Black Lives Matter
Month: July 2016
A Box and a Bottle
The box sat unopened on the kitchen table, a bottle of red wine close at hand, long-stemmed glass in reach.
Off came the lids and memories spilled forth:
Newlywed couple, too young to know the perils of an uncertain future.
Pensive new mom in a white nightgown holding her firstborn, swaddled in soft blue bunting.
Happy one year old, face covered in frosting.
Another newborn held tightly, this one covered in pink.
A grinning toddler waving chubby fists over a Cabbage Patch birthday cake.
Wine poured, a tentative taste.
Years roll along. Kindergarten, primary years. Slow days, fast years.
Field day ribbons in primary hues.
Teachers’ notes in calligraphy
Cards from grandparents, now long gone, the signatures unique and cherished. Tangible proof of their love.
A bit more wine, a smooth second sip. Sweeter, deeper, longer.
High school awards, who knew they’d had so many?
Yearbook photos from different schools
Letters from crushes, embarrassingly frank, oh this is blackmail material!
Pour another glass. Wipe a tear away.
Graduation photos with family and friends.
Caps and gowns
Alma mater in the background
That glass went quickly! Pour another. Be generous. That’s good.
Adventures abroad
Wedding gowns and cummerbunds
Honeymoons
First grandchildren, three months apart
Sweet babies. She has my nose. He has your smile. More wine? Please.
New grandchildren are born
Personalities emerge–this one a tomboy, this one mercurial, this one a charmer; all loved
Marriages shift
New alliances form
Those were difficult days. Yes, more wine, please.
Holidays and birthdays
Moving days, so far away
Family reunions, look how we’ve grown! From two scared kids to this grand family.
Enough for one afternoon. Besides, we’re all out of wine. Close the box and kiss me.
Whisky Tango Foxtrot Meets Tarzan
Saturday evening Studly Doright and I stayed in to watch a movie on On Demand. He’d played golf all day in 100° heat, and couldn’t muster the energy to wade through noisy theater crowds to see the new Tarzan movie, but promised we could go on Sunday.
After perusing the On Demand offerings we quickly settled on Whisky Tango Foxtrot, starring Tina Fey. Based on a true story, WTF follows the exploits of war correspondent Kim Barker, played by Fey, who risks life and limb to get her stories on camera while embedded with Marines in Afghanistan. In the film Barker befriends fellow reporter and rival, Tanya Vanderpoel, played by Margot Robbie.
Studly and I enjoyed the movie which didn’t do terribly well at the box office. WTF was gritty fare, not Fey’s normal comedy genre, although there were amusing scenes. Billy Bob Thornton is good as the officer in charge of the Marines who comes to show grudging respect for Fey’s character.
On Sunday afternoon Studly kept his promise and took me into Tallahassee to see the newest rendition of the Tarzan saga, in 3D no less. I believe I’ve written about Tarzan’s influence on my young life. Having spent many a Sunday morning in front of a black and white TV watching Johnny Weismuller wrestle lions and alligators, I felt like I’d been raised by apes, as well. So I was eager to see how this version stacked up.
I already had a mad crush on the newest Tarzan, Alexander Skarsgård of True Blood fame, but could he pull off the role of Lord Greystoke/King of the Apes? Oh yes. Ohhhh yes. (Excuse me while I fan myself vigorously)
(Okay, I’m back) The rest of the cast was well chosen. Samuel L. Jackson and Cristoph Waltz were both major players. I didn’t know the young woman who played Jane; although, she looked so familiar. Where had I seen her before?
Throughout the film I pondered that question. Whoever she was her character was the perfect match for Tarzan. Strong-willed and witty, she held her own against the bad guys, led by Waltz’s character.
When we returned to Doright Manor I googled the cast for Tarzan and realized why Jane looked so familiar. We’d just watched her in Whisky Tango Foxtrot the night before. The lovely and spunky Margot Robbie was Tarzan’s Jane.
Tarzan, the film, was fun. Tarzan, the man, was hot. And Margot Robbie, it seems, is everywhere. See WTF. See Tarzan.
Salsa School Dropout
Wednesday evening I had the rare choice of attending two events. One, an informational meeting about a women’s salsa group, had been on my calendar for weeks. The other, a movie night with a friend and her daughters, had come up on the spur of the moment.
Since I was really curious about the salsa group, I gave my regrets to my friend and headed to a dance studio in Tallahassee. I arrived just as an exercise class called “Twerk It!” was ending. A combination of hip hop and Zumba, the class looked like exhausting fun.
Slowly the Twerk It! group left the building in groups of twos and threes and the salsa instructor appeared. She was an attractive, fit woman in her mid-30’s who quickly got into her spiel about the joys of Touch Salsa, a franchised program that can apparently be found worldwide.
