakes, but he also wanted to try the artichoke and shrimp dip. I was leaning toward the conch fritters, which he also likes, so we compromised. I ordered the conch, he ordered the dip, and we both shared our choices.

For my main course, I had the pulled pork sandwich, while he opted for a shrimp po' boy. The sandwiches were large and filling, especially since they are served with a generous portion of crinkle cut French fries and creamy, somewhat fruity cole slaw. The only slight wrinkle in our enjoyment was the slow service. Our poor waitress was responsible for an entire room of tables, so she was running herself to a frazzle. Worse yet, the register was self-destructing, which tied her up for at least ten minutes. I was antsy to get my drink, which showed up about 15 minutes after I ordered it. The appetizers arrived before the beverages, but my mango iced tea and hubby's cappucino smoothie finally put in an appearance before the main course showed up.

Thankfully, we weren't in a hurry. We both had to get home to work, but it's a lot more fun sitting in a Disney World restaurant, people watching through the window, than being chained to a keyboard. Since Old Key West is a DVC resort, the walls were also quite interesting to study. They were lined with dozens...actually, probably hundreds...of photos of DVC members from the early 1990s to present.

Dessert was also included in the vouchers, so I opted for key lime pie, while my husband took the waitress's recommendation and tried a unique apple/banana concoction. It consisted of apples wrapped into a tortilla and coated with some sort of bananas foster type topping. Judging by the speed with which he consumed it, it must have been delicious. I was pleased to see that my pie was pale yellow, rather than phony food-coloring-green, meaning that it was authentic. Most people think that key limes are a minty green color because that's what the fake pies look like, but their natural hue is closer to a lemon.

When we were done eating, my husband suggested strolling around the resort...anything to avoid work! By now, the drizzle had stopped and the sun was trying to peek out more forcefully. As we passed the boat dock, I had an overwhelming desire to rent a watercraft. It's been ages since we've done that, and I like the waterway that runs between Port Orleans and Downtown Disney, which you can access from Old Key West.

We rented a Boston Whaler that was governed down to putt-putt speed. My husband was moaning and groaning that we were going to get caught in a downpour, so we only rented it for half an hour. I wanted to take a look at the treehouses that line the shore between Port Orleans and Saratoga Screens. I never got to stay in them, but I always thought they looked so cool. Now they are abandoned and look uncharacteristically run done, especially considering that they are on Disney property.

The treehouses used to be part of the villas at the Disney Institute. But now the Institute is history, with Saratoga Springs in its place, and the treehouses sustained heavy damage during the hurricanes. I don't know whether they are going to be rehabbed or simply torn down. The roofs no longer look sound, and a couple of the balconies have been destroyed. Lawn furniture still sits out on many of the decks, but the curtains in the windows are ragged and ghostly. These once-inviting residences have a forlorn air about them. I hope that Disney either fixes them up soon or just puts them out of their misery.

We motored past the treehouses and headed towards Port Orleans-French Quarter. I noticed that we needed to turn back to make it within the half-hour time span. But lo and behold, my husband (who hadn't wanted to go boating at all) was suddenly pressing to stay out for an hour. He'd gotten it into his head to go all the way down to Dixie Landings (the former, politically-incorrect name for Port Orleans Riverside; Disney may have changed it, but it will always be DL to me, just as the Market Street Cafe in Celebration will always be Max's).

We motored down to the end of the waterway by the hotels, then turned around to head to Downtown Disney. It was a cool, pleasant day for boating, marred only slightly when we came around a blind curve and realized that one of the large, guest-transport boats was heading for a single-width bridge from the opposite direction at the same time as us. My husband averted disaster by quickly flipping our vessel into reverse.

There were a few other guests on the water too; most of them were piloting little water mice, but there were a few in pontoons or boats similar to ours. Much of the area around the hotels is a no-wake zone, so your boat's capability doesn't matter because you have to proceed slowly, no matter what. But once you reach Downtown, there is a large patch of water where you can go full throttle. Unfortunately, "full speed ahead" still means a relatively leisurely pace since the boats are all heavily governored for safety.

Many years ago, Disney briefly had speedboats available for rent. My husband and I tried one once, and it was a blast! I think you could only rent them at Magic Kingdom resort hotels, which meant that you were boating on Lake Buena Vista/Seven Seas Lagoon. Since that's a good sized lake rather than a waterway lined by hotels, there was lots of space to go all out. We had such a fantastic time!

Unfortunately, those boats are now just a footnote in Disney history. I don't know why they stopped renting them, but I suspect that the wild speed boat drivers probably terrorized the smaller, slower watercraft.

We stayed out for a full hour, and I was beginning to think that I would have to whip out my cell phone, call 407-WDW-PLAY, and ask the recreation staff to send out a patrol boat to force my husband to return. But finally he accepted the reality that we both had to do some work, and reluctantly he made his way back to Old Key West.

