You Know You’ve Matured When…

Sixty-two is a comfortable age. Most days I feel every year of it, but occasionally I believe I could still dance ’til all hours with no morning after consequences. Still other days I might as well be crocheting blankets in an assisted living facility. Such is life at 62.

Now maturity is a different matter altogether. Even though I’m nearing the 63 mark, I don’t often act or feel mature. I still enjoy roller coasters and haunted houses. I tell juvenile jokes and delight in Studly Doright’s goofy charm.

Yesterday, though, I realized that I might have turned a corner in the maturity game.

We had an issue with our satellite feed and had to call a service guy out to fix it. In retrospect, this man was extremely good looking: Tall with broad shoulders, high cheekbones, long dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, chiseled features. Kind of the whole physical package.

(Similar to the guy below, but fully clothed.)

But what did I notice during his visit? That he tracked in dirt with his size 12 boots. I was too busy cleaning up behind him to notice how hot he was until after he’d left. What the heck happened to me?

After the guy was gone I told Studly Doright how miffed I was that the service man had left dirt on my carpets. He gave me a hug and said, “That’s my girl.” I’m not sure how to take that.

Peace, people.


There’s an 80-something woman I know, dyes her hair magenta, wears Chanel No. 5 and purple blouses

My banker is a young, Black man with perfect teeth, and the soul of a poet. He performs at open mic nights

I’ve heard of a child who isn’t. Born on the wrong side of an imaginary line, she huddles with others in a cage

The woman next to me in the grocery store marks her territory with an angry stance and sad, old eyes

Death claims a friend, robbing all who loved her of her sweet spirit. She comes around in my dreams

Me? I’m a watcher, hoisting a glass to those who’ve touched my life, for better and sometimes for worse

Who are you? Add a verse.

Peace, people.

Found the photo of the sculpture on Pinterest.

Things That Made Me Laugh Today

Let’s face it, lately it’s been tough to be upbeat, but we humans are resilient, and we need to laugh. I’ve curated a selection of memes, cartoons, etc., to help us do just that.

This one got me started:

I used the one below in an earlier post, but it makes me chuckle every time I see it.

The next one made me laugh out loud. I’m terrible at putting together jigsaw puzzles. Even easy ones give me fits.

I would love to shake this man’s hand.

Here are a couple I loved. Maybe it’s only because I’m a retired teacher, but they made me giggle:

Okay, I guffawed:

Classic me:

Okay, a few more, and then I must do something productive.

I’m willing to be R2D2’s sponsor should he come to terms with his addiction.


But what if I need the practice?

Sounds like a winner to me:

And finally:

I hope you got a chuckle out of some of these.

Peace, and giggles, people!

Super Power

Not too many days ago I published a piece titled, “Manipulating Space” in which I explored the very slight possibility that I might have been endowed with the super power of making myself, and my vehicle, smaller for the purpose of avoiding an accident.

Now no one, including me, took that possibility seriously, but yesterday I had another episode that could’ve been attributed to spatial manipulation, but more likely was the result of my excellent driving skills. I can’t read that last part aloud without Studly Doright convulsing in fits of laughter. He’d sooner believe I had a super power.

Here’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. On the spur of the moment I’d decided to go to a movie in Tallahassee. Studly was out of town, and my evening stretched before me like an endless sea. It was either see a movie or watch television all evening. The movie, Blinded by the Light won.

I had about half an hour to get to the theatre, more if you figure in the twenty minutes of trailers before the film, but I needed to buy my ticket and a snack, so there was no time to waste. I grabbed a wrap and my umbrella and began the drive into town.

Traffic was pretty heavy on the road between Quincy and Midway. I found myself following a pickup truck towing a trailer loaded with a junk car. Just before we reached Midway, the windshield of the junk car blew out onto the road right in front of me.

Did I do the whole space manipulation thing? Nope, I just deftly maneuvered my car around all the debris and emerged unscathed. I’ll save my super powers for real emergencies.

Peace, people.

Snapshots #264 and 265

I think these should be called, “What Could One Build Using Only Popsicle Sticks and Marbles?” and “Lamps, of Course.”

Of course, “Too Much Time on One’s Hands” would also be an apt title.

Speaking of hands, on the one hand, I admire all the time and effort that went into the construction of these lamps. On the other hand, I just wonder why. Why the effort? Why the time?

No, I did not purchase these beauties.

Peace, people.

Mission Implausible

Everyone needs a hobby. Some of us have more than one. Among mine are writing and reading, painting badly, and talking to myself. Recently, inspired by an estate sale find, I embarked on a new hobby; although, perhaps it would best be called an eccentric pursuit.

