Anxiously Off to Clearwater

My husband and I have plans for a weekend getaway, and I’m a bit fidgety. You see, it’s a rare occasion when I can lure Studly Doright away from his weekend golf games. I’m excited, but there’s a great deal of pressure involved, too. How can I possibly compete with the opportunity for a birdie on the tenth hole? Okay, I know how, but do I really want to go there?

Should I have compiled a list of talking points? Or maybe perfected the art of eyelashes batted in adoration? I’ve done neither. Instead, I’m going to watch the scenery pass by through the passenger seat window and make astute comments about the sights I see. Maybe my witticisms will elicit a laugh or two.

This trip is proof that Studly loves me, though. He’s taking me to see Steve Martin and Martin Short at Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, Florida. This, in spite of the fact that he hates crowds and concerts and anything that requires him to dress up and sit for two hours in a crowded auditorium. In spite of the fact that he’d much rather be on a golf course.

On Saturday we’re going to explore the Clearwater/Tampa Bay area. There’ll be many hours of unstructured time. Again, I’ll feel the pressure to make sure he’s enjoying himself. Why do I internalize all these expectations? Am I alone in this dilemma?

Peace, people.

“Forget the Iguanas Stew,” Again

A couple of days ago after posting a piece about falling iguanas in south Florida I was reminded by WordPress that I’d addressed the same issue in another post from the winter of 2018. Apparently I’d even worked a recipe for stew into the article. Go figure. Or, go cook.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2018/01/06/forget-the-iguanas-stew/

Draft Choices

If you’re a blogger do you find that sometimes titles for blog posts pop into your head? You might not have anything in mind to write about, then, wham! I have that happen all the time, and sometimes the titles even develop into something that’s printable.

Right now I’m figuratively sitting on half a dozen titles, some I’ve attempted to flesh out with additional words, while others have remained untouched.

Here are a few titles in my draft file. Hopefully by sharing these some creative urge will strike. Otherwise, I’m going to write more about my cat’s urination habits, and I think we’ve all had enough of that. I have anyway.

Things We Mourn (I think this is going to be a poem)

Weighing In (me, talking. Earth shatttering, I know)

Life on Mars (rambling poem–it rhymes sort of)

About Your Mom (everything the grandkids need to know about my daughter, their mom)

That Song (I have no idea)

Collective Whole (A thing I thought and then forgot)

Are you a “Title” person? Does the title come first or do you add one just before you publish? I’m truly curious.

Peace, people

A No Flip-Flop Day

Living in the Florida panhandle insures that on most days I’ll be able to wander about outside in flip flops, a t-shirt, and capris. This is not going to be one of those days.

We’ve been fortunate this winter to have had very few nights when the temperatures dropped below 50° F. I guess we’ll just have to grin and bear it.

Yes, I know so many of you in the frigid parts of the country would gladly change places with me right now. Our daughter who lives in Port Byron, IL, certainly would.

As would some of our friends from our old stomping grounds near Bismarck, North Dakota.

We lived near there for almost four years. Brrr.

So today I’ll wear jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and real shoes. Might even need a light jacket. I think I’ll probably survive.

Wherever you happen to live, stay warm and safe today!

Peace, people.

Potato, Potahto

Back in the spring of 2019 I began eating a mostly vegan diet for health reasons. Occasionally I’ll have shrimp in a salad, or an egg white for breakfast, and I still put honey in my tea, but 99% of the time I follow a plant-based diet that excludes dairy.

Since I’m not a great cook I eat a lot of baked potatoes, fresh fruits, and salads at home, but my favorite place to eat is Sweet Pea Cafe in Tallahassee where everything is vegan, including the yummiest baked goods ever.

In the beginning when I ordered a meal at Sweet Pea I was full of questions like, “Who’s seitan?” and “Isn’t Tempeh a town in Arizona?” To their credit the Sweet Pea staff answered these questions and more, and finally I found myself fairly knowledgeable about vegan foods. Well, I know what I’m getting when I order, anyway. I’ve become fairly fluent in Veganese.

A couple of days ago I was in line to order at Sweet Pea behind a young couple who were obviously vegan novices. I patiently waited while they asked all of the questions I had asked and more.

“What’s tempeh made of?”

“How about seitan? What’s in it?

“What’s in a falafel?”

“What kind of cheese do you use?

Seriously, this young couple was thorough in their quest to find out what everything on the menu was made from or of.

There was one question that I never asked, though that the male did: “And what are the potatoes made from?”

I looked up from my phone to find the person taking the order suppressing a smile.

“Potatoes. We generally make them from potatoes.”

He went on to tell him what kind of oil they’d be cooked in and that they were locally grown.

I just had to grin. Finally someone asked a question I could’ve answered even in my virgin vegan days. Potatoes are made from potatoes!

Peace, people.

Open Minded

My husband, Studly Doright, never ceases to amaze me. I’m not sure if it’s his wit, but I’m fairly certain it’s not his wisdom.

Friday afternoon he reminded me that he’ll be attending two celebration of life ceremonies on Saturday for two men he’s played golf with for the last eight years. The guys died within a few hours of one another right before Christmas, and now they’ll be remembered on the same day. The golfers will head straight to the first service following their Saturday round on the links and then to the second after that. They were both good men, as far as I could tell, and had lived interesting lives.

As usual when contemplating death I think ahead to my own wishes for end of life arrangements. Studly and I both want to be cremated, and I told him that instead of a funeral and/or a celebration of life that I just want a wake. I want beer and wine to be served and for everyone to just sit and talk–mostly about me, but I guess I can’t control that. Prayers for a safe transition would be appreciated, and I’d probably be happy with a few tears being shed. Nothing too sad, though. I’d like my kids to pick out some suitable music–they both know what I like.

As to my cremated remains, if I go first I’d like my ashes to be placed in a pretty urn–World Market has some beautiful ones that fit the bill, and they’re a fraction of the cost the funeral home charges. When Studly dies his ashes are to be added to mine.

I was saying all this out loud when Studly interrupted to ask about his second wife.

“Hmm,” I said. “I guess she could join us in the urn if she didn’t have other plans.”

“Wow, you’d be open to a threesome?”

If it makes him feel better, I suppose so.

Peace, people.