When we returned to Celebration, the sunshine had definitely made some headway. It was bright enough to force me to don my sunglasses. I walked around my yard, observing the soaked grass and flower beds. I could almost hear the parched plants murmuring a relieved, "Ahhhhhhhh!" The grass in the park across the street is still brown, but I am hoping to eventually see some healthy green. On the barren spots in my lawn, I have noticed a few tiny patches of life. The downpour was very, very welcome; I hope that our dry spell is over for a while.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Rain...Finally?

Tonight may be the night when the long dry spell comes to an end. Technically, we should be under a driving thunderstorm right now, at least according to the radar on the television. So far, there has been thunder and lightning, but it's been a cruel teaser. Nary a raindrop has fallen...at least not here in Celebration.

With any luck, we may get a good soaking by morning. Our whole area (Kissimmee) is under yellow and red blobs on the radar screen. We've also managed to top 2000 lightning strikes, according to the Fox television counter. The lightning counter was a new thing for me when I moved to Florida. In Chicago, we had a heat index and a UV index, but I don't think we ever got enough lightning to warrant keeping track.

I did witness a lightning strike once, albeit indirectly. It was before I was married; I was in my apartment, sitting in the livingroom with the front door open so the screen door could let in the breeze. I knew it was going to rain, but the downpour hadn't arrived yet. Suddenly, there was an ear-slitting explosion and a bright flash of white. Along with all my neighbors, I raced outside to see what had happened. A tree had been struck a couple of houses down, with its charred trunk neatly split in two. Fortunately, no one was hurt, and it didn't fall on any houses.

In Florida, I haven't witnessed any lightning strikes at close range yet, and hopefully things will remain that way. I worry about our home and appliances; we haven't taken any action yet, other than buying surge protector outlets, but we plan to sign up for Progress Energy's surge protection program. According to their website, and the propagada that they mail occasionally, for $5.95 a month, they "reduce electrical surges by suppressing them at your meter before they enter your home." In theory, the rainy season is here, so we should subscribe to the service soon.

Then again, the storms might be a no-show once again. I worked late this evening, and for a while the sky was lit up with nature's fireworks, punctuated with a distant rumble of thunder. It took a while to convince my husband that it really was thunder, and not just the echo of fireworks from Disney World, since it was Illuminations time.

But now that's all gone, and the sky is dark and undisturbed by any signs of imminent rain. I hope that it will make a resurgence overnight, because our poor lawn is dying out more every day. We ran the sprinklers, checking them carefully to make sure that they were all working and that none of them were blocked too badly by grass clumps or bushes. We found a couple that had gotten lost in grassy overgrowth; no matter how brown the rest of the lawn gets, the areas around the sprinklers stay like mini patches of jungle thicket. We cut them out to make sure that the precious water would reach the widest area possible.

Sprinklers are one of those aspects of Florida life that took some getting used to. In the Midwest, nature does most of the watering. During dry spells, you buy a lawn sprinkler that you hook up to your hose. The only houses there that have an underground irrigation system are those far above my socioeconomic level.

In Florida, sprinklers are the status quo. They are as inocuous as phone lines or a power meter. You have to keep an eye on them to make sure that none of the heads are broken, resulting in an Old Faithful-style gusher, and that they are correctly aimed, not blocked with sediment, and not lost under overgrowth. But once you get used to them, they become another fact of life.

The sprinklers use reclaimed water, i.e. water that you would not want to drink. It has an oddly sweet smell that I've never been able to figure out; I didn't even notice it until my husband pointed it out.

In contrast, the water in the house has a slightly swampy smell at certain times of the year. I don't even notice it anymore, but back in the days when we were tourists, I loved it. In my mind, it meant "Disney World," as it always tickled my nose when taking a shower at our hotel.

I'm so used to Florida now that when I return to Chicago, the water there smells funny to me. I was born and raised on Lake Michigan water, which tastes good but is heavily chlorinated. Since I never knew anything else, I never noticed the chlorine smell or taste. Now, that bleachy odor assaults my senses the moment it leaves the tap.

As I type this, the rain is still a no-show, but hopefully it will pour down in sheets overnight. Besides the scorched greenery, the lakes are as low as I've ever seen them, and one of the normally marshy areas along the East Village walking path has dried out to a muddy hole. With any luck, by tomorrow it will be teaming with water and bird life again.

If not, it will be back to waiting; supposedly, if we slip by unscathed tonight, the next chance of thunderstorms is tomorrow. I hate to ruin the tourists' afternoon plans, but I'm desperate. Just an hour or two is all that I ask...just enough to restore all the thirsty lawns and let the wetlands live up to their name once again.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Farmers Market Finale

This morning, my husband and I headed to downtown Celebration for the last farmers market until fall. I fear that it might be the last farmers market ever, since construction on the adjacent parking lot will most likely be in full swing by October. Shutting down a street to hold the market, and thereby taking over precious parking spaces on a weekend, doesn't sound too likely. Perhaps it could move to Founders Park, but I'm not holding my breath. The latest email propaganda from Town Hall said that the farmers market will return in October, but I noticed that it didn't specify a location, year or town, so we'll see.

