Leaving Santeriaville

Yesterday I found out the house that used to belong to my sister is ready to rent.

It may not be ready physically; there is still some fine-tuning to do. But it’s ready legally. The contractor is waiting for his final check, and the inspection for the overall remodeling is done.

I thought this day would never come.

My sister was supposed to get this house, free and clear, when my dad died. He bought it for her, and she was going to receive it, on top of half of his estate. We tried to get her to move out while we fixed it, and we were then going to return it to her, but we were not able to get her cooperation. She didn’t maintain the house. Code problems kept piling up, and because my dad’s name was on the deed, he had to do something. He bought her out, and since then, we have been suffering through the miserable process of fixing it.

What did we have to add? Not a whole lot. New yard, new walls, new floors, new subfloors, new doors, new kitchen and bathrooms, new lawn and landscaping, new roof, new air conditioning system, new appliances, new security system, new phone and Internet wiring, new garage door, new windows, new paint…just a few things. We were able to keep the outside walls. Termites and rats can’t eat concrete.

If you want to destroy a house and yard, here’s what you do: nothing. You don’t have to bulldoze it. You don’t have to set fire to it. Just sit. In ten years, the house will be in such bad shape, you may be legally compelled to demolish it. Until I witnessed the slow destruction of this house, I had no idea how hard time is on houses.

Right now Hurricane Matthew is getting ready to pass this area, so there is a limit to what I can do to the house. Once things stabilize, I will be touching up a few things, and it should be ready to advertise next week.

This is significant, because my dad and I have a deal. I agreed not to leave him alone in Miami, and he agreed to buy a big place farther north, with room for both of us. Now that this aggravating project is almost done, we are going to focus on moving.

I would love to move to a place like Ocala or the panhandle, but it’s looking like God wants me in Broward County, which is the county where Ft. Lauderdale is located. It’s not the greatest place on earth to live, but it’s much, much better than Miami. Most people there speak English, and they are not as aggressive, rude, or inclined to practice various types of voodoo. I’ll take any improvement I can get.

I’m not kidding about voodoo in Miami. We have Cuban voodoo, Haitian voodoo, Puerto Rican voodoo, Jamaican voodoo…you name it. Cubans call their voodoo “Santeria,” but if you look it up…it’s voodoo. There are little shops called “botanicas” all over Miami, and they sell voodoo paraphernalia. When you deal with Cubans, you never know whether they’re into voodoo or not. It draws even educated Cubans.

If you live in Miami, sometimes you’ll notice a person who wears white all the time. That’s a voodoo thing. I don’t know much about it, but the scuttlebutt is that when you get into Santeria, you have to wear white for a year. Also, some people wear cheap, colorful voodoo bracelets.

I don’t want to be around these people any more. Evil has a stink, and people who love evil emit that stink to their surroundings. I would like to be in a place where the stink isn’t as thick.

You would think that a person would miss a place where he has spent much of his life, but I won’t miss Miami one bit. There is absolutely nothing here that interests me. The climate is unpleasant. The people have no class. The traffic is a nightmare. There is no culture. People who don’t speak Spanish are being shut out of everything. When I say it’s literally like living in a foreign country, I am not exaggerating at all. When you walk around in public, you expect to hear the people around you speaking Spanish, not English.

I look forward to being farther from the ocean. I’ve had all I want.

If you fit in here, it’s a very bad sign. It says a lot about your values.

Sadly, the Broward housing market is not the buyer’s paradise it was a few years back. There are still real bargains in the panhandle, and Ocala is also better for buyers, but Broward is drying up. Why? Because people hate Miami. They move to Broward to get away.

Small wonder. How can you feel comfortable in an area where pagans are literally cursing you every day?

My tenure here was my own fault. I rebelled against God, and he didn’t help me. I belonged here. The Bible says rebellion is as bad as witchcraft, so here I sat, among the witches. How can I complain?

I look forward to being able to drive five miles in less than 20 minutes. I look forward to not having to repeat myself over and over to people who don’t speak our national language. I look forward to letting my guard down to some extent. I can’t wait to lose my Miami manners. Maybe I should wear a gag until they wear off.

If you want to help me out, you can pray this hurricane misses my property, and that God helps me get out of this awful county. I would appreciate that.

It would be so nice to move to north Georgia or southern Tennessee.

Best not to think about it.

The US is falling apart even faster than I believed as recently as two weeks ago. Persecution is really coming down. If Hillary Clinton wins, a Cambodia scenario may be less than a decade away. Our cities are becoming dens of feral losers; I don’t want to be very close to one when things get really nasty.

If you want out of the mess you’ve landed yourself in, God is your ticket. Don’t wait as long as I did. Get started now. It won’t change overnight.

I am out of here, as soon as humanly or divinely possible. So long, and thanks for all the fish.