Month: November 2019

Last Minute Ticket

Last night Studly Doright was out of town, so I had an entire evening to kill. I could’ve stayed home snuggled down with the cats, but as I scrolled through Facebook I saw an ad for a Sister Hazel concert in Tallahassee that very night. With one click I bought my ticket, threw on a clean T-shirt, and drove to the Ruby Diamond Auditorium on the campus of Florida State University.

Past experiences with buying a last minute single ticket have generally resulted in great seats. I’ve ended up in the fourth row before. Last night I was twelve rows from the stage and right in the middle. Not too shabby.

Fans of the band are dubbed “Hazelnuts” and there was a huge contingent of them in the audience. Sister Hazel was formed in Gainesville, Florida, in the early 90’s and played in Tallahassee regularly during their early years, so there were quite a few fond memories of the band’s partying days at FSU recounted from the stage.

By the end of the concert I was singing along, having become something of a Hazelnut myself.

https://youtu.be/f46ulX6uwGc

(The band members are a bit older than in the YouTube video link, but still rocking strong.)

Peace, people!

Could it be Prosopagnosia? – Praying for Eyebrowz

Remember back when you were a small child and someone, maybe a parent, perhaps a teacher, assured you that at some point you would discover your God-given talent? I do. And I’m still waiting. It’s not that I’m without any talents, it’s just that none of them seem worth developing. For example, I still remember…
— Read on nananoyz5forme.com/2018/04/16/could-it-be-prosopagnosia/

So Far Behind

Who’d ever think that being retired could be so stressful? I took a few days off to enjoy a girls’ weekend in Nashville only to come home to find a couple hundred unread blog posts from people I follow.

I tried to play catch up on Monday evening, but I only got halfway through. And I apologize for not giving my full attention to every post. You’re all wonderful bloggers; otherwise, I wouldn’t be following you. I’ll comment meaningfully at some point. Just not today.

I’m also behind on writing for my own blog. For the first time since I began this adventure in writing I took four whole days off, and the world went on without me. Unbelievable. Here I thought that if I didn’t post something every single day the earth would cease to revolve around the sun.

Laundry piled up in my absence. Email accumulated in my inbox. Text messages went unanswered. Even worse, Studly Doright went unkissed. Well, I hope he did. At least I’ve taken care of that issue.

Tomorrow I’ll make another attempt to catch up. And I might kiss Studly again just for good measure.

Peace, people.

Discordant Joy

Oh, friends, I have had my eyes (and ears) opened to my limitations as a singer. Not that I ever considered myself a person of any great vocal talent, but honestly, I never dreamt I was as awful as I turned out to be.

Before I go any further, I need to thank anyone who has ever listened politely as I bleated out a song from a karaoke stage. Bless you all for your patience and diplomacy. Truly, I thought I was carrying a tune. As it turns out, I seem to have been carrying a screeching cat all these years.

What precipitated this moment of clarity? Did someone tell me how awful I was? Was I booed from the stage? Nope. In fact, when I sang a karaoke version of Jolene on Friday night at AJ’s in Nashville, Tennessee, I received a standing ovation. Okay, to be fair, everyone was already standing anyway, but hey, the crowd was simultaneously standing and clapping, so that’s going in the books as a standing o.

The revelation of my total lack of musical talent came on Saturday afternoon as three of my friends and I toured the historic Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville. As part of the tour one can stand on the famed Grand Ole Opry stage to pose for a picture. I’m the tall one in the back there, surrounded by my friends, before discovering my absolute inability to hold a note for more than about two seconds. Look how confident I seem here.

As part of the tour one can record a song in a studio. Well, having experienced that loving affirmation from the crowd on Friday night, how could I resist having my voice immortalized in a recording? Why would I deprive the world of my dulcet tones?

Oh, mercy.

The experience was wonderful, though. The sound engineer, Dave, welcomed us into his booth even though technically the sessions for that day had ended a few minutes before we discovered the studio area. It was great fun, yet daunting, to stand in front of the microphone wearing headphones that allowed me to hear exactly what I sounded like.

“Dave,” I asked, “am I supposed to be able to hear myself?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s how it works.”

“Damn.”

With a quick look through the catalog I selected King of the Road. Now, I’d never sung Roger Miller’s iconic hit outside of my shower or my car, but how hard could it be?

Again, oh, mercy!

I struggled mightily. My excuses are numerous: I was nervous. I forgot to breathe. The song wasn’t in a good key for me. I hadn’t practiced. Hey, it was my first time! And on and on. Basically, though, I finally realized that I’m a much better tree climber than a songstress. And friends, I couldn’t climb a tree to save my life.

If I can figure out how to share the song file with you I’ll do so. I warn you though, avoid drinking hot liquids if you risk listening.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/umgdbzxrflrmuuc/Leslie%20Noyes-King%20of%20the%20Road%20-%2011%3A16%3A19%2C%204.11%20PM.mp3?dl=0

By the way, if anyone wonders if my days of singing in public are over…Hell, no. I might be bad, but I’m really good at being bad.

Peace, people!

Dothan, AL

Nothing much to say here–it’s just where I found a Starbucks this morning at 8:01. I ordered my coffee Frappuccino with almond milk and am currently waiting for my name to be called.