The number of merchants was much smaller than usual, but the produce stands and the French pastry sellers were there. My husband was able to stock up on fresh tomatoes and squash, while I was able to fulfill my sweet tooth. Actually, the pastry stand didn't have my favorite cookies, which have a chocolate shell and are filled with either peanut butter or caramel. They did have some other tasty-looking options, so we bought a small pecan pie to share for dessert in the evening.

The farmers market is a weekend tradition for us. I roust my husband out of bed on Sunday morning (he runs on little or no sleep all week, then hibernates like a bear on the weekend) and drag him to Max's (Market Street Cafe) for breakfast. Then we stroll down to the market to do our veggie shopping. He hates buying produce during the winter when he's in Chicago for work because the flavorless hothouse pseudo-tomatoes can't compare to Florida's flavorful year-round bounty.

Max's requires him to roll out of bed at a semi-decent hour because they only serve breakfast until 11:30 a.m. on Sunday. Since there can be waits of half an hour, and occasionally longer, that means getting downtown no later than 11. We have a lot of other good (and not so good) breakfast places nearby, such as Cracker Barrel and Perkins, but I prefer Max's because they mix the fruit into the batter of their blueberry and apple pancakes. Most other places just slop some preserves on top.

This week, I opted for the apple pancakes with a side of bacon. My husband never wavers from his order of French toast (has enough time passed since the war began to call it that, or should it be "Liberty Toast?"). I rotate through the three types of pancake: apple, blueberry, and chocolate chip. My side meat varies between bacon and ham, and every now and then I throw in a sunnyside up egg just to shake things up. One of the greatest simple pleasures in life is sopping up a runny egg yolk with a piece of toast.

After we ate, it was farmers market time. As I mentioned earlier, the number of booths was greatly reduced. I did see the fresh-squeezed lemonade stand, but I was too well plied with mango iced tea from Max's to be tempted. I bought the pecan pie and headed to the Town Center Market (the corner grocery on Market Street) to pick up some potato salad while my husband browsed through the produce.

I am used to a convenience mark-up at small groceries, but I almost had a heart attack when I discovered the price for a pound and a quarter of potato salad: nearly $7.00! Ouch! I like to support the businesses in downtown Celebration, but for that price, I'll make the trek across 192 to Publix next time. In their current ad, two pounds of potato salad costs only $3.49. A nearly four dollar premium to shop in town is a bit too rich for my blood.

I headed towards the Celebration Hotel, clutching my gold-plated salad, as I had parked my car down the street so I could check out the flags in Downeast, another local store. I have a flagpole and a garden flag stand, and I like to rotate my banners frequently. Since it's Memorial Day weekend, I am currently flying the Stars and Stripes, but I wanted something new for later in the year.

I found a couple of possibilities: a nautical-themed flag that said "Welcome Aboard" and a garden flag with palm trees and a tropical island. Those might not sound too compatible to most people, but they were perfect for a Disney Cruise Line fanatic like me. The nautical flag would represent my favorite ship, the Disney Wonder, on which we are sailing for the 44th time on Thursday (actually, a few of those trips have also been on the Disney Magic). The tropical garden flag would represent Castaway Cay, Disney's private island paradise.

The clerk pointed out to me that the garden flag lights up. As soon as we got home, my husband and I had to close ourselves off in the darkness of the Harry Potter bathroom to check it out. It was so cute! Normally, I would leave the American flag out from Memorial Day to Fourth of July, but I think I might get too tempted to put my nautical flags out for June.

Actually, since I like to tie my banners in with the seasons, I wish I could have found a hurricane flag...maybe something with that oh-so-familiar National Weather Service hurricane symbol superimposed over a graphic of the state. It could stay up until the fall, unless of course another killer storm visits us and rips it down.

It's late afternoon now, and the farmers market vendors have no doubt packed up their stands for the last time of the season...hopefully not for the last time ever. There is a market in Winter Park all summer, but it's just not the same. Although we sometimes drive, I like the idea of being able to walk or bike downtown and having the market right in my neighborhood. It's part of the ambiance of living in Celebration, and I sure hope that it's not extinct come October.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

On a Happier Note

My last couple of posts have focused on politics in Celebration in an uncharacteristically negative way. Today soothed my nerves, which have been frazzled over the past week with the parking issue and ongoing online debates, and reminded me why I love it here.

