Accidental Beer

I like beer, but I normally don’t have one with my lunch. Yesterday I did, but it was an accident.

Studly Doright has me confined to the house as we await the delivery of a generator.

“When it arrives,” Studly said, referring to the generator. “Have them put it in the garage.”

“When do you expect this generator to be delivered?” I inquired.

“Oh, sometime this week.”

I waited all day Monday, finding ways to keep busy around Doright Manor. Tuesday went the same way. Wednesday came and went with no generator in sight.

I’m a restless soul. I drive into Tallahassee or Havana on most days just to explore or shop or mingle with strangers in coffee shops and cafés. So to be stuck at Doright Manor, as lovely as it is, for three straight days has been like a weird purgatory. I’m comfortable and well fed, but I’m going slightly crazy.

Yesterday at noon while awaiting the generator’s arrival I decided to eat one of the tuna salad kits I’d purchased as part of my Hurricane Irma supplies. Since the salad only had 200 calories I figured I could have a Virgil’s brand root beer to accompany my meal.

I opened the bottle and took my lunch into the den where I settled into my favorite chair to enjoy Rachael Ray’s television program as I dined. The tuna was decent; although, not up to my own homemade tuna salad, but the root beer tasted off. I thought perhaps that tuna and root beer might not be compatible tastes, but I kept eating and drinking.

It was only when I thought to check the caloric content of the root beer that I realized I was drinking an actual beer (Smithwick’s) and not a Virgil’s. Boy, did I feel like a complete idiot!

Much is written these days about a mindful approach to living. Maybe I should start paying attention.

In my defense, both drinks were packaged in bottles….

Kindergarten Connection

I was fortunate to have attended kindergarten in the days before it was made mandatory. I’m sure Mrs. Parks, the owner and sole teacher of the school followed a curriculum, but I don’t remember it being a rigorous course of instruction.

My fellow classmates and I played and sang and created small works of art, while learning about the letters of the alphabet and how to count. A few children in the class learned to read that year. I wasn’t one of those children, but I used to tell people that I was. Nothing was forced as kindergarten learning seems to be nowadays.

At the end of that precious year Mrs. Parks directed us in a play to mark our graduation. One of my Floydada friends posted the picture of our class on Facebook this weekend. Weren’t we adorable?

That’s me on the back row. I’m the tall brown haired girl in the pink dress next to the headdress wearing brave and behind the tiny little doll in yellow.

I can still name all but two of my former classmates from the picture. Floydada is a small Texas town and I went to school with most of those pictured until my family moved to Dumas the summer before my senior year of high school. That was a tough move. I thought my world had ended, when it really was just beginning.

There’s really no message in this post, but our youngest granddaughter started kindergarten this year at a small school in Illinois, and I hope her memories of her year will someday be as sweet to her as mine are to me.

This is Harper on Ag day, which she preferred calling “Egg Day.” She’s a great deal sassier than I ever was. Heaven help us all.

Peace, people.

Sunday Post-Irma

Okay, I promised no more posts about Hurricane Irma, but that was before I had to go help Studly Doright clean up after her. Don’t you just detest having guests who wreck the place?

She sheared off one of our smaller oak trees, so Studly set off with his trusty chain saw to cut the tree into pieces small enough to suit our trash pickup guys.

We loaded everything into our little trailer and I delivered the branches to the curb area. We don’t actually have curbs out here, but if we did that’s where the processed branches would be.

We left the small stump. It looks like a potential home for fairies to me.

We really are fortunate that more trees weren’t lost during Irma’s visit. She wasn’t a great houseguest, but she could’ve been much worse.

Peace, people.

Bucolic Wonderings

I had to get some extra keys made for Doright Manor yesterday, so I drove over to Home Depot in Tallahassee. After paying for the keys I wandered in the direction of the garden section to dream about plants I could buy and eventually kill. I don’t exactly murder plants, but those in my care don’t have much of a chance at longevity.

Before I made it to the plants, though, I found this beauty.

It’s a double decker chicken coop, and the moment I saw it I fell in love with the idea of having a couple of chickens.

I’d name them Laverne and Shirley and I’d watch the pair strut around their little coop, clucking contentedly. I’d read to them excerpts from The Little Red Hen, and Chicken Little. I’d sing “The Farmer in the Dell,” and make up other songs featuring chickens. “Oh Chicken, My Chicken” comes to mind as a possible title. We’d be so happy in our bucolic paradise.

But reality set in and I knew I’d end up resenting Lavern and Shirley. They’d be dependent on me, insisting that I stay home and clean the coop when I wanted to go to a movie or for a spa day. Their once charming clucking would soon seem strident and accusatory.

“You never take us anywhere!” They’d complain. And they’d be right. Chickens just aren’t good shopping companions.

So I shook off the idea of chicken ownership and went on back to the plants. So, do I want to eventually kill a ficus or a rose bush? Decisions, decisions.

On Being Nana

I wasn’t always Nana. Once upon a time I was plain old Leslie, occasionally “honey” or whatever endearment

Came immediately to Studly’s tongue. But by far, Nana is the best name I’ve ever been given. Fifteen years ago this week,

Nana was born when a beautiful, round faced baby girl was placed in my arms. Her wide blue eyes connected with my own

Amazed brown ones, and I have been forever changed. I might have once been ordinary, but now I am Nana.

Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandchild, Dominique Grace. I meant to post this on Wednesday, but never changed the post from “draft” to “scheduled.”

Straight out of Floydada

I’m a native of the tiny Texas panhandle town of Floydada. So was country music artist Don Williams. He’s much better known than I am, and that’s a fact.

Mr. Williams passed away this week. His music, though, will live on. I was a fan of his work, and believe I would have been even if we hadn’t had Floydada in common.

https://youtu.be/4qkoZQRbl3s

Farewell Irma

Doright Manor sailed through the rigors of Hurricane Irma with flying colors. Granted, by the time Irma reached our neighborhood outside of Tallahassee, Florida, she’d been relegated to the rank of tropical depression, so we experienced a markedly weakened storm compared to our neighbors in south Florida.

Studly Doright and I only had to deal with a loss of electricity for roughly twelve hours on Monday. As soon as I heard the click signaling a return of power I raced Studly down the long hallway from the den to our bedroom and claimed the shower before he had even registered that we were officially back on the grid. Score one for Nana!

Studly worked from home all day, coordinating his workforce to assist one another in getting roofs repaired and trees cleared, as well as determining who needed generators and fuel. I got a little emotional listening to these good folks detailing what damages their properties had sustained and always reluctantly agreeing to accept assistance. A special team will be deployed to go help out employees in the hardest hit areas so they in turn can better serve their respective communities.

When the weather cleared this afternoon, but before we had our power restored, Studly and I drove into Tallahassee and checked on his office. We were pleased to find the electricity working there, so we charged our phones and got a cold drink from the refrigerator. On our way back to Doright Manor we had to pull over for a convoy of utility repair vehicles from an adjoining state. Again I choked up thinking about those people who go out in inclement weather to keep us going.

Thanks again to everyone who said a prayer or sent positive vibes or just took a moment to think about us as we waited for, and then endured the storm. Hopefully I’m through with hurricane stories this year! Farewell Irma! I’m having a Smithwick’s straight from a fully functioning fridge in honor of her departure.

Peace, people.

Irma Update

Sometimes I forget that my Facebook posts and my WordPress posts don’t reach the same audiences. I want to thank everyone who has inquired about our welfare as Irma approaches, and to provide an update.

At Doright Manor we lost power at 2:54 a.m. Monday. There is no darkness quite as deep as that found in a forest during a nighttime storm. A black velvet blanket seemingly fell over our home awakening us immediately. On the plus side we’ve had no lightning, just heavy winds and driving rain.

The weakened eye of Irma is projected to pass very near us around noon today according to the ventusky.com model shown below.

Right now we are getting the outer edges of Irma. Thank goodness she has lost a great deal of her ferocity. She’s scary enough as it is.

I’m going offline now to save battery power. To my Florida friends, stay safe and to everyone else, keep sending those prayers and positive vibes. We really can feel them.

Peace, people!

Not that Desperate

Doright Manor where I reside with my husband of forty one years, is in a rural neighborhood about ten miles west of Tallahassee, Florida. We have a Havana, FL, address, but we are only slightly farther from Tallahassee than we are from the little town of Havana. On most days I drive into Tallahassee at least once to walk, shop, or sometimes to take in a movie.

The knowledge that Hurricane Irma will hit near us early next week has me feeling antsy, and even though I’ve already shopped for supplies I began to worry that I might have forgotten something. So yesterday I drove over to see the movie “It!” and followed up with a trip to a Publix grocery store.

My hope was that I could purchase some canned meat meals, such as tuna or chicken with crackers and mayonnaise, that require no refrigeration. I’d looked a couple of days ago, but the store was completely out of those items. The clerks thought they’d get some more in before the storm, so I deemed it worth a trip.

Here is what the canned meat aisle looked like:

I wasn’t even a little bit tempted by these delicacies:

Canned squid! Who knew? I just know I’m not that desperate.

The store was busy, but the mood was generally buoyant, even though now it looks as if Tallahassee will get a bigger piece of the storm than was previously predicted.

Studly Doright and I still aren’t sure if we’ll evacuate ahead of Irma. I’m leaving the decision up to him. I call him Studly Doright for a reason, so I’m in his capable hands.

Please send good vibes out to all those in the direct path of the storm, especially to one of my British blogging friends and her husband who are vacationing in Florida. They had to evacuate the Keys and may have to go to a shelter in Miami if their hotel has to be vacated.

Thanks for reading. I have absolutely the best followers. Peace, people.

Irma

Hurricane Irma is barreling down on the U.S., and I have to tell her she has really bad timing. I doubt she cares.

Here at Doright Manor we’ve stored up gallons of bottled water and my favorite survival snack, Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies. I have a pantry filled with canned chicken and Vienna sausages and enough cheese crackers to get us through the first hundred days of a zombie apocalypse. Now, it’s just a waiting game.

There’s still a chance the storm won’t hit us at all and might veer into coastal Texas, which is still reeling from Hurricane Harvey. As much as I don’t want Irma to come through here, I don’t want her messing with Texas even more.

Right now Irma is a category 5 storm, and anywhere she makes landfall is going to suffer tremendous damage. The projections we are seeing show that when she reaches Studly Doright and me in the Florida panhandle she’ll still be a category 1. Many things can change still, and we are praying she’ll weaken considerably before she reaches land.

Praying for the best, but preparing for the worst. Don’t be cruel, Irma.