Never Name an Iguana

By Susan Hanafee

Essays on topics ranging from personal hygiene to politics. All of the 52 writings reflect the wit and wisdom of the author as she whips through life on a roller coaster of exploration and observation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543938050

Susan Hanafee

Susan Hanafee is an award-winning former journalist whose career as a reporter for The Indianapolis Star spanned three decades. She formerly headed corporate communications for IPALCO Enterprises and Cummins Inc. She resides in southwest Florida. Hanafee's blogs can be found on www.susanhanafee.com. Her previously published books include Red, Black and Global: The Transformation of Cummins (a corporate history); Rachael's Island Adventures (a collection of children's stories); Never Name an Iguana and Rutabagas for Ten (essays and observations on life); Leslie's Voice (a novel) and the Leslie Elliott mystery series, including Scavenger Tides, The End of his Journey and Deadly Winds.

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This book is a commentary on current events and happenings by Susan Hanafee, who also writes under the pen name of E. C. Thomas at www.ecthomas.com.

Copyright © 2018 by the author.

ISBN (Print): 978-0-99068-539-5

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-54393-805-0

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Life in the Golf Cart Lane

The Proof Is in the Panties

When is it too Cold for Flip Flops?

Living in the Cone of Uncertainty

High Maintenance in Paradise

Never Name an Iguana

The Keys to Fun?

Tenting Tonight

Please Don’t Re-Pave Until the Tourists Return

Oh, That Whacky Florida Ballot

Welcome Back, Philo Vance

On Stephen King

It Takes a Woman

To Hair is Human

The Camera Always Lies

Her Love Affair with Sting is Over

Getting Skinned at the Cosmetics Counter

Grandkids Beware

Dang GUM It

Snakes Alive!

Grover Cleveland: A Lesson for Today

No Spring Chickens in this Coop

Give Me an Apple a Day

The Double Meaning of Deep Pockets

Sorry But Your Mom Needs Help

We’re Not Ready to Throw in the Towel

Be Happy. Do Worry.

And You Are?

Time to Write Your Final Words

Pushing Pills

Politics BD and AD*

Here Comes the Judging

500 Days of Political Drivel

Presidential Expenses – The Rest of the Story

Dinner Party Straw Poll

Hillary and Donald’s Secret Meeting

The Passing of the Impartial Newsie

Politics is No Laughing Matter

A Campaign Refund? I’m Speechless

Please Don’t Call Me Stupid

Keep Talking About the Denigration of Women

Think Before You Write

Dare I Say His Name?

Anonymous Sources: Don’t Get Me Started

So Long Caffeine, Hello Cranky

Please Pass the Quinoa

The Inflation Factor of Chicken Wings

The Not-So-Urgent Airbag Recall

No Desk, No Phone, No Sanity

What’s a Dime Really Worth?

Things Aren’t Always What They Seem

To Give or Not to Give

So Long Caffeine; Hello Cranky

To the Ungrateful Goes the Broccoli

Bring on the Teenagers

What’s in a Name?

Ray’s Rules of the Road

What readers are saying about Never Name an Iguana

About the Author

Introduction

I’ve always been a writer. I spent nearly 30 years as a newspaper reporter and then moved into corporate communications to make a living wage. Neither of those professions encourages literary freedom. So when I retired and moved to an island in southwest Florida, I decided to give fiction a try.

My first effort was a series of children’s books, self published and sold at island stores. I was developing an outline and the main characters for a mystery when I realized my former involvement in a corporate takeover was calling to me.

In fairness to others involved, I didn’t want to chronicle the real takeover when I wrote Six Weeks from Tuesday. This wasn’t a corporate history but a work of fiction. However, I did use the battle between two utilities as the stage for my characters – some good, some deliciously bad. All the characters are products of my imagination.

To ensure further protection for my former associates, I decided to use a pen name: E. C. Thomas. Who is E. C.? A former newspaperman who quit his job 20 years ago to look for a spot where happiness and peace prevail. Finding no such place, he ended up in a Florida beach town where he dusted off his old laptop and wrote his first novel.

To promote his book, I set up a website and launched E. C.’s blogs. He publishes at www.ecthomas.com. If you’re interested in a copy of Six Weeks from Tuesday, hardback and eBook editions are available.