Actually, it was bittersweet fun. We attended a backyard barbeque to send off my neighbors, who are going on vacation to England and then heading off to their summer home. I love the neighborhood parties that are such an essential part of life in Celebration, but I will miss our friends while they are gone. Our little cul de sac is quieter in the summer; it's still a homey place, but there is a definite gap until fall.

My husband and I headed over to Publix to pick up some pies for dessert. At get-togethers, I always opt to bring something that doesn't require cooking or baking. If I can get it at a store, that's fine, but I get much too flustered if it requires any preparation.

Actually, I am a good baker when I'm put on the spot. In high school, Foods class was a highlight of the day. It was scheduled right before lunchtime, and along with a group of friends, I had co-opted a position as "student aid" for the study hall part of the lunch period. My kitchen partner and I would whip up delicious cakes and pies and other goodies, slice them in half, and head off with our booty. I don't know what she did with her share, but upstairs in the Office Education classroom, my friends and I would tuck into our sugar high. As student aids, I supposed that we were supposed to be doing something constructive, like grading papers for the teacher, but she let us run amok around the typewriters, goofing off in typical teenage ways.

But that was long, long ago. Once I married my husband, who is quite a whiz in the kitchen, my cooking skills went dormant. Early in our marriage, I tried to assist in the kitchen, but it drove him crazy. Soon, I learned to just stay out of the way and enjoy the fruits of his culinary labors.

The barbeque allowed his "inner chef" to emerge, as he was placed in charge of the grill. He fired up the Propane King and set to work, cooking up beef and vegetable shish-ke-bobs. Meanwhile, I found my place in the Great Circle of Barbeques: Bartender. We had stopped at the liquor store next door to Publix to pick up some T.G.I. Friday's drink mixes, so I whipped out my handy-dandy Magic Bullet and set to work whipping out frozen libations. The party was being held next door, so I shuttled back and forth with margaritas and pina coladas in tow.

All told, we had five households of neighbors joining together for some Saturday afternoon fun. Back at our condo in Chicago, I can't imagine getting together with any of the people in our building. Well, maybe a couple of them, but a snowfall in Florida is more likely than a large-scale friendly gathering at the condo. When the complex was first built, we used to have an annual block party there, but it's long since gone the way of the dodo due to lack of interest.

In Celebration, neighborliness still exists, and I'm hoping that it won't become an endangered species as the house prices continue to rise. I'm sure that similar gatherings go on every weekend throughout town. One ambitious resident is even organizing a community picnic to allow posters on the community intranet to meet each other face to face.

It sounds corny, but in some ways our town is like a modern version of a Norman Rockwell painting. Granted, we have our issues, as I learned firsthand this week. Celebration as we know it is not immune; someday the canvas could be painted over with a picture of a plain-vanilla suburb. But for right now, it's a great place to live, and I plan to do my part to keep it that way.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Small Town Politics

Before I moved to Celebration, I never got involved in local politics. The closest brush with I ever had with political activism was joining our condo board as an alternate. I only did that for two reasons: 1) Nobody else would; and 2) To get an insider's view, since we had some bad problems going on at the time (as far as I know, the mess is still going strong).

Other than that, I traipsed blithely along through life, letting others make the decisions. Sure, I had some opinions. I found our suburb's attempts at sprucing up the downtown laughable, as well as a waste of money. They built a fancy new train station with a clock tower observation deck that has never been opened to the public. Outside, the scattered chairs around the fountain are supposed to be inviting, except that they're all securely chained to the ground. The latest attempt to increase liveability was to scatter bizarrely painted benches up and down the main street. And I do mean bizzare, featuring weird things like giant eyeballs. One bench even has a fake person sitting on it; maybe that's supposed to work in the same way that hunters use decoy ducks.

I moved to that suburb primarily because it was close to both work and the horse barn. I had no vested interest in it, other than as a place to sleep. Thus, unless some issue arose that would directly hit me in the pocketbook or drastically reduce my quality of life, I didn't give a rat's ass about the politics.

Moving to Celebration was different. It was the first time I'd even chosen a town specifically because of the sense of place. When I first moved away from home, I chose my apartment because it was affordable and close to work, as well as being close to many of my friends. Then, I got married and moved into my husband's townhome, located in a dreary neighborhood that was chosen solely on price. Our next move was to the place I described earlier, chosen strictly for convenience.

Before I visited Celebration, I figured that it would be the same when we eventually moved to Florida. We'd choose somewhere decent and affordable, within reasonable striking distance of the theme parks and beaches. It would be a crash pad inbetween our work and play sessions (and that play would take place at Disney World or other remote locations). I never envisioned swimming at the neighborhood pool, walking downtown to festivals, attending backyard barbeques, or gathering with my neighbors on the front porch.

Visiting the infamous "Disney Town" changed all that. It was the first time I ever fell in love with a community. The ten-year Florida plan suddenly became immediate. We didn't need to look anywhere else; we were home.

