Month: October 2019

Tip Top Tipping

A blogging friend, Claudette, at www.writerofwordsetc.wordpress.com recently posted about enjoying dinner at a diner with her teenaged son. The dinner offered some teachable moments for Claudette and her son. One such lesson was on tipping wait staff. I loved how Claudette let her son know that the middle aged server who’d waited on them in the diner was most likely counting on her tips to make ends meet.

In the U.S., as in Claudette’s country, Canada, most wait staff depend on their tips to make a living wage. That’s sad and wrong, but it’s the way things work at this point in time. I typically tip 20% of the bill. If the service is stellar, or if my party has tied up the booth for a longer than average time, I’ll tip 25%, and on a very rare occasion, in the event of horrible service I’ll tip 15%. But I still tip.

I haven’t always tipped when the service has been bad, but a friend who worked as a waiter reminded me that everyone has an off day now and again. That’s certainly true in my case. Hell, I’d hate to think what my tips might’ve been as a waitress.

Now, I have mixed emotions about tipping clerks at a fast food restaurant. In Florida, there’s a tip jar on almost every counter. I do tip the barista at Starbucks who remembers my order better than I do. I also tip at my favorite vegan place because even though ordering is done at the counter, a waiter brings the food out and makes sure everything is okay. But do I really need to tip at Burger King?

What are your thoughts about that sort of tipping? I could use some guidance.

Peace, people!

Afternoon on the Lake

The squirrels showed up first,

Chittering and bushy tailed

Scrambling for acorns they’d hide

But never find again.

A flash of red announced a cardinal

Who watched warily as one

Determined squirrel chose to dig

Too close for his comfort.

Another cardinal followed,

Then a blue jay asserted himself

Into the mix, loudly searching for tidbits

Among the oak leaves littering the yard.

Even a lizard crept along the red bricks

Hoping to go unnoticed,

But I spied him, as did the cat.

All while gentle ripples stirred the lake

Dry leaves rustled in the wind, and

An unseen songbird trilled an apology.

He must’ve been late to the party.

Singin’ in the Lane

My back is still not happy with me, but I had to run an errand in Tallahassee. My reward for surviving the trip was a coffee Frappuccino with almond milk at Starbucks.

As I waited for the barista to take my order I sang along with the radio,

“Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can dream of the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again”

The performance must’ve been really good because I received a standing ovation at the window. Well, the barista was already standing, but she was applauding, as well. That counts for something, right?

Peace, people!

Motorcycle Memories

(Note: I did something to hurt my back yesterday. Today I’ve been taking it easy while reminiscing about better times when I was young and wild and free to roam the earth on two wheels. Okay, I was never wild, but I used to be young and relatively free.)

Studly Doright, my husband of 43 years, has been riding motorcycles since way before we met. When we began dating during high school many weekends were spent at motocross races all over the Texas panhandle. He raced, and I cheered him on.

After we married in July of ’76, he bought me my first bike. It was a little Yamaha scooter called a Chappy.

I loved that little scooter, and rode it all over Dumas, Texas. (By the way, all of these photos are from Pinterest.)

After I’d gotten my feet wet with the scooter, Studly decided I was ready for a real bike and bought me a 175 Yamaha Enduro. I had to learn to shift gears on this bike. While it was licensed for street riding we mostly took it to the sandy trails of the Canadian River between Dumas and Amarillo. On one trip I ran over Studly’s former girlfriend when she crashed her bike in the mud. I swear it was an accident. Honest.

When we discovered we were going to be parents, I took a break from riding, and not until our youngest daughter was bound for college did I begin riding again. After 20 years out of the saddle I was both excited and nervous to be riding once more.

After much shopping for just the right bike we ended up buying a new 650 Yamaha V-Star. This photo looks exactly like my bike. It was gorgeous. I bought leather chaps and a leather jacket and new riding boots to complete the ensemble. I looked like a badass biker (nope, I still looked like a geek), but the 650 had no oomph. Keeping it going highway speeds was exhausting.

We sold it and bought a secondhand 1100 Yamaha Virago from David’s former brother-in-law. Let me see if I can find a photo of one.

While the one above is similar, my Virago was much more gorgeous. It was Dallas Cowboy blue and silver, and ran like a beast. The Virago was getting on in age when I bought it, though, and Studly was concerned that it wouldn’t hold up mechanically. It remains my favorite bike.

We sold the Virago before moving to Florida, and soon replaced it with a used ST F650 BMW, in the appropriate color of Orlando Orange.

I don’t recall the year model, but the one pictured above is pretty close. It was a nifty little bike, and my first sport touring motorcycle. Unfortunately it had some electrical issues that were worrisome. I wanted to take a solo trip, and Studly didn’t trust the bike to carry me the distance.

By the way, when I bought this bike I began wearing a mesh jacket and pants with padding in all the critical places. While my leather chaps looked edgier, the mesh was much more comfy and lots cooler. Besides, the chaps fell off the back of my Virago onto the interstate on a blistering hot July day, somewhere between Denver, Colorado, and Salina, Kansas. I hope someone worthy found them. Oh, I wasn’t wearing them at the time. That would’ve made for a much better story.

