The Ants Came Marching In

Posted on November 3, 2025 by Maureen Longo
Perhaps this Giant Anteater from the Palm Beach Zoo makes house calls.

We left the wild things to their own devices in Connecticut and returned to Florida August first. Road weary after the three day drive, we were keen to unpack and join our friends at Prezzo’s for Happy Hour. Unfortunately, Horror Hour preempted Happy Hour. All was not as we had left it. During our absence, squatters had taken up residence. And what a mess they made. Coffee grounds were everywhere. There was a thick mounded trail of grit leading down the hall, across the living room, to the sliding doors that open onto the lanai. I’ve heard the stories of parents, who have returned early from vacation, to find a house full of partying teenagers trashing their home, but have never heard tales of caffeinated, crazed raves. Who throws coffee grounds around when the grown-ups are gone? Ants! That’s who. It wasn’t finely ground coffee beans littering the floor; each tiny speck was moving. Hells Bells! I screamed for Mr. Bill to stand back as I attacked the invaders with broom and mop. I love all God’s creatures and treat them with respect, but this, THIS, was a bridge too far! There were no gentle words exchanged between species and certainly no humane catch and release. There is a delicate balance between man and beast and this home invasion tipped the scales.

Mr. Bill and I have loved getting to know Florida’s unique critters. Geckos and frogs amuse us. I carefully trap wayward lizards and amphibians when they trespass and return them to their proper environment. Mr. Bill is fond of the funky sand hill cranes and reports on each new addition to the flock. He has also learned to let alligators play through on the golf course. Likewise, I give way to alligators and snakes when biking, but shame on me, I will give no quarter to ants. While I pursued the columns of invading bugs in a frenzy, Mr. Bill calmly called for reinforcements- the brave folks at Core Pest Control.

As promised, bright and early the next morning, the calvary arrived. If our cheerful exterminator was shocked by the carnage, he was too polite to mention it. Apparently, summer is the season that teeny, tiny, 1.3 mm ghost ants come in from the rain and we could rest assured, that this was not a targeted attack by rogue insects. Our hero, Frederick, though he prefers Unsung Warrior, wasted no time in shoring up our fortress. Methodically he began spraying, working through the house and garage, before moving on to address the perimeter of the lanai, where the attacking army had breached our first line of defense. Eying the sorry state of our neglected patio plants, I complained that while the ants were here, they could have at the very least, watered the plants. Nodding in agreement, Frederick replied, “free loading a******* “. Whoa, language! However, as I doubled over laughing, I had to admit, he was spot on.

Oh, those poor misguided ants had got it all wrong. Had they never sung, The Ants Go Marching? Every child knows, that the verses of the counting chant end with, “down into the ground to get out of the rain, boom, boom, boom”. How could we turn these directionally challenged ants around? I know. I will ask Mr. Bill to learn the music: then when it rains (which is every afternoon) he can play his guitar and serenade them, just like the Pied Piper. That ought to solve the problem nicely. If the song isn’t an earworm already, the words are below. Please join us for a sing along and help us send these freeloaders, down into the ground to get out of the rain. Boom, Boom, Boom, BOOM!

This was an easy relocation for this cute, little lost gecko.
Mr. Bill found this guy in the garbage can enclosure but wouldn’t let him enter the garage!
He seemed content enough.

The Ants Go Marching– sung to the tune of the civil war song, When Johnny Comes Marching Home by Patrick Gilmore 1863

The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching one by one,

The little one stops to suck his thumb

and they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching two by two,

The little one stops to tie his shoe

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching three by three,

The little one stops to climb a tree

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching four by four.

The little one stops to shut the door

And they all go marching down into the ground,

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching five by five,

The little one stops to touch a hive

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching six by six

The little one stops to puck up sticks

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM. BOOM!

The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching seven by seven

The little one stops to pray to heaven

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching eight by eight,

The little one stops to shut the gate

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching nine by nine,

The little one stops to check the time

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching ten by ten

The little one stops to shout, “THE END”

And they all go marching down into the ground

To get out of the rain, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

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Frick and Frack

Posted on August 9, 2025 by Maureen Longo
Frick and Frack

Two squirrels dropped by one early June morning. I spied the first one, sitting high atop the crown of the old, weeping mulberry tree. His tiny paws were a blur of motion, as he frantically plucked and stuffed berries into his mouth, with a speed that would make a Nathan’s hot dog eating contestant, weep with jealousy. However, there seemed to be something troubling this squirrel. Following his gaze, I spied the competition. He had cause to be concerned. Below him was a very sneaky squirrel. She had made herself a comfortable perch, deep in the crook of twisted branches and under the cover of foliage was bingeing at the berry buffet. Ah, Frick and Frack were at it again, and it was not yet mulberry season. Early fruit is small, light red and tart. Ripe mulberries are larger, deep purple, bursting with juicy sweetness and make the best pancakes. Knowing that good things come to those who wait, led me to ponder, was the couple impatient this year or was latter trying to get the drop on the former? One can only wonder about those two.