We still enjoy the amenities of living the heart of Vacation Country U.S.A., but many of our activities center around home and community. Back in the Midwest, none of our friends lived in the same suburb. Get-togethers were always at some far-off, mutually convenient place. We have out-of-town friends in Florida, but we also have many great friends and neighbors right within Celebration. We're just as likely to drop over at someone's house as we are to meet up with them at a restaurant or theme park.

I'm also in love with the town itself; the boardwalks through the lush green "islands" are so much nicer than the asphalted forest preserves up north. Just last night, a deer literally bounded across my front lawn, and the wild turkeys are always a joy. But it's not just the "suburban wilderness" that I enjoy. I love being able to head downtown, get an ice cream cone, frozen coffee, or some cold lemonade, and relax in an (unchained-gasp!) rocker by the lake.

The acceleration of our parking problems, sealed at the meeting described in my previous blog entry, helped me understand while people enter the pit of vipers also known as local politics. Actually, it was the whole lead-up to the meeting...the vote itself was anti-climatic.

The only reason I started following this issue was because I felt that it threatened downtown Celebration's viability. I've seen plenty of houses, condos, and townhomes spring up all over town without arousing my latent activism. I've heard all the comments that the developers have all the power, but that didn't worry me because I didn't see any blatantly negative repercussions.

Once I realized that condos were going to be built on the downtown parking lots, with nothing more than a token nod at providing alternate parking, I had to jump into the fray. Not only did it cause me to spread my opinions all over the intranet and to add my voice at relevant meetings, but it also made me more aware of the various governing entities in town and the agendas of their individual members.

Now that I've gotten a taste of small-town politics, I must say that it's been quite a shock for a sheltered person like me. In Celebration, the whole thing is compounded by the fact that we're not a "real" town and that The Celebration Company (i.e. Disney) got so many developer-friendly concessions that we can't do anything about. Even if our residental owners' board wanted to take a stand on certain issues, they are pretty much impotent.

Of course, I've also learned that being elected by the residents of Celebration doesn't necessarily mean acting as their voice once you're in a position of power. I used to wonder what led people to campaign so aggressively for the candidates of their choice. Now I see what a difference elections can make on a local level.

If you're thinking about moving to Celebration, I can't deny that it's a wonderful town. As long as it remains the way it is today, with a strong sense of community and a vibrant commercial downtown, I will never, ever move (short of some unavoidable disaster, of course).

But be warned: The things that you gain in terms of living in the best town in America will come with a price. It won't just stay that way unless you help to preserve it. For some, Celebration represents a cash cow to be milked dry and then slaughtered. For others, it's a place to act out personal agendas with no regard for the wishes of the majority. If you want to maintain the wonderful Celebration that exists today, be prepared to work for it.

I know that the parking issue has only just begun. This week's meeting was simply the opening salvo in a long, hard battle with far-reaching consequences on many fronts. I enjoy the positive things about our town, but I learned an important lesson: If I want them to remain, I'm going to have to be active. Otherwise, my beloved Duloc Manor will become just another crash pad, no different than the other homes I've lived in throughout my life...and that would be a real tragedy.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

Celebration (Mis)Representation

Even though I read all the books and articles decrying a lack of resident representation in the governing of Celebration, I didn't let that scare me off. After all, when my husband and I bought our home, a new era was supposedly beginning. The Celebration Company, a.k.a. Disney, was relinquishing control and putting it in the hands of the residents. No matter what had come before, it would finally be (to paraphrase another resident's frequent quote) "our town now."

Today I got my first taste of Celebration (mis)representation in action. Quite frankly, it gave me a new admiration for the long-time residents who have toughed it out for years. It was frustrating enough to experience it for the first time; I can't even imagine going through it again and again for nearly a decade.

The big issue is parking downtown, or more accurately, the lack thereof. There are two large lots, locally referred to as "the church lot" and "the Stetson lot," that have served as parking for the downtown shops and restaurants, as well as the Stetson University building. On most days, finding a spot can be a challenge, although it's not impossible, especially if you're willing to walk a few blocks. But during special events like Fourth of July and the winter snowfalls, every available square inch of land, including both pavement and grass, is covered with cars. They overflow onto the residential streets, blocking driveways and alleys and generally wreaking havoc.

Now, those two parking lots are slated to become high-density condos. Bye bye, parking lots...hello, parking problem multiplied by a factor of 1000. It's interesting to note that Disney sold the parking lots to Lexin, along with the rest of the downtown. Then Lexin sold them to Issa, a local builder that is developing the condos under the name of Carlyle. Confused by the shell game yet? It gets better.