So, (I know, you’re probably sick of my bike reminiscing. Sorry, not sorry!) we sold the BMW and bought me a 400 Yamaha Majesty scooter. I loved this bike, as well.

No shifting required, plenty of get up and go, lots of storage. I rode it from Mahomet, Illinois, to Dallas, Texas, and back all by myself just after celebrating my 50th birthday. It was a crazy trip.

I’m still not sure why I sold this bike. Maybe I felt like I was getting too old and klutzy. Heaven knows I’m getting older, and I’ve always been klutzy. Once it was gone I didn’t really think about getting another bike. But then a friend bought a CanAm Spyder, and I thought maybe it would fit the bill. I wouldn’t have to worry about falling over or putting my feet down at stop lights, or any other of a million things I tended to stress over.

Studly got all excited that I wanted to ride again. He began researching bikes and soon a Spyder was sitting in our motorcycle garage. Let me rephrase that, a Spyder was dominating our motorcycle garage. The thing was massive compared to all of the other bikes in Studly’s stable. He could’ve parked two and a half bikes in the same area.

And, after riding it around Tallahassee and on backroads in the area I had to admit I didn’t love the Spyder. It was too clunky and I didn’t enjoy riding it. Plus, after a distracted driver rear ended my car last November I became a bit paranoid about riding a motorcycle. I didn’t shed a tear when the Spyder left the garage for that of another rider.

If you’ve stuck with me this long, thanks. Hopefully my back will feel better tomorrow, and I can get out and about. Honestly, I’m kind of proud of myself for remembering all my bikes. I might be old and klutzy, but I remember the important stuff. Just ask Dudley. Er, Studly.

Peace, people!

Monsters Inc, Alachua

Based on predictions that tropical storm Nestor would bring buckets of rain and high winds to the Tallahassee area on Saturday, Studly’s golf course closed for the day. I envisioned a lazy afternoon of watching college football while snuggling on the sofa with him and the cats. Studly, on the other hand, envisioned driving to Gainesville, FL, to look at, and perhaps purchase a motorcycle. At least he invited me along for the ride.

When we left Tallahassee the skies were threatening.

The winds hadn’t begun blowing yet, but I certainly questioned Studly’s sanity in his decision to travel so far from Doright Manor and into the belly of a storm.

“Relax,” he told me. “It’s not going to hit until this afternoon.”

As it happened, he was right. What’s that old saying about even a broken clock having the correct time twice a day? I think that applies here.

Gainesville is about a two and a half hour drive south and East from our home, and thanks to gps we easily found the place where the motorcycle was being stored. Within a few minutes the bike was loaded into the back of our pickup truck, and we were headed home.

We were both ready for some lunch, and while Gainesville has hundreds of restaurants we opted to drive north to Alachua. I’d never been there, but Studly promised that the little town had a terrific Main Street with several good cafes. He was right again! I’m going to have to start reconsidering that broken clock analogy.

We ate at Conestogas Restaurant where everything seems to be fried, and vegan options were practically nonexistent.

I had a baked potato stuffed with bell peppers and grilled onions, along with a salad, while Studly enjoyed a chicken fried steak with gravy. Obviously he wasn’t concerned about the lack of vegan fare.

After lunch we walked along the street, and inspected the town’s Halloween decorations. It didn’t take us long to discern this year’s theme:

On nearly every corner we encountered characters from Monsters, Inc. If there’s a contest for best design, I vote for the one directly above. The door clinched it for me. Studly, who’s never seen Monsters, Inc., wondered aloud why the door was part of the display.

“The door doesn’t seem all that scary to me,” he observed.

Of course I had to fill him in on the importance of collecting screams and the implications of having a human child follow one of the monsters back through a door.

Still he asked, “Couldn’t they at least have painted the door orange and black and put spiderwebs or something on it instead of flowers? That would be scary.”

“But that’s not how the door looked in the movie,” I said.

“Their mistake.”

Sometimes I feel like I’m conversing with a tall toddler.

There were a few non-Monster, Inc. themed decorations, as well:

Perhaps those in charge of decorating these storefronts had never seen Monsters, Inc. either.

After our walk we continued the drive home, encountering heavy rain just as we neared Tallahassee. We’ve needed the moisture, so tropical storm Nestor did our area a favor. Studly and I spent the evening watching college football and snuggling, so I got what I wanted out of the day, as well. That’s a win-win, right?

Peace, people.

Too Beautiful

I came across this on Facebook and thought it was just too beautiful not to share. If any of my loved ones sees this, I’d love it read at any memorial service that’s held when I die. (Sorry it’s in a smaller font.)

“Every once in a while, a poem or song is so well constructed, so clearly conveys the author’s meaning and is so precisely expressive that it becomes something of an anthem. The poem below, Epitaph, was written by Merrit Malloy and as one of those poems, has become a staple of funeral and memorial services…for good reason.”