Frick and Frack was how our son-in-law, Dave, once referred to Mr. Bill and I, when in frustration, he asked our son Will, if he could marry our daughter Audry. Why the modern twist on an old tradition? Being a chivalrous man, when Dave and Audry began dating, he informed us that his intentions were honorable. Mr. Bill and I were charmed and the more we got to know Dave, the more we liked him. We wondered, was marriage in their future? Yet the course of true love never runs smooth, but how were we to know that we’d become an impediment on the road to the altar? As a courtesy, Dave wanted to ask for Mr. Bill’s blessing before proposing, but apparently, his plan was thwarted at every attempt. It was 2017 and Dave’s opportunities for a heart to heart with Mr. Bill were limited. Mr. Bill and I were unusual snowbirds, migrating between new Zealand and Florida and our time in the Sunshine State was brief. Dave planned to speak to Mr. Bill, man to man, before we departed for the little country at the bottom of the world. Unfortunately the chance to talk one on one, never presented itself. Carpe Diem became Carpe Noctem. Stymied but determined, the frustrated suitor did a run around. Dave asked Will, explaining, ” your parents are like Frick and Frack, always together”! Big brother Will, happily gave his ‘permission’ but naturally didn’t bother to tell us; which made the excited, ‘I’m engaged call’, a delightful surprise.

Hmmm, Frick and Frack, well why not? I get it and so do my little rodent friends. Like Mr. Bill and I, they are always together and their antics are quite entertaining. I often catch their high pitched chatter as I watch Frick chase Frack up, down and around the mulberry tree. They jump from branch to branch, then disappear from sight behind the green privacy screen. Mulberries tumble to the ground, as the tree shimmies and shakes, and I find myself wanting to rap on the window and holler, “GET A ROOM”! Decorum not shenanigans is preferable in our backyard. After all, there are standards to uphold, when living in a close knit community, and the squirrels are not our only neighbors. Our way back is home to turkeys, owls, blue jays, cardinals, sparrows, doves, crows, red tailed hawks, bats, rabbits, chipmunks, mice, deer, foxes, feral cats, bobcats, snakes and my old pal, Tubby, the ground hog. Yet Frick and Frack’s antics threaten to turn our peaceable kingdom into a wildlife zone, where anything goes. We have rules. All are welcome, but the house is stickly off limits. When Carpenter Bees arrived one summer with their tiny tools and began boring holes in the roof soffit, we sent them packing. Ditto for the cheeky woodpecker, who had a fondness for our cedar shingles. The time I nearly stepped on a wee mouse napping on the back stairs, I gave him a stern lecture about boundaries, before setting him free outside. Once Mr. Bill was called to duty to remove the confused garden snake from the basement- that was most definitely a boy job! Now we have had to give the chipmunks a dose of tough love. As cute as Chip and Dale are, they have been issued their eviction notice. Rules are rules. The ‘Chipmunkinator’ Have a Heart Trap is in place. We may be strict but we are not heartless. They are packing their bags as I write and their illegal entrance will be sealed shut. I’m confident, that Frick and Frack being good sorts, will throw a farewell party and help Chip and Dale move into new digs.

I asked Mr. Bill who he thought he was in the Frick and Frack scenario. He shrugged, not particularly interested. Come on, I urged, who would you be? But Mr. Bill expressed no preference, leaving me to choose. Easy. In my mind, Mr. Bill was always Frick, since Frick is first, but don’t tell Mr. Bill! If he knows he’s number one, he’ll get, THE BIG HEAD, and won’t fit through the door. Then he’ll be living in the way back, with all the other wild things.

She said YES!!!!
After mulberry season ends, Frick and Frack eat pine cones
Grandaughter Adrain picking mulberries for pancakes
Adrian
Tubby passed by on his way to breakfast
When threatened, ground hogs can climb
Trapped! Then released.
“Stringing the Lights” Mixed Media – Photography, Pen and Ink
A crow dive bombs the poults and Mama Turkey protects her brood
The Red Tailed Hawk does crowd control
Happy Hour in the way back
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Mr. Bill’s Night Out & A Pop Quiz!

Posted on May 2, 2025 by Maureen Longo
The Two Williams musical debut with The Sierra Band

Mr. Bill is a musical man. He’s the clutch player on a Trivia Dream Team. Play a song and not only can he name that tune, he will tell you who wrote it, what group recorded it and when. You are assured of victory IF the genre is rock and roll AND from the third quarter of the 20th century. Okay, I’ll grant you that Mr. Bill is a highly specialized, designated player, but he’s still the man.

Mr. Bill, however, is much more than a fan, he is also a musician who plays guitar and tenor sax. Retirement has filled our home with music. Elvis may have left the building, but Mr. Bill is in the house. Ballads suit this one man band, and it’s a lucky day for me, if I happen to be down the hall painting in my studio, when he is strumming his Gibson. Music is a creative muse, but when I am not at my easel, muse morphs into motivator. Housework is vastly improved by song. Dust Bunnies can really get down to Bob Dylan’s “Wagon Wheel”. When they hear the refrain, rock me mama, they start hopping, the laundry joins in, swirling like the wind and the rain, and the vacuum grooves like a southbound train. “Wagon Wheel” holds a special place in my heart; it was the first song that Mr. Bill taught our grandson Billy, and it has become the two Williams signature song. Now one might think that “Puff the Magic Dragon”, might have been a more appropriate song to teach a four year old, but not Mr. Bill. Oh, the lullabies he sang to his grandchildren were unusual choices indeed. Yet The Kinks’ “Well Respected Man”, worked like a charm every time. Mr. Bill and Billy had a plan for their musical debut, our daughter Audry’s wedding reception. And what song did young Billy serenade his Godmother with on her wedding day? Why “Wagon Wheel” of course!