When the condo plans were rendered, no one happened to notice that they included a piece of property owned by the CCDD (Celebration Community Development District). Oops. What followed was a proposal that many (myself included) thought to be very one-sided, giving the developer the parcel in question in return for virtually nothing. Oh, we'd get some other property, all right, but it would be for a parking lot that was going to be created anyway and used by the condo owners. Sure, they'll have garages, but no one in Florida actually parks in their garage; in a basementless state, they're simply an auxiliary storage facility. Basically, we'd get ownership of the lot and therefore be stuck with maintenance and liability. Since there is a lift station currently on the CCDD parcel, Issa also proposed to relocate it. Thing is, we don't need a new lift station; the old one has been there for nearly a decade without bothering anyway.

This is a Cliff Notes version; there were a few more issues involved, such as the storage of landscaping trucks and equipment, but hopefully my non-Celebration readers can get a feel for the sleight of hand.

The meeting to discuss this mess and vote on the Issa proposal was cancelled once, then rescheduled as a buried item in the CCDD agenda. Fortunately, Celebration residents are wiser than most about attempts to sweep things under the rug. A core band of concerned citizens made sure that the meeting was publicized and that the relevant documents were made available to the public beforehand. Technology is one of our community cornerstones, but I don't think Disney ever envisioned its subversive use to actually empower the residents. Somehow, even on such short notice, they were able to organize a meeting the day before the CCDD vote so concerned residents could voice their opinions.

Oddly enough, when the organizer asked Town Hall to send out an email alert, he was shot down. Even more oddly, the person who vetoed its sending was none other than the president of our residential owners' board. Apparently, the loss of parking and its potential impact on the downtown area, and thus on the existence of the Celebration that we all know and love, is not as important as the farmer's market or swim lessons.

I had a prior commitment that caused me to miss the pre-meeting, but nothing short of hellfire or a tsunami was going to keep me away from the "real deal." Along with others, I had been sharing my opinions on the Front Porch (our community intranet) and emailing relevant CCDD members. Out of five people on the board, two were appointed by TCC (read "developer friendly"), and three were elected by the residents. In theory, those three should reflect the will of those who elected them (or so I thought...I forgot that Celebration has an entirely different definition of "democracy").

Even though the meeting was held at 4:30 p.m. on a weekday afternoon, the little room in Town Hall was packed to the rafters. I was toting a tape recorder, loaned to me by a friend, because I dug up some regulations in the CCDD documents that said there must be a verbatum recording of a meeting if anyone wants to take issue with something later. Besides, I figured that it might have good entertainment value.

I was pleased to see the turn-out; even after being shafted so many times, it's clear that the residents of Celebration still care about the future of their town. I knew many of the people personally, and others were names from the community intranet that suddenly became faces. And none of those people were shy...there were many impassioned questions and comments, often met with approving applause. Sadly, I got the impression that it was like the old Far Side cartoon that goes something like this: A man is telling his dog, "Sit, Rover. Sit, boy. Come on, sit! Sit!" In the next frame, the balloons show what the dog is hearing: "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

Of course, I knew that it was going to be bad when the developer's representative announced at the beginning of the presentation: "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but if the board turns down our proposal, we've just going to go ahead with the development anyway. And if there is no vote, we'll take that as a vote of 'no.'" Since the county had already rubber-stamped it, they were free to do that. The only difference would be that they'd have to build four less condos, since they wouldn't have the lift station land. So even though the residents made some excellent points, I could just imagine what the powers-that-be were hearing: "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

Some minor good did come out of all the efforts. Out of the goodness of their hearts, and apparently to show their concern for our community (yes, I'm chucking as I type that), Issa negotiated some minor points. They will try their darndest to get the county to forbid left turns into the condo complex. That might sound silly, but it could actually preserve a few precious parking spots. Otherwise, traffic tie-ups caused by left turners could cause the county to mandate a "left turn only" lane, which would elimate some of the on-street parking.

Instead of giving the parking lot to CCDD, they will retain it and grant a perpetual easement. That way, we get the benefits without the potential liability and maintenance costs. We might even get to park there if we can roust all the multi-car condo dwellers (those poor souls have no idea of the parking nightmare that they're moving into). And of course they get their precious lift station land, to cram in four more condos (at Celebration prices, that means over $1 million).

There were some other concessions, but since this is a Cliff Notes version, I won't go into detail. Let's just say that it leaves the door open for CCDD to obtain some other land for the possible construction of a parking garage or perhaps some other partial solution.

To be a bit vulgar, we got it pounded to us. The choice was not whether that would happen or not. It was whether we'd take a hard pounding or a slightly softer one. Or to put it another way, the dog turd was coated with frosting. Unfortunately, when you bite into it, it still tastes like a dog turd.

I know the tone of this entry is a departure from my usual posts. I love Celebration and enjoy focusing on the positive. There are so many wonderful aspects of living here, and there's no other place that I'd rather be. I like to share my love of our community with others who are thinking about joining about us.

