This is so very good! A gem, indeed. Enjoy. Also, be sure to check out more of Esme’s writing at sonmicloud.wordpress.com.
Oddly enough, I didn’t cry when I wrote this one a couple of years ago, but now I find myself with tears running down my face.
Clutchingher handbag tightly in her left hand, Mary Riley gripped the rail at the top of the steps outside St. Vincent’s with her right. For the hundredth time that winter she wondered why she hadn’t requested communion be brought to her home. And for the hundredth time she smiled to herself, knowing how much she looked forward to Father Mark’s homilies and the feeling of belonging she received from attending mass.
Although a chilly wind swept across the steps they were clear of snow and ice, yet Mary knew the three sets of four steps could be treacherous for one her age. Just last fall her friend Ruth had taken a tumble on the last two steps and broken a hip. That same Ruth who’d once raced her to the top of the steps so many years before had never recovered from her accident and they’d buried her two…
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My husband, aka Studly Doright, is closely following all of the college football bowl games this year. He and a group of coworkers entered into a pool in which they each ranked the 37 college football games. If a team he picked wins its game, Studly gets to add the number of points according to how he ranked them.
For example, he ranked Wyoming #27, so when they defeated Central Michigan he racked up 27 points. A couple of games have come down to the last possession. He predicted both of those incorrectly. Today, though, his teams came through and he’s feeling optimistic with 321 points.
The winner of the pool gets nothing except bragging rights, and the joy of saying the name of the bowl game out loud. There are the Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl, the Nova Home Loans Arizona Bowl, and the Cheribundi Tart Cherry Boca Raton Bowl among others. I can’t make this stuff up, folks.
I’m dating myself when I say I remember when the games were simply the Cotton Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, and the Orange Bowl. At least the Rose Bowl has maintained its original name, even though the corporate sponsor, Northwestern Mutual, has tagged its name into the end.
The four playoff games leading up to the national championship are scored separately. It’ll be interesting to see how Studly fares in this friendly competition. He’ll never be able to say Cheribundi with a straight face.
Below, a screen shot of the CapitalOne Orange Bowl:
Patches is even into the game:
I was spectacularly unmotivated yesterday. There was laundry to be done that I didn’t do, a closet to clean out that I left cluttered, and a blog post to write that was left unwritten. It’s a darned good thing I don’t get paid for any of the above tasks, else I’d be holding a pink slip instead of a paycheck come next Friday.
After an entire day of doing nothing except drinking coffee and petting our cats, Patches and Scout, I was on the restless side by the time Studly Doright got home from work. One might even say I was whiny.
“I’m bored!” I complained, in my best imitation of a ‘tween girl on a random summer Tuesday.
Studly countered with, “You can come out and help me work in the shop. I’ll find things for you to do.”
I huffed, “Oh, that sounds fun. Not!” I followed him outside anyway and sulked just within the realm of his peripheral vision.
“It’s too cold out here. I’m shivering. My fingers are going numb.”
Studly held up the thermometer. “It’s 62°. You’re not likely to freeze.”
I held up one of my fingers. It might have been a middle one. “See, it’s blue. And shivering.”
“If you get to work you might warm up.”
“Fine,” I sulked, still channeling my inner twelve year old. “But I’m sure I won’t warm up. The kids will find my frozen body in this shop next time they come for a visit. That’s if they ever come for a visit.”
Wisely, Studly ignored me. We worked for a bit while I grumbled under my breath, and he kept up a running commentary about some of his projects in progress. I was enjoying my role as the petulant pre-teen, so when Studly said, “That’s all we can do for now, how about we see if there’s a showing of Jumanji?”
Crossing my arms over my chest and pouting as prettily as possible, I said, “Fine. But I probably won’t like it.” Of course my smile ruined the effect, but I had to add, “I probably don’t have a thing to wear, either.”
And that’s the story of how I got Studly to take me to see Jumanji. It’s a fun movie, and given my earlier performance I could have been a character in the movie. I guess I won’t get paid for that, either.
Next week Studly Doright has to be in Orlando for a meeting, but he’s also taking a day of vacation while he’s there to have his golf swing analyzed. Heck, I offered to save him a great deal of time and money by watching his backswing and laughing for free. He wasn’t amused.
Apparently he didn’t hold my snarky comment against me, though, suggesting that I accompany him to Orlando. Instead of taking his company car, we’d drive one of our own vehicles, and I could visit one of the theme parks on the day he has to work. I might’ve jumped up and down like a little kid.