A night out with Mr. Bill becomes magical when there’s live music, especially concerts under the stars, but truth be told, Mr. Bill doesn’t need any urging to let the music take him higher, for he’s already there, whether indoors or out. On winter evenings in Florida, Mr. Bill can be found tapping and clapping along to our favorite cover bands, The Sierra Band and The Andrew Morris Band. He’s even learned a few 21st century tunes, adding Zac Brown Band’s ,”Chicken Fried”, to his play list. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? In the good old summertime, when the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls, you’ll find Mr. Bill back in Connecticut, down by the riverside, in his hometownPortland, or in fields of gold, also known as Simsbury.

Outdoor venues offer more than music; there’s also great people watching. Well before the first notes sound, a wave of pre-show excitement ripples through the crowd, as music lovers arrive and find a spot to enjoy the show. Seasoned concert goers have established routines. Some travel light, carrying a box of pizza and a six-pack, with a rolled blanket tucked under their arms. Some bring everything but the kitchen sink. In addition to dishes, glasses and cutlery, they transport tables, chairs, linens and even candelabras for their multi course, al fresco dinners. They set a high bar, which we happily limbo under. Mr. Bill has his drill down pat. He doesn’t pack up the babies and grab the old ladies, but with a little help from our friends, he pulls a wagon packed with a picnic basket, a little wine (well perhaps a generous amount of wine) and folding chairs; for although I can dig it, he can dig it, she can dig it, we can dig it, they can dig it, these Boomers are too old for grazing in the grass. Even if it’s a gas, we’ll pass. Chairs. Chairs are the great generational divide at outdoor events!

We’ve been lucky Mr. Bill and I, to have seen many of our favorite bands throughout the years. It’s always a delightful surprise, when acts from our era are still touring, and we catch their encore performances whenever we can. Like love, they are often better, even lovelier the second time around and as good once as they ever were. Audiences sing along to the sound track of their youth. It feels like we are reminiscing with old friends, grateful they are still rockin in the free world.

New Hampshire’s native son, Tom Rush, has long been a favorite of Mr. Bill. He jumped at the chance to see him again, when Rush was performing at The Kate in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Not an outdoor concert, as in days gone by but in the old town hall, repurposed as an entertainment venue. It was a chilly, damp evening, and I must confess, we were happy to trade our preferred canopy of stars for the comfort of deeply cushioned seats. A folk-rock balladeer, Rush was the first to record Joni Mitchel and Jackson Browne songs, adding, “The Circle Game” and “Shadow Dream Song” to his incredible musical catalogue. Wrong End of the Rainbow, Tom Rush’s 1970 album, is the one Mr. Bill likes best, and “Biloxi” is the song he plays from that LP. Mr. Bill prefers a turntable to streaming, agreeing with Neil Young, that if music can’t be heard live, vinyl is best. Hearing Rush at 83 sing Canadian songwriter, Davis Wiffen’s, “Driving Wheel”, was an unexpected emotional experience. Rush’s voice deeper and more mellow with age, lent pathos to the song’s lament, I feel like some old engine, lost my driving wheel. The poignant ballad that we fell in love with in our twenties, is now hitting rather close to the bone. Yet, more than ever, I need you, rings true. After the show, Rush lingered to talk with fans and autograph his new album, Gardens Old, Flowers New. Timing is everything and Rush hasn’t lost his. When Mr. Bill mentioned that he had last seen him in concert 50 years ago, Rush, not missing a beat replied,”you came back”!

Surprisingly, the one thing Mr. Bill and I do not have, is or own song. I know,’tis strange but as Jim Morrison sang, people are strange. Perhaps it’s because we love so many songs, we could not possibly choose just one. And whatever gets you thru the night is alright, alright with us. However, if pressed, I will admit to being partial to Dr. Hook’s “You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance”

Pop Quiz! Name that tune. Extra points for guessing the year correctly!

Wagon Wheel-Bob Dylan, music and chorus, 1973- Lyrics added by Ketch Secor of Old Crow Medicine Show, 1998- Covered by Darius Rucker, 2013

Puff the Magic Dragon– Peter, Paul and Mary, 1963

Well Respected Man– The Kinks, 1965

I Want to Take You Higher– Sly and The Family Stone, 1969

Chicken Fried– Zac Brown Band, 2005

In the Good Old Summer Time- 1902

Down By the Riverside- 19th century traditional spiritual

Deep Purple– Nino Temple and April Stevens, 1963

Limbo Rock- Chubby Checker, 1958

Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show- Neil Diamond, 1969

With a Little Help from My Friends- The Beatles, 1967

Grazing in the Grass- Friends of Distinction, 1969

The Second Time Around- Bing Crosby, 1960

As Good As I Once Was- Toby Keith, 2005

Rockin in the Free World-Neil Young, 1989

Driving Wheel- Tom Rush, 1970

Whatever Gets You Thru the Night- John Lennon, 1974

People Are Strange-The Doors, 1967

You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance-Dr. Hook, 1967

Billy serenades the Bride
It’s sweet dreams for Abby after Mr. Bill’s lullaby.
Fine dining at the Hartford Symphony in Simsbury, CT.
Mr. Bill meets a legend.
Mr. Bill down by the riverside.
Mr. Bill and Nick loaded fast, after thunder and lightning ended the concert early.
Sunset on the Connecticut River in Portland-just before the rain became the final act of the night.
Gerry and The Pacemakers- Tauranga, New Zealand, April 2013 ~Liverpool fans went crazy when Gerry Marsden sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. We didn’t know it was their team anthem!
Beach Boys Concert with Will & Mandy
The Beach Boys performing at Mohegan Sun-Sept. 2024
With Mr. Bill at the the Aretha Tribute Band in Simsbury- 2024

Mr. Bill with keyboardist dave and drummer Todd of the Sierra Band
Mr. Bill with the Sierra Band’s keyboardist Dave and drummer Todd at Das Beer garden in Jupiter, FL
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Gone to the Dogs

Posted on February 14, 2025 by Maureen Longo
Nikita behind the bar, keeps the drinks coming and all tails wagging.

