Month: April 2016

Love’s Song

I remember the night I fell in love. We were parked in the country sitting side by 

Side in the front seat of his powder blue Plymouth. His arm around my shoulders 

Warming us both. I’d been out of town a week for Christmas break. He’d missed me 

He’d said, and leaned in for a kiss. On a whim I snatched up his motorcycle helmet 

From the backseat and put it on. He kissed me through the face shield. I giggled, 

I think I might like you. Without hesitation he responded, I think I might love you.

He raised the barrier and kissed me again, my lips felt his heat as my heart did its 

Best bird imitation, fluttering helplessly. Life changed at that instant.

Our futures merged in some soothsayer’s crystal ball, ups and downs, crappy days,

Great ones, children and grands. Forty years together began in a Plymouth Fury. 

 


Caption This

One of my favorite bloggers, Ellen Hawley (Notes from the U.K.), recently posted a quirky photo and solicited captions for it. Here’s the link to Ellen’s post: http://wp.me/p4FooO-kN

I submitted a caption, but a winner had already been declared. Story of my freaking life. But two, or two hundred, can play this game, and I vowed to find a photo worthy of captioning. 

I give you:

  
So submit your caption, and we’ll decide on a best one and maybe honorable mentions. There could be medals or trophies or something. 

Criminal Animation

On a typical Saturday morning one would usually find me wandering around Tallahassee or neighboring communities while Studly plays eighteen holes at Southwood Golf Club. I had planned to explore the annual LeMoyne Chain of Parks Art Festival this morning, but a bulging disc (not nearly as glamorous as it sounds) and the threat of rain have kept me homebound. Maybe tomorrow….

I’ve had a couple of cups of coffee enhanced with Irish cream, and a protein bar for breakfast. The forest in my backyard is bathed in that processed chrome lighting that accompanies cloudy days in the Florida panhandle. It looks as though a fae clan might emerge at any moment to dance around the toadstools growing beneath a magnolia tree. I keep watch, just in case.

I’m doing laundry and watching Saturday morning cartoons, and I have a complaint to lodge. Namely, whoever the hell is doing the animation for the cartoon Alvinnn!!! and the Chipmunks should be arrested posthaste and forced to serve a life sentence watching the original series. Maybe he/she/they would learn what Alvin and company should look like and draw them accordingly.

My years spent sitting enraptured by Saturday morning television surely qualify me as an expert in the field of cartoon esthetics, and what I’ve witnessed this morning is a disgrace. So, how do I report this travesty? The chipmunks look like sleazy rodents instead of clean cut, chubby cheeked faux-teenagers. 

Flipping through the channels I find that few of my other cartoon favorites have fared any better. They’re either so heavily computer-generated that they look nothing like the originals or drawn so poorly that their original animators must be rolling over in their respective graves.

Today’s children, though, have been raised on this second-rate fare, plus, they have so many more choices than my brothers and I had with our three channels (ABC, NBC, CBS) that I suppose they don’t realize what they’re missing.

But I do, and it makes me sad. 

 

Now.
 
 
Then.
 

Peace, people.

Stay Where You Are and Then Leave

This sounds quite good. If you love to read and need great recommendations I suggest you follow yourdaughtersbookshelf.wordpress.com.

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Unknown

“No one said which Christmas“.

Recommended to me by the wonderful ravenandbeez, this book will hit you right where you live. (Thanks for breaking my heart, ladies. Sheesh.)

The day Alfie Summerfield turned 5, the First World War broke out. Alfie’s dad Georgie promised him that he wouldn’t join up, but broke the promise the next day, leaving Alfie and his mum on their own.

Now Alfie is 9 and hasn’t heard from his dad for more than two years. His mum says Georgie is away on a special mission for the government, but Alfie knows it can’t be true. He knows something has happened, he just doesn’t know what. He goes to school two days a week because those are the days that have the subjects he enjoys. The rest of the week, he shines shoes for pennies at King’s Cross Station and slips the money into…

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To Wine or not to Wine

For awhile I gave up wine and took up the drinking of beer. But the really good beer is so high in calories and my waistline was growing at such an incredible rate that I had to follow Nancy Reagan’s advice and just say no.

For about ten minutes I considered completely eschewing alcohol in the pursuit of clean living. I actually went two weeks with nothing more potent than a splash of mouthwash. Unfortunately Listerine doesn’t come in a Cabernet Sauvignon or a Chardonnay. 

For the first time since beginning my blog I stumbled headlong into a mild case of writer’s block. Then I ran across a really profound quote:

 
 I wasn’t doing it right! I was writing sober and left with absolutely nothing to edit.
Good old Papa. He also said:

  
Needless to say I’ve begun having a single glass of wine in the evenings. My doctor says it’s fine. I’m finding things to write about again. Life is good.

  
Peace, people!