Here’s what prompted my search:

A hardback copy of the first book in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series. Nothing special, right? In fact, at one time I owned every book in the series; although, some were the paperback editions. I donated that collection to a school library in Champaign, Illinois. A librarian friend had put out a request for Harry Potter books, and I couldn’t let her down.

But when I saw that copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone sitting all by itself on a table at an estate sale it seemed to say, “Take me home.” So, I did. Well, after paying for it. I’m no thief.

On my drive home from the sale I devised a plan to buy all of the books in the series again, but, with certain rules:

1) Buy only hardcover books in good condition.

2) Purchase only one book per location.

3) Buy them in order of publication.

4) Only buy the books from garage or estate sales. I’m still wrangling over whether I should allow thrift store purchases.

Yesterday, I found the second book in the series at a huge estate sale in Tallahassee.

It fit all of my requirements. And even though I could’ve purchased books 3 and 4 at the same venue, I slapped myself on the wrist and carried my book to the cashier.

Now, to me this search sounds perfectly reasonable, but when I tried explaining it to the woman in line to pay behind me, she gave me an odd look and slowly took two steps back. It seems there’s a fine line between eccentric and outright crazy.

Peace, people!

Wizards Brewing

There’s a storm brewing

Winds raging, lightning strikes near

Thunder claps along

Wizards watch with glee

From the safety of their lairs

Raining down vengeance

And the wildness flows

From dark clouds filled with anger

Take that, you heathens

I know, I know! I write a lot of these silly poems about storms, but I haven’t gotten it just right yet, so I’ll keep on trying. The storms out here at Doright Manor are epic. Words just fall short of describing their majesty.

Peace, people!

True Story, or as Close as I Can Get

When we tell a true story, especially one in which tempers flared, the tendency is always to make oneself the good guy in the retelling. I’m going to do my best to relate the story of an interaction I had yesterday in a Publix grocery store as rationally and objectively as I can. Wish me luck.

I’d had a beautifully relaxing facial on Thursday morning, and was driving home to Doright Manor when I remembered that we needed a few items from the grocery store. Since I was just a mile or so from a Publix store I changed my route slightly and headed there.

First I went to the beauty aisle to pick up some shampoo for Studly Doright. He’s the most manly of men, yet he likes what I call, “Froo Froo” scented shampoos. Lots of florals or fruit essences. Sometimes I sneak in a more neutral scented shampoo, but I always end up having to use it because he won’t.

Then I shopped the produce section, searching for apples, oranges, strawberries, bananas and pineapple to satisfy our juicing habit. Studly really enjoys making juice every evening, and I try to keep fresh fruits on hand to encourage this new habit. Better fruit scented juice than fruit scented hair, I always say.

Finally I went to pick out a steak or two for him. I seldom eat meat anymore, but Studly does. I pulled my cart up parallel to the meat case, leaving a couple of feet between the cart and the case so others could peruse the section, as well.

I picked up one package of meat, placed it in a plastic bag inside my cart and turned to get another one. At the same time this big bruiser of a woman pulled her cart between mine and the case, moving me out of the way. I politely waited, thinking she’d be through soon, but she pulled out her phone and made a non-food related call.

“Excuse me,” J said. “Are you going to be awhile?”

“As long as it takes, lady.”

“Do you think perhaps I could have some room to get to the steaks?”

“When I’m done,” she said.

Okay, here I was wearing my peace sign t-shirt, feeling my blood pressure spike. This woman was almost my height, maybe an inch less than my 5’8″, but outweighed me by a good 50 lbs.

I indicated my cart, and said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I parked my cart to allow others to shop as well. Not for you to block me out.”


“Listen, lady, I’m going to look at the steaks whether you move or not.” I proceeded then to put my hip into her cart and push. Whew. Not smart, but damn. She had my dander up.

That’s when she threatened to knock the shit out of me. Her exact words.

Now, I should explain here that I did take a step back, but at the same time I said, “Bring it, bitch.”

My brain was screaming at me to shut up. There’s no way I wanted to fight, and I have no idea what I’d have done if she had taken a swing at me. Thankfully I didn’t have to find out. She turned her back, allowed me to find my steaks, and then I went to the checkout counter.

I’m sure she’s telling somebody about the mean hippie chick who threatened her at the Publix today. I still can’t believe I let her get to me like that. The steaks would’ve been there if I’d walked away for five minutes and come back to shop at my leisure. I’m so not proud of myself.

To top it off, I ruined the good vibes I had going from my facial. Damn.

Peace!!!! People.