As she spoke I became more excited. Not only did participants get to learn salsa routines, but they could participate in dance competitions as part of a larger group. And, they got to wear cute dance costumes. Count me in!
Now, the Facebook ad for this class indicated it was informational only, so I’d worn my flip flops. BIG mistake! I cannot emphasize this enough.
The instructor had us line up behind her to learn a few basic steps. I was doing fine until I had to do a right turn. My flip flops stuck to the floor and guess who went sprawling? Yep, me.
Undeterred I shook it off and got up in time to tackle a left turn. I knew better than to try to pivot this time, so I sort of hopped. It wasn’t pretty, but I stayed upright.
Finally our little group got through five basic steps. That’s when the instructor added in the arm movements. I’m fairly sure that had anyone been watching my gesticulations they would’ve felt compelled to notify emergency personnel.
I abandoned trying to follow the instructions and just did a variation of waving my hands in the air like I just didn’t care. The instructor gave me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. Can you blame her? I’m sure she thought I wasn’t trying. But the sad truth is, I was trying really hard.
So, I decided the Touch Salsa class wasn’t for me, and after paying my $5.00 I told the instructor I wouldn’t be participating. I might be imagining things, but I’m pretty sure she breathed a sigh of relief.
Now about that Twerk It! class? That might be right up my alley. Stay tuned.
http://youtu.be/WQGSWBkJW84
Peace, people!
Afternoon Wine
Not yet five o’clock on a holiday afternoon, but who’s counting?
Open a bottle of rich red wine, and let it breathe, as I breathe.
Deep, slow exhalations, anticipations, celebrations.
Firecrackers crackle across the lake, driving the cats under the bed.
Pour a deep glass, notes of lavender and wood smoke grace the tongue.
Lazy limbs, liquid limbed, one sip leads to a second, then third.
The sound of our beating hearts superimposed over the pop! pop! pop!
Independence day? Interdependence day.
Hold me until the sounds cease.
Patriotism
We used to wait for full darkness to light our sparklers, better, daddy said, to see them
Sizzle against the velvety night sky. Little hands clutched fiery sticks, frantically spouting
Brilliant illuminations of red, white, and blue in a dangerously fun display of patriotic
Zeal. The big fireworks followed: bottle rockets, Roman candles, fountains and snakes.
Daddy always lit the firecrackers. Bundled black cats rat-a-tat-tatting like Al Capone’s
Mob kicked off the show. Momma clutched me close, but she didn’t have to fret. My natural
Self-preservation instincts won the night. I was happy to watch the show within her grasp.
Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
This sweet home in my neighborhood has been on the market for several months. 
I’ve never been inside the home, but the woman who lived here was lovely. She moved into Tallahassee to care for her three grandchildren after their mother, her daughter, passed away.
Wouldn’t this gazebo be a cozy spot to sit with a good book on a fall afternoon?
The large, well-tended yard has a variety of beautiful mature trees.
There’s even a small garden plot in back as well as a storage shed. The lake isn’t visible in this photo, but it’s beyond the trees on the left.
When Miss Sandy lived there the yard always boasted a profusion of flowers in hanging baskets.
Now there are just the flowers in the trees. I’m not sure what this one is. It’s pink. That’s the extent of my knowledge.
Finally, A Group I Identify With
I’m not gay, bi, trans, or even curious, but I am an ally.
I’m not Black, but I wholly support Black Lives Matter.
I’m not an immigrant, but I am for fair treatment and compassion.
Not to diminish a single one of these, but I was beginning to feel I had no group. Now I do.
Well, I’m also a feminist, so there’s that.
Peace, people!
Sad Tale
Studly Doright was out of town part of last week, so my meals were of the simple variety. Lean Cuisine and Smart Ones entrees were my go to dinners. 
^^^^My microwave and my oven. ^^^^
On my first night alone, I extracted a frozen Smart Ones vegetable lasagna from the freezer.
I preheated the oven to 375° to cook the lasagna, and set the timer for 45 minutes.
Off I went to sort laundry, play a bit of Words with Friends, and watch a Criminal Minds rerun.
After some time passed I noted there remained five minutes of cooking time, so I poured a glass of wine and prepared a small salad.
The timer sounded and I opened the oven door to remove my entree.
Nothing! I was puzzled.
Until I thought to look in the microwave.
Good thing I wasn’t terribly hungry.
Peace, people.
Troublemaker
Troublemaker! she cried.
Now, look what you’ve done.
Who? Me?
Made me think I could dance.
Oooh, you can so dance, like a female Baryshnikov!
Told me I was hot.
Smoking, babe!
Insinuated I could carry on witty conversations with the opposite sex.
I could listen to your stories all night long, gorgeous girl.
Well, cease your troublemaking ways. I’m through with you and all you’ve wrought.
C’mon, sugar, have just one more sip.
Well, if you insist. I’m not driving, after all.
Praying for Eyebrowz 