I love dogs. In my world, there is no such beast as an ugly dog. All dogs are beautiful and a good dog is God’s gift. To paraphrase Will Rogers, I’ve never met a dog I didn’t like- until I did. I suppose it was inevitable, but it did take seven decades of meet and greets, before it happened.

When out and about, I have stopped and taken photos of dogs who have caught my fancy. Painting a dog’s portrait is both a joy and a worry; it all hinges on capturing their personality on canvas. It either sings or barks. It’s especially hard when the subject is deceased. As I paint, I think of the bond between beloved pet and human companion and hope to honor that bond.

Nikita’s Bar and Bistro, a twelve by seventy-two foot mural, of twenty two dogs tying one on, was my most challenging commission by far. Nikita, the Rottweiler-Shepard mix bartender, rules over the canine watering hole that bears her name. In the painting hanging above her, it is fitting therefore, that Nikita has replaced the human subject in Manet’s Olympia, with herself and the maid with a Chihuahua. Like all good publicans, Nikita knows all her customers by name, but some regulars prefer anonymity. My lips are sealed also, and I won’t name names of those who prefer, “a little privacy please”! Astro, the Great Dane, stands twelve foot tall and anchors one end of the lively bar. This gentle giant keeps an eye on the revelers, with his second in command, a watchful Chow Chow. These bouncers have their work cut out for them. Like their human counterparts, it’s best if what happens at Nikita’s stays at Nikita’s. There’s the over confident, older Scottie hitting on a bored French Poodle- tonight will not be his night. The Norwich Terrier on the other paw, seems to have connected with the Sheltie, while the bold Springer Spaniel seizes the night and turns the tete-a-tete, between the Husky and Dalmatian, into a menage a trois. Bad dog! The Westies, Corgi and Bulldog keep it on the down low. These ankle biters have claimed the space under the bar, all the better to take a quick nip and retreat. The sassy Shih Tzu, the exception to the rule, is right at home dancing on the bar top. For now, the Airedale and Boz the Whippet are getting along and are left to their own devices. Gabby, the mostly Beagle mongrel and Bingo the Boxer, know that ‘things go better with coke’. Poor wee Morton, who is unable to belly up to the bar, knows that a friend in need, is a friend indeed and this lucky Dachshund has found a forever friend in a helpful Saint Bernard. We’ll never know who let the dogs out, but we do know where they all went.

Mr. Bill and I are footloose gray nomads. Wherever Mr. Bill leads, I follow. We set up house and I go exploring on foot or by bicycle. While walking I have encountered friendly dogs, shy dogs, big dogs, small dogs, surfer dogs, and working dogs. Canines on the clock, have my respect and I know never to pet a service dog. After all, interruptions on the job are disruptive and downright rude.With that in mind, I did not engage with the gorgeous, but serious looking, German Shepard, one autumn afternoon. Mr. Bill and I had returned to Middletown, Connecticut and I was on my home turf or so I thought. The German Shepard thought otherwise. I was impressed to see the big dog at his mistress’s feet, immobile in a Sphinx pose, waiting patiently on the verge, for the command to cross Westfield Street. As I passed by on the sidewalk, I merely said hello and remarked, what a well behaved dog he was. With that, the Shepard leapt up snarling and snapping. It lunged, landing heavy paws on my chest. Instinctively, I raised my hands to protect my face and the dog bit, clamping down hard, trapping my left hand in its jaws. I jerked backwards, desperate to free my hand and remain upright, but I was unable to break the vice like grip. We were eyeball to eyeball, in a painful tug of war between appendage and mandible. Then the dog’s owner hauled back hard on the lease and sharp teeth raked deep grooves across the top of my hand, as I yanked it free. Dang! It hurt! I was stunned, shaken and in a bit of disbelief. Did that really just happen? It had. I had made it to seventy-one without being bit by a dog and it’s an experience, that I would have been happy to forgo. It didn’t tick any boxes for me, not a one. Still, it could have been worse. Fortunately, the weather had turned frosty and I had worn leather gloves. Whew, saved by a cold front. Time to pull up stakes!

Where was Mr. Bill during all this drama? Home Sweet Home is where. I hastened there, cradling my throbbing hand. When I walked in the door, Mr. Bill asked, “how was your walk”? Usually we play, You’ll Never Guess, but I was so embarrassed to have been bitten by a dog, that I nearly didn’t tell him. Sheepishly, I admitted to the unprovoked attack, not sparring him any of the gory details. Mr. Bill listened and calmly examined my hand-good sized hematoma and bruises but the skin was intact, so I was pronounced fine. My Warrant of Fitness was not revoked, and dinner was made that evening. However, I have learned my lesson and that is the last time, I give a dog a compliment.

