On my recent visit with family in Canada, I was not surprised when one of my brothers called me “Pasquale.” He has called me Pasquale as long as I can remember but I don’t remember why. He has nicknames for other family members, their origins more easily recognized, yet, I am Pasquale, and we are not Italian.
July went by very quickly. We hired three new team members in July and only said farewell to one. Going through resumes and interviews is exhausting but then training is right around the corner. People don’t realize when you are training you aren’t able to do your own job. Kaitie had a taste of it this week. We have a new very talented new team member for the front desk which is where Kaitie is right now. Kaitie was conducting some of the initial training and was asking me when she was supposed to do “her” work. Welcome to the club, Kaitie!
In late July, as the sun blazed over Navarre Beach and vacationers flocked to the Gulf, a health advisory blindsided visitors and locals alike. The Santa Rosa County Health Department issued a no-swimming warning due to high levels of Enterococcus bacteria—a dangerous signal that the water could pose serious risks to human health. But while the advisory itself was necessary and scientifically justified, what followed—or rather, what didn’t follow—may have created an even bigger problem. The silence.
Most of the time my job here involves telling stories about athletic achievement and beyond, and taking photos that capture some of the best moments from a game.
But having this platform as a writer, and having a strong social media presence, sometimes my job responsibilities go beyond what shows up in the newspaper.
If I told you Erik Harris played seven seasons in the NFL, you’d probably ask me what major college he went to.
If I told you he attended NCAA Division II California University of Pennsylvania, you might say, “No way.”
Labels can get you into trouble if you don’t know fully what it is to which they refer. A case in point: I was born and raised in a part of Canada where all Americans, northerners and southerners alike, are called “Yankees.” You can imagine the firestorm that ignited when, after I moved to South Florida, in ignorance, I called a native Floridian a Yankee. His eyes blazed, his body went rigid, his face blossomed red, and his nostrils flared to accommodate the building steam. I was grateful that all I received that day was a short, very intense lesson in American history with extra emphasis on what my friend called, “the war of northern aggression.” The label “Yankee” no longer resides in my vocabulary.
As I was writing this column on Monday (the day we go to print), the intersection of Andorra Street and Lucena Street had a shelter in place order issued due to a gas main break. As I was typing, however, the order was lifted.
In a place where powdery beaches meet vibrant community aspirations, the Navarre Beach Boardwalk proposal was supposed to be a rallying point for growth, tourism and smart public investment. Instead, it’s stirred up an uncomfortable debate: Who exactly should be enjoying the county’s most coveted waterfront real estate?
I went to the post office last week and they were telling people to buy Forever Stamps because the price was going up in a few days. The price actually went up Monday to 78 cents for an up to 1 oz. letter. I went to the counter with “Priority Mail” and they told me it was expected to be delivered three days later. I asked why it wouldn’t be there in two days, hence, “Priority Mail?” The response was, “Priority Mail isn’t what it used to be, but at least it comes with tracking.”