It’s a huge, very nice Starbucks. Unfortunately it’s on the opposite side of the road from the way I’m traveling, so I’m probably going to have an interesting time getting back on the road to Nashville. Oh well, life without my morning drink is no life at all.

Peace, people.

Nashville Bound

Thursday, November 14. I’ve been looking forward to this particular Thursday for two months now. Why? Because I’ll be driving the eight and a half hours to Nashville, Tennessee, to spend a weekend with some of the coolest women I know.

These are women I’ve ridden motorcycles with, cried with, argued with, and laughed with. They’re good women and great friends.

Studly Doright and I have moved so many times that it’s been hard to maintain friendships through the years. The core members of this group of women, though, has been there for me for at least two decades. And even though we don’t see each other more than once a year, I know they’d be there for me in a heartbeat. All I’d have to do is call.

Most of us are in our 60’s now. For some of us, our motorcycle riding days are over, but the ties that bind us together remain. We’ve made some wonderful memories, like the time we bought fake ponytails that caused us to speak in weird foreign accents. Or the impromptu talent shows that have resulted in fits of uncontrollable, pants-peeing laughter. I could go into more detail, but I’d likely be uninvited to Nashville, and nobody wants that.

I’ll pack my bags this morning. Should I pack that ponytail? I think I can still pull off the accent.

Peace, people!

Unexpurgated

Did you know that limericks, those innocent little stanzas we wrote in elementary school, are actually often intended to be erotic? Naughty? Filthy? Perverted?

Okay, many of us have heard the one about the man from Nantucket. It was the source of much shock and giggling when I was a teen, even though I don’t think I knew the entire limerick until I was quite a bit older and read it graffitied onto a bathroom stall.

For some reason, though, I though it was an outlier, and that most limericks were similar to my personal favorite about the lady from Niger:

There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.

Brilliant, right?

But on Saturday I found this hardcover (dare I say “hardcore”?) book at a garage sale. Now, I’m going to be honest. I did NOT read the small print on the cover. I just noted the repetition of the word Limerick, and thought, “What fun!”

Only when I got home and began reading the limericks inside did I realize that every single one was naughty. Aha! That’s why one should always read the small print.

Complete and Unexpurgated. Yep. Sure is.

I wanted to share one with my readers, but it took me awhile to find an example that wasn’t so offensive that I’d lose followers.

Out of 1700 limericks, the one above was one of the less bawdy.

So what do I do with this 517 page book? I figure it’ll make a great gag gift in just the right setting, or maybe I’ll keep it to give my grandkids a shock when they have to clean out my belongings someday. I’ll bookmark it with a pair of tassels and really make them wonder.

Peace, people

A Walk in the Park

Studly Doright played in his golf club’s annual members’ tournament this weekend, so I had great heaps of time all to myself on Saturday and Sunday. There weren’t any estate sales within easy driving distance, but I found ways to spend money anyway.

By far the best activity I engaged in this weekend was a walk through Dorothy B. Oven Park in midtown Tallahassee. I’ve likely driven past this park hundreds of times, but never really paid it much attention. This weekend, though, there was an arts and crafts show taking place there, so I thought I’d give it a go.

After strolling through the booths I took off down a path and discovered just how lovely this little park is.

The weather was perfect for a walk in the park, so I lingered awhile. Afterwards I walked back to the craft booths where I bought one little picture.

It looks sweet in my “Beach Bedroom.”

Peace, people.

Sitting by Nana

I’m accustomed to dining alone in restaurants, smiling at small children and making faces at babies while their elders chat and eat.

Seldom do I feel jealous of their familial camaraderie, but sometimes, I hear,

“Nana, sit here. Sit by me!”

“No, I get to sit by Nana. Right, Nana?”

And I long for those days when my grandchildren argued over who would get to sit next to me, the revered Nana, at a meal.

I watched yesterday as two young children clamored to share space with their Nana at lunch. I bit my tongue to keep from saying “Lucky you!” to the Nana being fought over. I wanted to encourage her to savor this time. All too soon these children would be teenagers obsessed with their iPhones or grumbling that they’re bored and they’d rather be with friends or hurrying through lunch because they couldn’t be late for some activity.

Nowadays, when I’m lucky enough to dine with my grandkids, I resist saying,”I want to sit by Garrett (or McKayla or Dominique or Jackson or Harper)” because that just wouldn’t be cool, but I sure think about it.

Peace, people.

Fabulous Ant Fact #5

The venom of a Harvester Ant, scientific name, Pogonomyrmex, is twenty times more potent than that of a rattlesnake.

Of course, a harvester ant doesn’t deliver a large quantity of venom, so their bites, while painful, aren’t usually fatal unless administered by a large number of ants at one time. And most harvester ants aren’t particularly aggressive, at least those found in the Florida panhandle aren’t.

I attended my last Olli class at Florida State University for this semester on Thursday morning. There’ll be one more class session of The Parallel Universe of Ants on the 14th, but I’m meeting a group of girlfriends for a long weekend in Nashville, so perhaps I’m done with Fabulous Ant Facts.

The ants have found a place in my heart, though. And regardless of what Olli class I take next semester, the ants will be my first love. Tread lightly where you go, friends, lest you accidentally stomp on one of the coolest critters ever.

Peace, people.

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