After almost two years of blogging, E. C. has compiled his thoughts into this little book. His commentary ranges from life on the island to politics. Feel free to send comments and/or reviews to [e-mail].

Susan Hanafee

Life in the Golf Cart Lane

January 2017

The Proof Is in the Panties

The dinner party tempo picked up when my wife trotted out the lavender lace panties in a plastic bag.

Underwear isn’t a normal topic of conversation on our little tropical island filled with seniors. So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that the eight guests joining us for chicken Marbella and on their third glass of wine seemed surprised and wanted to know more.

The story began on a moonless December night between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The island and its five-star Inn down the street were packed with revelers. Most were celebrating the holidays; others were on the island for weddings; some were snowbirds.

About 10 o’clock we turned off the lights and went to bed. Five hours later, my wife bolted upright and gave me a rousing shake. Eddy, wake up! There’s someone outside! I heard a noise! I saw a light!

I sprang out of bed and grabbed the flashlight from my nightstand. I opened the French doors from our bedroom and confronted a shadowy figure on the screened-in porch.

What are you doing here? I yelled, flashing my light in the direction of the rattan couch.

It was hard to say who was more surprised. He probably couldn’t tell who was behind the flashlight, but I could see him. He was wearing a suit. A suit? Weird, I thought. He looked half my age and was tall. He could have taken me in a hot minute.

Instead, his hands went up in the air. Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was home. I was looking for a place to sleep.

He backed out the screen door and disappeared around the side of the house.

Meanwhile, my wife had called the sheriff’s office, which is less than a minute by car from our house. She was giving her name, then spelling her name, then giving her address and repeating that several times when I heard her scream.

Eddy, he’s back! He’s back!

I steeled myself for what was to come. Robbery. Death.

He re-entered the porch, hands in the air. Uh, sorry, he said. Can I have my tie?

I was too stunned to say anything but Sure. He grabbed the still-knotted article off the back of the couch and was gone again.

Do I want you to send someone over? I heard my wife say. Her voice was filled with frustration. It’s too late now.

Poor guy must have been lost, I remarked when my wife and I went back to bed. Maybe he forgot where his Inn guest cottage was.

Are you sure he was alone?

Absolutely, I said as I nodded off to sleep.

I awoke the next morning to find my wife standing in the kitchen, wearing plastic gloves and holding a pair of lavender lace panties between her thumb and forefinger.

Alone, right, she said. He came back for his tie but forgot these.

My wife was positive she figured out what happened and had the proof in her possession. The noise that woke her was the screen porch door slamming behind the owner of the panties. The light that followed was the male looking for his tie with his cell phone flashlight.

My wife posted the episode on Facebook. The responses were as amusing as the incident. Her favorite was the comment from a friend of our son’s: That would have been Matt 15 years ago. Only he would have charmed you into fixing breakfast for him.

Even though she felt she had to have the couch cleaned, my wife was willing to let bygones be bygones. She’s been ready for some time to return the lavender panties to their rightful owner in exchange for the rest of the story.

If that never happens, I think she’ll be fine with it. She always has a great tale to share and the panties to prove it.

***

January 2016

When is it too Cold for Flip Flops?

My wife and I went to breakfast at our favorite diner off-island the other day. It’s almost always packed because the food is (1) good and (2) cheap. On the day of our outing, in late January, the line of hungry people crowded by the door and waiting to be seated was larger than normal.

The waitress, the one with her hair parted in the middle and pulled back with tiny barrettes, breezed past the queue and rolled her eyes. The Snowbirds are back, she said to no one in particular. I gave my wife a look that said, What was her first clue?

Turns out there was something besides the number of people and the date on the calendar that made the presence of the Snowbirds obvious.

It was on the light side of 60 degrees outside, and many of the people coming through the door were wearing tank tops and shorts. A few had on lightweight jackets. They were northerners. No doubt about it. For them, this was balmy weather.

We Floridians develop blood suited to 80-90 degree temperatures. When it’s 60 or even in the low 70s we freeze our butts off. (I use the vernacular because it’s common slang these days.) The people coming through the café door in down-filled jackets and long pants were definitely us year-round residents.

As