I haven’t been to Epcot in years, so that’s the park topping my list. I geek out a little thinking about Future World, and I’ve never once made it completely around the World Showcase, so that’s my goal for this trip.
The only possible downside is that the weather predicted for the day I’ll visit isn’t optimal with temperatures expected to be in the 50’s. I’ll more than likely need to wear jeans and real shoes! Maybe even a jacket! Oh, the humanity!But, on the plus side, maybe the cooler weather will keep the crowd sizes down, and I won’t have to worry about long lines.
The only other park in the running would be Universal Studios Islands of Adventure, but my heart is saying Epcot, and the heart wants what the heart wants, am I right?
My waistline is more a suggestion now, instead of a well-defined feature of my anatomy. Because the pecan
Pie I made for Christmas dinner and the baklava my daughter sent packed in a box of gifts,
Were deemed too tasty to ignore in spite of the calories they boast in abundance. Do I feel a New Year’s
Resolution in the making? Elastic waist pants in my future? A regimen of calisthenics in development?
Ask me in a week or so. There are still gourmet marshmallows wrapped in pretty paper on my kitchen counter.
Calories be damned.
Doright Manor was too quiet this Christmas. Studly Doright and I had gotten together with our kids and grandchildren in Texas at Thanksgiving, so we had to suck it up and spend Christmas without them. I’m going to be honest and tell you, Christmas for just us two isn’t much fun.
We tried to be as festive as possible. We took in a movie on Christmas Eve and then drove around Tallahassee to view the holiday lights, returning home to open gifts from each other. We’d agreed neither of us needed any big gifts this year, so I bought Studly books (he really isn’t a reader, but I always hold out hope), and T-shirts featuring vintage motorcycle brands.
He bought me Star Wars stuff: a Resistance leader’s jacket, a BB-8 handbag, and several pieces of jewelry in the shapes of light sabers and droids. So if anyone in Tallahassee sees a late middle aged woman sporting any of the aforementioned gear, you can be fairly certain it’s me. Say hello and we’ll go find some First Order thugs to put in their place before heading for coffee.
Our dinner on Christmas Day was outstanding, even if I do say so myself. I ran Studly out of the house to work in his shop, opened a bottle of Chardonnay, and made a meal for the ages. I’m a much better cook when fueled by wine, and that’s a fact. Studly went back for seconds and thirds which I took as the highest compliment. And the pecan pie, oh my word! It was one of the best ever. Studly said I was going to have to stop telling people what an awful cook I am.
We went to another movie after dinner, getting home much later than is our norm (10 p.m! Absolutely decadent!) and then spent a quiet post-Christmas Tuesday. I had planned and executed the perfect turkey and cheddar sandwich on soft white bread for dinner, while Studly warmed up the leftover turkey and dressing for a repeat of Christmas Day’s meal.
So, while nothing exciting happened, and we missed being with our children, we had a pleasant holiday. I’m writing this on Tuesday evening and thinking I might have to have one more piece of pecan pie. Wednesday’s post most likely will deal with how none of my pants will button. Exciting stuff. Stay tuned.
Here’s a treat from my friend Julie Powell. juliepowell2014.wordpress.com
Last week I had a few days of total bliss; no work, just pottering around doing what I want, I slept in, tidied up in the studio, played around with Still Life, got a haircut. One particular day I decided as it was just me home for lunch, I would buy some fresh crusty bread and make bruschetta and then, I thought I would photograph it all. That took longer than making it and eating it, but such fun. All shot in natural light, in the kitchen!
So let’s talk about this tasty recipe, it’s quick and easy and you can do it in about 15 minutes from start to finish (assuming you are not trying to photograph it all). With flavors bursting from the baby spinach, the sweet cherry tomatoes and the yummy, gooey melted cheese – all come together with the crusty fresh baguette and gives you a yummy snack…
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Our beautiful middle grandchild, McKayla, was born 13 years ago today, prompting us to leave our son’s home in Dallas, where we’d spent Christmas Day, to journey as quickly as possible to Kansas City to welcome this child.
She wasn’t due until mid-January, but she insisted on arriving early. I will always believe the tsunami that hit Indonesia on December 26 played a role in McKayla’s early arrival. Superstitious? Maybe. But she’s quite a force of nature.
Happy birthday, dear McKayla. We love you.
via My Place