Dodge

Getting out of it. Or into it. Either way, the open air is calling. New starts and adventure are never a problem with at least one familiar face. And one day, I'm determined to have my inevitable solo flights be my pen name's middle name.

The main things I know about Pensacola--a seaport about 1/3 the size of my hometown Vancouver, Washington, that's the western most city in the Florida panhandle and nestled inside Escambia County and the Central Time zone--are this. (And whatever else is left over are thrills for the making.)

• Yes, I know, oppressive humidity. When will people accept that there are weather downsides everywhere besides through Orian's Belt? I get it. Can you, please? Plus, I'm not asking you to move somewhere, come with me to Japan or Nowhereville, USA. And need I remind the commentators (probably the same people who will tell me what to expect during pregnancy and Cary's first deployment and ask me to tell them what I'm writing about and then react funny)--I'm excited, adaptable, brave; another plus is that I'm a lizard by birth, not overweight, and happen to think sweat drenched sun dresses and dress shirts and Forrest Gump and vampires can lend this environment some sex appeal and romance. 

 

• The Coca-Cola Bottling Company has made its home in Pens, but I don't really see myself as a factory girl just yet. Give it until I consider filing for unemployment.

• Boiled peanuts are a must-have snack according to my Louisiana-native-Esri coworker; she told me she could eat her weight in them ... The foodie in me will have to try these.

• The Cole (see, I'm even trying out loving nicknames) is a contender for offering the world's whitest beaches even if the lack of waves did crush my dreams of becoming a surf bum. At least I can have my tar-freckled body nap on this soft, pristine bed footsteps from potential housing (can I get an "Amen" for the area's cheap rent?). Not to mention, just head inland to the lazy canals and spooky lagoons that create a 'Pirates of the Caribbean' ambiance at swimming holes and bars on stilts and covered in moss and twinkle lights. Is that a vampire I spy in the trees?

• Pens is also home to the first naval air station in the U.S. as well as to the Blue Angels.

• It's also a first-time home to Mardi Gras. Just found that out this week from one of those compassionate people who only tell me intriguing things and any negative things in a dismissive way like there's no way you wouldn't thrive. Bless them.

• The Pensacola Civic Center, local amphitheater, and other venues attract surprisingly big names and events, which is great since after the move, any extra money needs to start denting our covet list (which includes a big screen TV, California king, and entertainment such as musicals and Muse and Killers concerts. But come on Lady Gaga, the Cole is all the rage. It's baaad romance.

So with my notice in at work and a final confirmation from Cary to book my ticket to the southern corner of the states by August 1, I aim for a writing life, a screened in porch, a part time job that involves outdoor gear discounts or free lattes, or a cubicle at the PNJ or one of the three teeny marketing firms. Or who knows. Time to pack up the furry children and wind up the computer chords and take one last blast through the house for Goodwill. And then head into the humidity, the pending rejection letters, the unemployment adjustment. And head into rewards that don't come without risk. Cary knew that is a horizon I would want.

One last time, peanut gallery-gawkers, shove it, or you'll be getting a package of boiled peanuts in the mail to prove my point.


Images courtesy of sturkey.com and surfersvillage.com, respectively.