Epitaph – By Merrit Malloy

When I die

Give what’s left of me away

To children

And old men that wait to die.

And if you need to cry,

Cry for your brother

Walking the street beside you.

And when you need me,

Put your arms

Around anyone

And give them

What you need to give to me.

I want to leave you something,

Something better

Than words

Or sounds.

Look for me

In the people I’ve known

Or loved,

And if you cannot give me away,

At least let me live on in your eyes

And not your mind.

You can love me most

By letting

Hands touch hands,

By letting bodies touch bodies,

And by letting go

Of children

That need to be free.

Love doesn’t die,

People do.

So, when all that’s left of me

Is love,

Give me away.

Fabulous Ant Fact #2

Yesterday was the second of six Olli classes I’m taking at Florida State University on the Parallel Universe of Ants. For those of you unfamiliar with Olli, here’s a link to their website.

http://www.osherfoundation.org/index.php?olli

If you’re fortunate enough to live near a university offering Olli classes, I urge you to get involved. I’ve immersed myself in learning about ants now, and perhaps you can be immersed in some new interest as well.

Fabulous Ant Fact: Fire ants mate 300 feet above the earth; although, no one has actually witnessed the act.

So, how do we know this is the case? Researchers have taken to the air in planes with nets attached. These nets have collected the bodies of male fire ants as high above the earth as 300 feet.

The males fly in mating swarms early in the morning. Females follow later and return after each has mated with a male. The females then lose their wings and attempt to start their own colony. The males, having depleted their store of energy in the form of glycol, die upon returning to land.

I took copious amounts of notes during the lecture, but mostly I said “Oooh” and “Ahhhh!” at appropriate intervals.

Our instructor presented slides of dozens of varieties of ant species. Some look remarkably like aliens, if aliens exist.

Aren’t they beautiful?

Studly Doright thinks this class is ridiculous. I think it’s fantastic. They do say that opposites attract. Hope he hasn’t expended his store of glycol. 😉

Peace, people!

And Then There Were Four

My quest for hardcover copies of the Harry Potter series has passed the halfway mark! I know! I know! This might be the biggest news item of the decade, if not the century. Or maybe not. At any rate, I’m ecstatic.

For those of you unfamiliar with my quest, here’s a quick overview:

Quest:

Purchase a complete set of Harry Potter books

Criteria:

  • Hard cover in excellent condition
  • Purchase in order of publication
  • Purchase only from estate sales, garage sales, or secondhand stores
  • Purchase only one book at a time
  • One may not ask if the seller has any Harry Potter books (new rule; however, I’ve abided by it since the first find)

Purpose:

To replace a mismatched set of Harry Potter books that I donated to a school library several years ago

Justification:

I’m a crazy person with way too much time on my hands.

Current Status: I found book four at a garage sale in Tallahassee on the morning of October 12.

Fun Side Note:

I actually found two copies of book four (I don’t believe that’s a violation of the rules since both books were the same volume.)

Why Two Copies?

The woman selling the books said she’d had two sets of the Harry Potter series, and that one child had purchased one set of the books, but didn’t need book 4 because he already owned it.

As you can see from the photo, the two books are different sizes:

I couldn’t remember which size of books 1, 2, and 3, I’d purchased in my earlier adventures, but I knew those books were all the same size. Heck, I didn’t even know they were offered in two different hard cover sizes. The only way to be sure I’d keep my collection uniform was to purchase both books. Now I’ll donate the odd one. By the way, the one on the left is the keeper. I’m the seeker. Wink, wink.

Peace, people.

Reflection

A glimpse of a smile

That same old familiar face

Fine lines, deep wrinkles

Spare the excuses

Hours of sunbathing glory

Long nights of excess

This map of the world

And all of her adventures

Plainly written here

Snapshot #270

For three weeks I’ve trailed behind our youngest cat, Patches, in an attempt to get a fecal sample for the veterinarian. We’d tried isolating her in a guest suite outfitted with a litter box in the bathroom and plenty of food and water in the adjoining bedroom, but that just traumatized her to the point where instead of pooping, she peed on every imaginable surface and didn’t poop even a little bit.

It took me a day to clean everything and it’s taken even longer to soothe poor Patches’s nerves. I’ve had to mend a lot of fences with her, and she’s still pretty jumpy.

My next plan for getting a sample from her was to catch her in the act of pooping, thereby knowing for sure it was her poo and not Scout’s. Sounds fairly straightforward, right? Not with a traumatized Patches. We went a couple of days without seeing her at all, and while I knew she was using the litter box I couldn’t distinguish Patches’s Poo from Scout’s Scat.

I’d almost given up on ever getting a piece of Patches’s poo when this very morning I had the pleasure of seeing her make a deposit in the box. I’ll tell you I’ve not been this excited about watching a bowel movement since our youngest child was potty trained. I had to rein in my enthusiasm, though, so as not to interrupt her endeavors. Inside my head I was jumping with joy.

So this, friends, is Snapshot #270. We’re calling it, The Sweet Smell of Success.

Peace, people!