But tonight was a disillusionment for me. I know that such things have happened in the past, and I'm sure this wasn't the last time. It's one thing to read about the battles in the pages of a book and quite another to sit among the good townsfolk and feel their passion for their community, knowing that there's nothing any of us can do. Sure, we had a minor victory (or perhaps less of a major defeat...as Obi-Wan Kenobi says, "Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view").

At least there was one funny part, although it was a bittersweet laugh. Someone asked how the country could have approved plans for property that didn't even belong to the developer. The answer? "It was a mistake." The room roared with laughter, but it's sad if you really think about it. Is the process of approving Celebration developments such a joke that you can get approval to build on land you don't even own?

I fear that this is yet another step down the primrose path of killing off downtown Celebration as we know it. No parking means no customers for the stores. No customers means empty storefronts. And what do empty storefronts mean? Will they be converted to still more condos? If so, won't that mean that the Celebration we know and love today will become just like every other Orlando-area subdivision?

Hard questions with no easy answers. The issue is much larger than Issa's 82 condo development. A year from now, when I look back at this blog entry, I hope that my worries will turn out to be for naught. We'll see.....

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

The Brown, Brown Grass of Home

Once again, the rain has passed us by. I thought for sure that it was going to come yesterday, as evidenced by the bright orange and red on the radar (punctuated, as usual, with white popcorn blotches indicating lightning strikes). But even though other areas got doused, Celebration emerged bone dry once again. Early this morning, when I embarked on my walk, there were some ominous clouds that almost convinced me we were going to get a shower. But by the time my friend and I had finished our post-walk Barnie's treat, the sky was clear and sunny, with nary a hint of imminent rainfall.

Yesterday marked the second round of thunderstorms that we've missed this week. I don't want severe weather, but we are in desperate need of some rain. It's gotten so dry that we even had a fire downtown, supposedly caused when someone tossed their lit cigarette butt into a pile of mulch. Unfortunately, the mulch surrounded a pole leading up to the back porches of a condo building. A fire started due to the extreme dryness and traveled all the way up to the third floor. Thanks to the fire department's quick response, the damage was limited and I don't think anyone was hurt. But it's frightening to imagine that the consequences of that one little cigarette butt could have been a lot worse.

I've often tried to figure out when it became socially acceptable to toss a butt anywhere. People who would never chuck down a wrapper or drink cup blithely flick cigarette butts without a second thought. At best, it's unsightly and gross. At worst, when the weather is so dry, it can pose a real hazard.

Thankfully, so far most of the consequences of this dry spell are limited to the landscape. Every day, I've watched the park in front of my house morph from vibrant green to a deathly shade of brownish-yellow. I enjoy the park (locally dubbed "the croquet field," since it's just a huge plot of grass) because it's one of the few spots that is planted with actual northern-style grass. I've gotten used to the feel of prickly St. Augustine on my bare feet, and I've learned to appreciate its strong root system and admirable traits of survival. But every now and then, I slip off my shoes and traipse through the velvetly softness of the park.

If I tried that right now, the dried-out remnants of the grass would probably crumble into dust beneath my feet. My own hearty St. Augustine lawn is suffering, too. There is one large dead patch in front of my flower beds, and a cancerous tan is starting to spread in other areas. I water the bad patches diligently, and earlier this week I dug out the corner sprinkler heads. I had never even realized that there was a sprinkler at each corner of the head of the sidewalk until a neighbor pointed it out. They have a tendency to get buried under the greenery, so every few months I diligently shear the grass and dig them out.

So far, my flower beds have avoided any permanent damage from the dryness. When we first bought the house, I planted a few impatiens in the back mulch bed, just to see if they would survive. Not only did they live, but they actually flourished and took over the whole area. They seem to live even without supplemental water, but lately I've been giving them a drink from the hose just in case.

Back in the early days of Duloc Manor, I had also planted a plot of marigolds near one of the sprinklers. They did pretty well, but then they got too large and turned into nasty, bushlike things that I pulled out. Now, their offspring has turned that area into a bright, sunshine yellow flower patch. They usually get enough water from the sprinkler, but since we're limited to only three irrigation days a week, I've been giving them an extra drink, too.

Now that I'm in Celebration permanently, I have released the latent gardening tendencies that I had to suppress in my condo. Granted, I was able to have container gardens there, but somehow it's not the same. My front is planted with an eclectic mix of marigolds, petunias, begonias, and something called "creeping verbena." It's an ominous name, but I enjoy the pretty purple flowers. Since this is my first year gardening in Florida, I'm tossing in a little bit of everything to see what's hearty enough to survive. That way, next year I can refine my selections.

Since I am very "porch proud," I also have three container gardens to spruce up my front porch habitat. I have to be diligent about watering them, even in the rainy season, because they are too sheltered to get much of a drink from the rainfall.