Beginning of mural
End of mural
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Wolf Moon

Posted on March 22, 2024 by Maureen Longo

While some watch ‘Dancing with the Stars’ and some dance under the stars, Mr. Bill and I prefer dancing, by the light of the moon and when the wolf moon shines, we howl. That’s when the music of the Sierra Band beckons and before you can say, “Tiki Bar”, we are kicking up our heels at the Square Grouper, on Jupiter Inlet, where dancers, drinkers and diners mix and mingle by the water’s edge. Under the sweeping beams of the Jupiter lighthouse, patrons arrive in waves. Spring breakers, wedding parties and retirees, all come and go like the tide, to dance the night away. Some roll in on party buses and their ID’s are carefully checked by the bouncers; while Mr. Bill and I sail in, never once having our ages questioned. Every group has a distinct dance style. The college kids get down with their glasses of beer held high, heedless of the uneven pavers and they never spill a precious drop. Middle aged dancers hop and bop and the ancients can still trip the light fantastic. I’ve seen Millennials roll their eyes when the elderly couple, who always wear white from head to toe, approach the dance floor hand in hand; only to open their eyes wide in surprise, when the oldies break into the jitter bug and crush it.

Life imitates lyrics at the Square Grouper. Although Sam Cooke wrote Twistin’ the Night Away in ’62, the verse, “Here you’ll find the young and old twistin’ the night away”, aptly describes these footloose castaways. Elvis was even more spot on when he sang this line in Jailhouse Rock: “Hey buddy don’t you be no square, if you can’t find a partner use a wooden chair”. Well at the Grouper, we have noticed on more than one occasion, singles partnerning with the palm tree growing up through the dance floor-most likely as the result of “somethin’ tall an’ strong”. After all, it’s always 5pm at this funky, beach bar, where Alan Jackson filmed the video for his 2003 hit, “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere”.

Naturally, Mr. Bill and I have our signature moves, honed over the decades. When the band plays, ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man , we rush the floor. Mr. Bill moves his feet and claps his hands to the beat, while I try my best to keep the beat. Our slow dancing has evolved slightly over the years. In the early days, slow songs were an opportunity to hold each other close and we swayed together without any discernible footwork. Lately it’s more shuffling than swaying, but now we are holding on even tighter- mainly to keep one another from tripping, on the rough flagstones. Ever the romantic, Mr. Bill, who has a lovely voice, serenades me, while we slowly spin with the moonbeams. On the night of January’s wolf moon when Mr. Bill heard the band play the opening chords, of a passionate Righteous Brothers’ song, he took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. Soon I was in Mr. Bill’s arms, my head resting on his shoulder, as he sang softly in my ear, “You lost that lovin’ feelin’, now it’s gone, gone, gone whoa-oh”.

Really Mr. Bill ? REALLY!!!!

Still, we go dancing despite the mixed signals. Whenever the Sierra Band takes the stage, Mr. Bill and I are there. We’ve danced in sunshine and in rain but nighttime is the best time. And a wolf moon is meant for howling

The Sierra Band on the Wolf Moom
A dance floor with a palm tree
Square Grouper bouncer on break
Oh no! watch out Mr. Bill!
Don’t dance into the palm tree!
Mr. Bill and Dave,
Sierra Band’s keyboardist
Mr. Bill and I at the Square Grouper

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Soup’s On!

Posted on May 20, 2023 by Maureen Longo
Soup’s On!

Where were the snails? I eyed the soup nervously, hoping they would be easy to spot. Mr. Bill had already tucked into the fragrant bisque with abandon. I was surprised by Mr. Bill’s enthusiasm, when our friend Jill, served us soup made with escargot. This was a revelation to me. Fifty-two years on and I am still learning things about Mr. Bill. I never knew he liked escargot.

On one memorable vacation, Mr. Bill and I had dined with snails, but not on them. Every evening snails crashed our dinners in the kitchen garden of an old French farmhouse, along the Canal du Midi. As soon as the wine was poured, the uninvited guests would arrive silently under the cover of darkness. The thirsty creatures would be scaling our wine glasses before we noticed them. We let them be. We found it amusing and not at all alarming. After all, they were French snails and had a nose for a good vintage. Mr. Bill did not offer them a glass but neither did he eat them. Now, I was astonished to see him gobbling them with relish.

Escargots may be a delicacy, yet the thought of swallowing a slimy body made me queasy. I glanced around the table; our hosts Jill and Ken, friends Cathy, Herb, Barbara, Jamie and Mr. Bill were all enjoying the first course. Gingerly, I dipped my spoon into the steaming bowl, bravely repeating to myself, the words of grandson Billy’s beloved Sister Consulta, “you get what you get and you don’t get upset”! With this sage advice, the kindly cook at Gianelli’s pre school, had coaxed generations of picky young eaters, to try new foods. Wanting to do the good sister proud, I swallowed. The soup was delicious. Relieved, I took another mouthful. There was sausage in the soup and I devoured all the spicy chunks, with a gulp of the garlicky broth. No snails revealed themselves. Next, I skimmed the tender white beans onto my spoon, confident that I had only legumes and no mollusks. The level in the bowl was getting lower, but still no suspicious, gelatinous lumps had appeared. There were greens floating in the soup. I wondered, could the snails be hiding underneath? Carefully I captured and consumed the ribbons of leafy vegetables. No snails. Soon only the savory liquid remained. Had the snails melted? If yes, then I had to admit, that I too liked escargot.