Gender Police

Gender police
Oh, gender police
We so depend on you
To keep our public
Restrooms
Free of LBT and Q.

Pray, how do you tell
If a person qualifies
As a laddie or a lass?
Some guys have breasts
While some girls don’t
Do they get a pass?

And how about that
Facial hair that sprouts
Upon both sexes?
Does a moustache indicate
What’s hanging between
Their two legs?

Short haircuts and
Boyfriend jeans are
All the rage these days.
Will girls who sport
These fashions be subjected
To your gaze?

Gender police
Oh, gender police
Your task I do not envy,
Deducing at just a
Glance the rights of
Bathroom entry.

  
Peace, people!

Just a Scary Night in Jacksonville

Studly Doright and I drove over to Jacksonville last Thursday afternoon to purchase a 2010 Honda Goldwing he’d found on Craigslist. Even though Jacksonville isn’t terribly far from Tallahassee, Studly arranged to take Friday off from work so he wouldn’t be driving home from Jacksonville on an unfamiliar bike after dark. 

Craiglist purchases always make me nervous. After all, there have been cases in which the person placing the ad just wanted to murder and rob someone by luring them to a meeting spot. As a proactive measure once we got to the designated location I stayed in the running car with my finger poised to dial 9-1-1. Studly shook his head and laughed at me. I get no respect.

Once we had the bike and title in hand, I set the car’s GPS for our hotel address and with Studly following on the Goldwing we set off across Jacksonville. Studly had instructed me not to worry if we were separated, assuring me he’d find the hotel on his own if necessary.

As soon as we got on the interstate a car cut in between us and in spite of Studly’s instructions I slowed a bit to allow him to catch up. Before long I spotted him in my rear view mirror making a move to catch me. Unfortunately, the driver of the car fell victim to a bad case of road rage and I watched in horror as he attempted to intimidate Studly.

Now, my husband is a former motocross racer. His reflexes and instincts are still sharper than those of most people I know, but this angry driver was incredibly aggressive and determined to teach Studly Doright a lesson.

When our exit popped up I hoped this person would stay on the interstate, but no, he came off right behind my husband. We immediately hit a stop light, and the driver stopped beside Studly. I was watching intently in case I needed to intervene. Studly was nodding. The driver was yelling; although, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

Apparently, the angry man finally felt vindicated and took a left turn as soon as the light turned green. Studly and I made it to our hotel without further incident. 

Once in our room I asked Studly what had happened. “Oh,” he said calmly, “he threatened to shoot me.”

My knees buckled. To think I’d been so concerned about the Craigslist seller and only mildly worried about the road rage guy. I didn’t sleep well that night. 

In the morning we left the Goldwing at the hotel and headed to a diner for a great breakfast. Much to my surprise Studly suggested we find a beach, so we followed the signs to Hanna Park, a gorgeous two mile stretch of powder soft sand. The tide was out, and we plucked a handful of delicate, intact shells from the beach.   

   
The walk and the clean tang of salt and sea cleared my head. All was right in the world, and I banished the potential violence of the night before from my mind. After taking Studly back to his bike we parted ways for the rest of the day. I drove down to St. Augustine to see what the outlet stores had to offer and Studly headed home to Doright Manor.

I hope that stupid driver came down with a bad case of diarrhea followed by extreme constipation and excessive gas. Otherwise, I wish him well. 

Peace, people.

  

Talking to Myself

Have you ever completed a story or poem and thought to yourself, “Wow! That’s really pretty?”

And then responded, “Thanks!”?

I might’ve just done that.

  
Peace, people!

Worth Pondering

A Facebook friend posted this. It might be the best ever.

Peace, people! 

Take That, Emily!

I went out to fetch our mail last Thursday afternoon enjoying the brief walk up our driveway. We had one catalog and a bit of junk mail in the mailbox. No bills were in the mix, and that’s always a good thing. 

The melodies of dozens of birds mingled on the breeze, and I spoke to a squirrel. They seldom speak back, yet I never give up hope. 

As I headed back to the house I noted a curious clicking noise, perhaps one squirrel scolding another. Instead of going in through our garage I walked around the back of the house, hoping to surprise whatever critter was click clicking. 

The instant I turned the corner I realized what was going on. A big, fat black snake slid away from me, and the birds had been warning one another. I should learn to speak Bird.

For the first time in my life I did not jump or squeal at the sight of the snake. Shouldn’t there be a medal for such an impressive show of bravery? Or at least a round of applause. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Oddly enough I’d had Emily Dickinson’s poem, Snake on my mind this morning, so I snapped a photo of it from the website online-literature.com.

  
I will never be Ms. Dickinson’s equal in the art of poetry, but I calmly faced a snake. Take that, Emily!

The visitor looked much like this guy.  I believe he is a Black Pine snake. Handsome, isn’t he? And quite polite. 
Peace, people!