Now that the oppressive heat is upon us, coupled with the lack of rain, I have to water my garden at least once a day. That is my morning task; every day, when I return from my walk, my cat Stitch joins me out front. He grazes on the greenery (all the better to barf in the house with) and stalks lizards and bugs while I hose down the plants. When it's particularly hot, I do an evening water session, too.

I suppose that the tourists would hate me for wishing for rain. After all, they've paid big bucks to visit Disney World, and cloudless blue skies means unlimited outdoor activitiy. I used to feel the same way myself back when I was a vacationer. But I also learned to plan around the typical afternoon showers; my husband and I developed a talent for predicting the exact times, and we'd make sure that we'd be eating lunch, or perhaps an early dinner, while the monsoons raged outside.

Right now, I wouldn't care if the rains just came overnight so they wouldn't spoil anyone's outdoor fun. A good overnight soaker would cut down on the fire danger and resurrect the vibrant green that is currently buried beneath the brown. Meanwhile, I'll continue the battle to keep my lawn alive and look hopefully to the sky for some welcome gray rain clouds.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com

You Know You're In Florida When...

When I was a kid, I loved the silly humor in "Mad Magazine." One of my favorites was the "You Know You're A ___________ When _________" cartoon series. For example, "You know you're a hockey fan if: Your idea of serving breakfast is giving each of your kids a fork and dropping an Eggo in the middle of the table."

I was recently reminded of those childhood laughs by Governor Jeb's proclaimation. You know that you're in Florida when...the governor declares a "Hurricane Sales Tax Holiday."

You may be wondering, "So what the heck is that?" Basically, Floridians can stock up on hurricane survival supplies like bottled water, tarps, lanterns, first-aid kits, and battery powered radios without paying sales tax between June 1 (the official start of hurricane season) and June 12. Oddly enough, plywood is not on the list, even though it's one of the most sought-after items when a killer storm rumbles through the state.

Even though plywood is not included, I plan to buy a a supply. One of my favorite things about Duloc Manor (its overabundance of windows) becomes a liability under the assault of strong winds. I'm not even sure where we will seek shelter if this year's hurricane season is a repeat of 2004. Our downstairs has windows in virtually every room, with the except of the Harry Potter bathroom, so-called because it is under the stairs. I suppose we could shut ourselves in there, but it would get rather claustrophobic with two humans, three cats, two fish, and a bird.

Upstairs, the windows are everywhere, too, including in the master closet. I've never figured that one out; maybe when the clothes get bored, they enjoy gazing outside at the neighbor's house. We could shut the bedrooms and bunker in the hallway, but upstairs isn't the best choice when you're worried that your roof might get blown off.

We do have one advantage; being in a triplex, one whole wall is interior and the other is somewhat sheltered by the next door neighbor's house. But the front and rear are virtually wide open. I can just picture the windows shattering and our whole first floor becoming a giant wind tunnel. If worse comes to worse, the garage only has one window, but I'm not sure just how structurally sound it would be in comparison to the house. Besides, it only holds one car, and I'd want to protect Canyonero from flying debris, so there wouldn't be much additional room.

Hopefully that will be a non-issue this year. Our house survived the Hurricane Trio of 2004, and that was an odds-defying season that shouldn't happen again for the at least a few decades. The weather forecasters are calling for an active hurricane season, but since we're in Central Florida (hurricanes don't come this far inland, ha ha), hopefully they'll stay far, far away.

It's hard to believe that hurricane season is only a week away, especially since the Orlando/Kissimmee area is not fully recovered from the previous assault. The sea of blue tarps has dissipated into a scattered patchwork, but they're not entirely gone. There are a lot of brand-spanking-new signs on 192, not to mention quite a few that are still missing. Even some of the street signs have yet to be replaced. Here in town, the tumbled old growth trees have been cleared away, but the palm trees on Celebration Boulevard are propped up in framework and many of the small trees (the one in our backyard included) are growing at a permanent tilt.

My next door neighbor, and several of my friends, boarded up their homes last year, but Duloc Manor was exposed to the elements. We were very lucky; our only damage was some blown-out soffit during Hurricane Charley. Oddly enough, our neighbor in the mirror unit at the other end of the triplex got through the first one unscathed, but she suffered almost identical soffit damage during the next one.

During that 12 day period, I'll be lining up with my fellow Floridians to stock up on hurricane necessities. It's like purchasing insurance...you hope that you'll never need to use them, but if something happens, you're darned glad to have 'em.

Along with power outage supplies, drinking water, and canned food, I think we'll get a couple of extra bottles of wine, too. It's not on Governor Jeb's list, and I think it's a more glaring ommission than the plywood. After all, if you've got to hole up during the storm, you may as well enjoy yourself.

Learn more about Celebration on my website: www.celebrationinfo.com