Driving home, Mr. Bill waxed nostalgic over the escargot soup, declaring it as good as his grandmother’s. Once again I was taken aback, as he had never spoken of this dish, when reminiscing about his grandmother Sophia’s cooking. It was her, ‘melt in your mouth’ homemade pasta, lasagna, tomato sauce, and pasta e fagioli soup, that Mr. Bill had spoken of with longing through the years, but not escargot soup. I couldn’t take it another minute and demanded to know why, he had never mentioned, that his grandmother made escargot soup. “Why, she added escarole to her soups ALL the time”, Mr. Bill informed me, as if it were no big deal. You mean eh saar go, I corrected, giving him my best French pronunciation for escargot. “No, it’s es ka roll “, he countered in Italian, patiently articulating each syllable. Fine. Whatever. Just to be clear, I switched to English saying,”We are talking about snails aren’t we”? “NO”! Mr. Bill was aghast, explaining that the soup was not escargot but escarole, a leafy green vegetable. Oh.

Well then, I wish I had seconds!

A Good Vintage for Snails
Moving faster without the shell!

Thirsty Snail
While Bacon begs, a stealthy snail climbs up the table base.
The Canal du Midi, where snails are dinner guests.
More Wine or More Snails?
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Not the Story

Posted on May 8, 2023 by Maureen Longo

Far better to have a story, than be the story. Had we just lived through a F-2 tornado? We had. The experience was surreal and over in seconds. The telling will take longer than the twister lasted. On that night, Bill and I hugged each other tight, still in a state of disbelief but very, very grateful to have returned home safe and sound.

Little did we dream, that our quick detour to Doris’s Italian Market, on our way home from the 4 o’clock Mass last Saturday night, would put us in a tornado’s path. There was rolling thunder during the latter part of the service but that was hardly alarming, as afternoon thunder storms had been predicted. When the doors of Saint Patrick’s opened, so did the heavens- right on cue. With thunder crackling above and lightning strikes all around us, we dashed across the parking lot, but we could not outrun the downpour. However, as we drove away the rain eased, thunder ceased and the sky ahead was clearer. When we arrived at the crossroads of Prosperity Farms Road and PGA Boulevard, I asked Mr. Bill, if perhaps we should head home. Mr. Bill was unconcerned, as we had been out in far worse storms and I agreed with him. We drove on. Our destination was nearby, across the Intracoastal Waterway in North Palm Beach. As we waited for the drawbridge on PGA to be lowered, I thought that surely no boaters would be on the water, in this weather. Looking down as we crossed over the Intracoastal, I was surprised to see a line of fast moving vessels, and judging by the waves being churned, they were ignoring no-wake zone. Once on the other side, Mr. Bill took the ‘back way’ into Doris’s via Ellison Wilson, which runs parallel to the waterway. This street has an expansive view across the water to Palm Beach Gardens. The view was dramatic. A narrow yellow band lay along the horizon and the sky above was a solid block of indigo. There were no clouds and certainly no swirling funnel cloud- yet.

Our modus operandi when shopping is, Divide and Conquer. I work the store’s perimeter, produce, dairy, meat and bakery, while Mr. Bill gets right to the heart of the matter, and tackles the wine department in the center. We weren’t in Doris’s long, when the lights began to flicker. That made me uneasy. When the lights go out, the only place I want to be, is next to Mr. Bill. I was ready to leave the veal for another day and make my way back to Mr. Bill, when the butcher stepped out from the behind the case. He calmly reassured nervous customers, explaining that the store had a huge generator, which would immediately engage if power was lost. Then the store went black. As promised, the lights came back on with a whirl of the generator. Veal in hand for the week’s stew, I hastened to Mr. Bill’s side, anxious to depart. I found Mr. Bill in a mellow mood, deep in conversation with the wine rep, who had also mentioned Doris’s powerful generator. That made Mr. Bill happy, for he was enjoying a glass of Ferrari Carrano’s Tresor, from the self-serve wine bar. Although the lights were back on, I was still keen to leave. To save time, once again we parted ways. Mr. Bill lingered to pick up a few bottles of the Bordeaux blend, while I hustled to get cheese and bread, located adjacent to the side exit.

That is when the tornado hit. It struck hard and fast. Seconds after piercing tornado alerts blared from every cell phone in the store, the door by me blew open with a great rush of wind and rain. Wet leaves and broken twigs were suddenly blowing down the cheese aisle. There was a loud bang as a metal display rack, was knocked to the floor. Looking up, I was bewildered by a stream of mist, white as a jet’s condensation trail, snaking along the ceiling, spraying water droplets like a garden hose gone wild. Over in the center of the store, Mr. Bill felt the splash and feared the wind had ripped a hole in the roof. Up in the front of the store, the cashier said her ears popped from the sudden change in air pressure. In the back of the store, strong men tried and failed, to shut the loading bay doors against the tornado’s intrusion and ran for the safety of the interior. All the while, items were flying off the top shelves. Artificial flowers summersaulted past like tumble weeds, becoming part of the swirling eddy. Nothing made sense but when a round metal tray became airborne and was hurtling towards me, I snapped out of my daze and moved! I retreated to the wine section, where my hero Mr. Bill was waiting.

