I always forget that I can utilize my stats page to gain some insights into which blog posts are most popular and perhaps to discern what my readers want. Apparently y’all want fake horses because this piece about a Kentucky Derby party in Hereford, Texas, was the fifth most popular post on Praying for Eyebrowz in 2019.
Click on the link for the rest of the story.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2019/05/06/derby-photos/
Pour me another
A full bodied deep red wine
Something slowly sipped
Bring me memories
Of times spent on lazy lakes
Simply holding hands
Give me a reason
To hold on when life’s too much
Pour me another
I became incredibly bored watching the OU-LSU football game on Saturday night. Only a second glass of wine got me through it.
Peace, people.
How was your Christmas? Was there a box of chocolate covered cherries in your stocking or a fat lump of coal? You know it all depends on whether Santa had you marked as naughty or nice on his famous list, right?
I had an exceptionally good Christmas, and after getting a peek at Santa’s list, I know that it was my due as one of the “nice” kids. In fact, if one’s name is even close to being spelled like mine–Leslie, the odds are in your favor. Only poor Lesli was on the naughty list.
Have a burning desire to know where you fell on Santa’s list this year? Check out this link from the Department of Christmas Affairs:
Of course we all have an opportunity to do better in 2020, so I suggest we all get started. Thanks to my friend Denise for calling my attention to this site. Of course she’s considering changing the spelling of her name now. Naughty girl that she is.
Peace, people!
Studly Doright and I both became a little emotional last evening watching an episode of Orange is the New Black. We’re currently on season seven, and the United States’ horrendous immigration policy is front and center.
We were both doing okay until a scene in which two young children were in front of a judge who asked them if they had a lawyer. “What’s a lawyer?” the older of the two asked.
I lost it. I looked over and Studly looked kind of shaken, too. He’s not nearly the “bleeding heart liberal” that I am. I told him that this stuff’s actually happening. Real children are representing themselves in court, often with heartbreaking results.
We’ve been watching several episodes each evening, but neither of us could take any more after this particular episode. I think about these children in detention facilities. They’re missing their families. Many have no idea why they’re in detention to begin with. When did the U.S. lose its moral compass? Maybe we never had one.
Peace, and Justice people.
On December 27, 2019, we lucky denizens of the Florida panhandle are enjoying temperatures in the mid-70’s. I’ve seen lizards skittering about and bees pollinating plants, but they all refused to remain still for a photo.
My front yard has some gorgeous pink flowers that accommodated me, though. I’m calling this photo, “Is this a Camellia?”
Peace, people!
For Christmas Studly Doright bought me a new iPhone. According to him it’s the biggest, baddest iPhone available. I’m properly humbled and intimidated.
In my typically stubborn way I dove into setting up the new phone, heedless of Studly’s advice to let someone at the Verizon store assist me. “They said it’ll be easy!” Studly assured me. “Just switch out the memory cards and you’re good to go.”
It was not easy. I’ve lost all my contacts and have had to download all of my apps and remember the passwords and try to recall user names until I’m ready to scream. Plus, the navigation between pages is totally different. And all my contacts are screwed up. Argh!
It literally took me an hour to figure out how to get from the home page to my app icons. If you don’t hear from me again, it’s because I’ve been admitted to a psych ward–preferably one where no electronic devices are allowed.
Peace on earth and all that jazz.
Happy holidays from Doright Manor to you and yours.
Peace, people!
You know you’ve become an old married couple when you emerge from the shower in all of your naked glory to find your husband standing there eagerly only to have him ask for the computer password.
Studly Doright and I were married in July of 1976. I was just shy of twenty, while he was only 18. Broke, stupid, and in love, we had no idea then of the hurdles we’d have to jump over on our way to 43 years of marriage and beyond.
As our first Christmas as a married couple approached we had to set some new guidelines. I was set on keeping up my family’s Christmas traditions while he was equally set on keeping his. We managed to compromise fairly well, but there was one thing I insisted on–a live tree at least six feet tall. Studly’s family had a smaller tree that stood on a short table, as I recall.
I got my way that year, and we soon had our beautiful tall tree standing in its brand new red and green tree strand awaiting decorations. There was just one problem–we had no ornaments. None. And that tree had eaten up most of our disposable income.
My mom came to the rescue. She gave us three kits of felt ornaments that I could stitch together and decorate. One set featured characters from the Wizard of Oz.
Another set included typical Christmas characters–an angel, a snowman, and a Santa.
The last set featured Christmas trees and wreaths. I’ve managed to lose the wreaths, but my Christmas trees have hung in there (pun intended) all these years.
Several days ago I was scavenging for book five in the Harry Potter series at our local Goodwill book store when I came across a little felt tree hanging from the store’s tree. It was exactly like the one I’d made all those years ago
I wondered if some young woman had lovingly stitched the pieces together, adding shiny sequins where indicated by the kit’s directions. Had she been as nervous about her future as I was about mine?
And I wondered why this poor felt tree came to be all by itself at the Goodwill store. Of course I bought it and brought it home. I introduced the ornament to its counterparts on my tree, and then I let our elf on the shelf comfort it.
Welcome home, little tree.
Peace, people.
While my sleepless nights are much more rare these days, occasionally they still plague me. Friday night was a plague night.
A couple of events contributed to the sleeplessness and even my Calm app couldn’t overcome it. One was a totally random, yet bizarre occurrence that I really wish I could write about but can’t because I don’t want anyone I know to read it and realize I’m talking about them. Tallahassee is a small town and one never knows what might come back to bite one in the butt.
The other event was something that I can’t discuss because it affects someone I love. I worried over this person literally all night long. Send some good vibes her way if you’re so inclined.
Bottom line–this post is a whole lot of “I can’t tell you anything.” Weird, because I usually spill all the beans and then some. Maybe later.
In the meantime, here’s a song that always makes me think of sleepless nights. Don’t worry, no one’s cheating on anyone.
Thank you, Hank Willians.
Praying for Eyebrowz 