There was confusion and commotion but no one panicked. Miraculously there were no injuries and there didn’t appear to be any major damage to the store. Before we left, Mr. Bill checked with the store manager, making sure that no one was hurt and thankfully, no one was. Once confident, that whatever had happened, had indeed come and gone, we made a beeline for our car and turned for home. The back way in, was now a no way out. The exit was blocked by several uprooted trees lying across the road. Mr. Bill turned the car around and inched onto US 1, carefully avoiding twisted metal road signs and unrecognizable debris strewn across all lanes. We gaped at damaged cars and buildings, a massive carwash canopy was in tatters and trees that were still standing, were shorn off at the top. Traffic lights were out but caution prevailed at every intersection. Police cars with sirens screaming and red and blue lights flashing, sped past, heading in the opposite direction. Waiting again for the raised drawbridge to be lowered, we could hear the wailing of sirens from emergency vehicles, stuck on the other side. Once the bridge was down and safety gates lifted, police cars, firetrucks and rescue wagons flew over the bridge. Help was on the way-fast!

Traveling home with a wary eye on the sky, we returned the call of our worried daughter, Audry. We happily reassured her and her husband Dave, that all was well. Audry who also lives in Palm Beach Gardens, had simultaneously received the same tornado alert. Knowing her parents had gone to church , she tried contacting us, worried that we had dilly dallied on the way home. As we do. We felt blessed to have a caring daughter and to be returning home unscathed. Audry called again the next morning, when the tornado alert sounded at 9 am, checking that her parents were home and sheltering in place. She need not have worried; her night owl parents are seldom out and about, catching worms with the early birds. Her mother was up but the shril warning did rouse Mr. Bill, from his beauty sleep.

Some couples stick together through thick and thin. Traveling together, Mr. Bill and I have stuck like glue, though blizzards, hurricanes, cyclones, earthquakes and now a tornado.

One week later at Doris’s Wine bar.
Mr. Bill points to where we were, when the tornado hit.
Tornado damage
The corner of the building was ripped open and insulation was blowing in the wind.
Posted in Florida, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Alligators Take Over

Posted on March 7, 2023 by Maureen Longo
A face only a mother could love.

It was that time of year in Florida, spring migration. No sooner had the snowbirds began departing, then in moved the reptiles on their scaly, little, tippy toes.

Snowbirds start flapping their wings in March, preparing for their long trek north. Some fly, some drive, while others ride the auto train, but no matter how they go by May, ‘The Season’ is over. With every departing car carrier, the streets become less congested and spaces abound in Publix’s parking lots. Florida slips into summer mode. Son-in-law, Dave, cheers every northbound transporter, as part time residents leave the southernmost state for northern climes. You might even spot him driving on Northlake, a boulevard he avoids half the year.

Most snowbirds leave in the spring and return in the fall but not Mr. Bill. Mr. Bill shrugs at the usual split of the shoulder seasons and prefers spending springtime down south and fall up north. He lingers until June, resisting his native’s state’s siren call, opting for the warmth of a Floridian spring, to Connecticut’s offering of damp, chilly weather. Does he miss the early blooming crocus, daffodils and tulips? Does he miss the flowering of lilac, forsythia and rhododendron? Apparently not. And what of the furry little creatures that emerge from their winter homes to say hello? Their absence does not make Mr. Bill’s heart grow fonder, for he has found new friends aplenty. He’s captivated by Great Blue Herons, Sandhill Cranes, lizards and alligators. Well, perhaps not all alligators. There was that one rude gator who ignored golf etiquette, while Mr. Bill was playing a round and with jaws opened wide, launched himself from the water hazard, snapping at Mr. Bill. Now perhaps he was only popping up to wish Mr. Bill, Bon Voyage and wasn’t annoyed by the errant golf ball, disturbing the off season peace. However, it’s more likely that he wished to tell this over stayer to leave! Thankfully, Mr. Bill is fast on his feet and there wasn’t an, “Oh no, Mr. Bill!” moment.

With seasonal change comes a shift in the natural order. Keeping one’s eyes open is a must, lest you miss something odd; unless you are fortunate to have an advance scout pointing out the sights, as does Mr. Bill. When biking Mr. Bill, ever the gentleman, invariably lets me lead, thereby allowing me to set the pace (See Iron Lady March 4, 2020). It was a lovely day in May of ’22, when we set off for a leisurely ride around the neighborhood. The sidewalks were empty of the usual foot traffic and we were cruising. I was in the lead scanning the route ahead, when I spied with my little eye, two eyes looking back at me. As I drew closer, the eyes grew bigger. There on the verge behind a pile of fallen palm fronds, was a pair of unblinking peepers, staring back at me. I was excited and slowed down, hoping to catch a glimpse of an iguana, before it scurried away. It didn’t. Instead, it raised its horny head. I was thrilled. First the splotchy, greenish, brown forehead that was so cleverly camouflaged by the brush emerged, then the eyes and horrors a long snout! Not a lizard! Alligator!

I braked and yelled, “Stop”! Mr. Bill called out what’s wrong but all I could manage was, “stop, stop, STOP”!, which seemed to annoy him. I came to a hard stop and Mr. Bill had to swerve to avoid crashing into me. “What’s wrong, why did you stop”? an irritated Mr. Bill demanded but I had lost my words and could only point. Mr. Bill looked. He easily found his words, of which, alligator, is the only one fit to print. Now fully revealed the alligator began approaching us, as if to the claim the sidewalk. We gave it a wide berth. After all, sharing the sidewalks is the common etiquette in PGA. Besides he was just a wee fellow and would not have yet learned, that sharing is caring. And more importantly, we did not know if he was traveling solo. He inched toward the Avenue of The Masters. Too busy. He corrected course and continued on the now vacated sidewalk. Mr. Bill had my back. He searched for laggers while I recorded. Always assessing a situation, Mr. Bill determined that the alligator was too small to drag us but those sharp teeth would do some damage and we’d likely get a nasty infection. We wondered where had he come from? We were some distance from the closest water, for a creature to wander on such small feet. I worried, would he make it safely to the next pond? Should we help? My tenderhearted friend, Kitty, always stops, to rescue turtles who are in harm’s way. What would kind Kitty do? I had a basket on my bike. Should we give this alligator a lift?

Mr. Bill pondered and prescribed a dose of Tough Love. We let the reptile be.

Posted in Florida, Uncategorized, USA Travel, Animal stories, Travel | 16 Comments

Splish, Splash, Slap!

Posted on April 16, 2022 by Maureen Longo

If you doubt the veracity of this account talk to Sharon, for she is our witness. There were four of us on that fateful afternoon, jogging across the shallow end of the pool, when a rogue gust of wind touched down and became a water spout. I know that it’s quite extraordinary, that Mr. Bill was not the catalyst of this peculiar event; after all, he is a bonafide cyclone magnet, but life is full of strange surprises. ( If you are not familiar with Mr. Bill’s unusual super powers, may I refer you to: Between Cyclones– July 2017, Bomb Cyclones -January 2018, Water Blog-February 2018, Change in the Weather-August 2019 and Mother Nature Weeps -November 2019. Prepare to be amazed.)

It was a picture perfect day in South Florida when out of the blue, strange bursts of wind, disturbed an otherwise calm spring day. Sharon, Mary Ann and I, along with our instructor Christina, were in the pool at The Preserve at Ironhorse, doing our warm-up exercises for the water aerobics class. Suddenly the equipment cart began rolling back and forth across the pool deck, like a ship tossed upon the sea. Although that seemed odd, we continued hopping and bopping about to the music. Sharon, who was running west to east, saw bright green balls caught by the wind, fly over the high fence of the adjacent tennis courts, sail across the sidewalk and drop into the pool. With a loud whoosh, another gust of wind took aim for the pool. Smack! The wind made contact and water was pulled up into a six foot spinning spiral and spun across the pool. Sharon was astonished to see MaryAnn and I inside a mini waterspout and we had no idea what had hit us, when we were slapped with a wall of water. We were drenched! Water raked across us counterclockwise, our sun hats were snatched from our heads and flung in opposite directions. The wind had come from behind, slammed into us and continued on, forming horizontal furrows, not waves, as it pushed the water to the edge of the pool. Back on land, the wind transformed itself back into a mini twister and pushed on toward the 18th green, after first scattering the furniture on the clubhouse deck along the way. We looked at one another in amazement. What had just happened? If not for Sharon, we would never have known what had struck us. To me, the quick soaking felt like the stinging spray from a slalom water skier, coming in hot and bent on a bit of mischief, which was a prank, that never got old for me and my summer pals. For a brief moment, I felt young again.

But what of Mr. Bill? Where was he during all this wet drama? Why he was nearby on the course, playing a round of golf. His status, therefore, is unchanged. Rest assured, Mr. Bill has not lost his ability to attract wind and water. Either he has become better at evading Mother Nature’s soggy embrace these days or she is growing weary of the chase. One thing is certain in their game of Hide and Seek, he’s winning! And everybody loves a winner.

Safe and Sound
The Preserve at Ironhorse
No waterspout could move this fellow!
Still waters in the pool after the excitement

My 9am aquacise class
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Pervert or Protector?

Posted on January 30, 2022 by Maureen Longo
Fire Island

Have you ever had that creepy feeling, that you are being watched? However irrational it may seem, you know with absolute certainty, that something unseen sees you. Your sixth sense is warning you and cannot be ignored.

Bathing outdoors is one of summer’s decadent delights. I was over the moon with excitement last August, when shown the outside shower, while visiting our friends Ken and Jill’s Fire Island, beach house. I was all in having grown up bathing in a lake but I suspect that the more modest Mr. Bill, was relieved to note, that the enclosure had four solid walls and was only open to the sky above.

There I was blissfully performing my daily ablutions, when suddenly the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Alarmingly, Mr. Bill was not within shouting distance, when my spidey sense began tingling to alert me, that I was not alone. I spun around. I was reassured that there were no peep holes in the weathered wood and the door was still firmly latched. I looked down but only soapy water was finding a route through the deck floor to the sandy soil below and there were no inquisitive eyes peering upwards. Nervously, I looked up. Staring down at me was a pair of unblinking, inscrutable, green eyes. Our eyes locked. I nodded and said, “well hello Ozzie” and with an insouciant flick of his tail, he was gone. Ozzie was a cat.

Ozzie is no ordinary gray tabby; he is the neighborhood watch cat of Atlantique. He lives next door to our friends and has taken it upon himself, to guard that narrow stretch of barrier island, which lies between the Great South Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Ever vigilant, this fearless feline is always on the prowl. Not only does Ozzie provide home security for the island’s humans, he keeps the population of wild, white tailed deer under control. Ever my protector, Mr. Bill had obviously engaged Paw Patrol as back up.

The glorious outdoor shower
Ozzie policing the wildlife
Safely walking hand in hand after Ozzie swept the beach.
Posted in Uncategorized, USA Travel, Animal stories, Travel | Tagged , | 4 Comments