Category: Commentary

Musical Oasis 

After driving over 1100 miles I reached our daughter’s home in Rapids City, IL, a small town situated on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. I always think I’ll come up with a better adjective for this father of American rivers, but nothing suits it quite as well.

I guess we could say HUGE, but thanks to the current presidential elections the H word is so overworked. And it fails the alliteration test, so there’s that.

Last night I stayed at a dump of an inn in Nashville, Tennessee. I might’ve slept for three hours. But earlier in the evening I did get to go visit with my cousin, singer/songwriter Effron White who hosted a songwriter’s round at the Millennium Maxwell House. It was the first time in a decade that we were able to hang out.

The evening’s company and entertainment more than made up for a poor night’s rest. In fact, since I couldn’t sleep I just played all the songs back in my head. 

 

Effron and me and some groovy catsup.
 
 
I’m not even going to try and tag these guys. They were a talented bunch.
 

More photos from the evening. I was blown away by the level of talent in the room.

  
    
    

  
 Check out one of Effron’s songs as performed by Phil Lancaster. I just love the French introduction! 

http://youtu.be/A1YVPWqsJc0
Peace, people!

Round is a Shape

I am woefully out of shape. Most likely this is a direct result of a severe aversion to exercise and a fondness for Krispy Kreme donuts.

Rather than do anything to remedy my lack of physical fitness, I just turned to Pinterest to sum up my feelings. Sharing one’s feelings is healthy, right?

  
  
   
    
 

i want to look like jennifer aniston:
firm legs, tight butt, an angel’s smile.

  
instead i’m closer to chris christie
in looks and girth and style.

  
peace, people!

On The Road My Friends

At some point this morning I will have departed from Doright Manor to take a trip of epic, dare I say Odyssean, proportions. Having packed my bags with everything from winter boots and a parka to capris pants and flip flops I should surely be prepared for any eventuality.

My first destination is a point north of Nashville, Tennessee, for an overnight stay. From there I’m bound for our daughter’s home in Rapids City, Illinois, where I will be baby sitter-in-chief for my daughter’s three children while the parents go to cavort in the bright sun of a Mexican beach.

  
  
After a week in Illinois I’ll head south to the Texas panhandle, the place that no matter where on earth I roam will always be home. I’ll stay with the lovely Saint Helen who gave birth to Studly Doright and hopefully get to commune with the rest of the panhandle-dwelling Noyes bunch. 

  
Once they’ve chased me out of town with torches and pitchforks I’m off to Dallas to spend a night with our son if we can get our schedules to sync. Then it’s on to Houston, that most intimidating city, for a couple of nights with the oldest of my two younger brothers and his wife. They’re taking me and Studly’s eldest (she’d say prettiest) sister to a big event. I’m sure I’ll blog about it afterwards. If I’m still capable, that is. 

  
  
I have another event in mind for the Houston stay, but I’ll save that for another post, as well. 

When my brother finally kicks me out of his home I’ll begin working my way back to Doright Manor. Somewhere on that stretch of road is a wonderful little outlet mall that’s been calling my name for awhile now.

  
I’ve been writing like a mad woman to stock my blog with pieces to post daily during my trip. I’m sure there will be times I can post something from the road, but just in case I can’t, the blog must, and will, go on! 

Any prayers, blessings, positive thoughts, etc., offered up for my safe travels will be greatly appreciated. And as always, peace, people.

Massage in a Bottle

Ok, that’s a lame title, so sue me. My hips and upper thighs have been causing me extreme agony lately, and I’ve found that a good massage can help relieve some of my pain. 

I had such a massage today. The therapist dug into my hips until the muscle relaxed and I could sigh in relief. But I also, at one point in the treatment got an intense cramp in the calf of my left leg causing me to kick the unsuspecting massage therapist squarely in the face. 

  After all he’d done for me I felt awful. Poor guy. I’m not sure any amount of gratuity is going to ease his pain, but it might buy him some ibuprofen.

Peace, people!

Name Your Poison Ivy

Let’s give this one some thought. If you had to name one thing, and one thing only, what would it be. And why?

  
My answer: Ironing!

Why? Because I still have the scars on my body from the last time I tried it.

Peace, people!

  

Bullseye

One of the trivia questions our team answered incorrectly on Friday evening was the number of points awarded when a dart sticks in the very bottom section of a dart board. Not a one of us was a darts player. I ardently wished to be able to phone a friend, but that option wasn’t available.

One member of our team (The Pattycakes) was almost certain it was worth nine points. Another felt like it might be six. Neither had the correct answer: THREE.

  
But I found it interesting that both of the incorrect guesses were multiples of three, as if in some corner of their minds our team members were making connections to the actual answer.

The brain is an amazing organ. I’m so glad I have one. Too bad I lost the owner’s manual years ago.

  
Peace, people!

Patches Sends Her Love

With a sexy, come hither look, Patches wears her heart on her cute little nose.  
I love this little cat, with her independent ways and squeaky little meow. 

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Taking the Plunge

Studly Doright took me out for dinner last night for an early Valentine’s Day celebration. He also bought me a bouquet of tulips in a box. You know, the kind you have to assemble yourself?

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore receiving flowers, but part of the romance is lost if I have to cut the stems, pull the leaves, and mix up that floral cocaine that keeps the flowers fresh. So this year I said, “Thanks, hon. Now you make ’em pretty for me.”

And miracle of miracles, he did! I know I’ll need to do a little fine tuning here and there, but at least he took the plunge. And that’s the definition of love. Taking plunges. 

 

Ok, he isn’t going to make a living arranging flowers, but Studly did this for me!
 
When Studly asked me out on our first date, he took a big, scary plunge. For all he knew I’d turn him down cold, yet still he asked.

Our first kiss was a plunge. I’m not sure which of us initiated the touching of lips to lips, but it was pure bliss and it was the moment I realized I might already be falling in love with this crazy, funny, smart(ass) boy.

And even though Studly was 99.9% sure I’d answer yes when he asked if I would marry him, that, too was a plunge.

Studly and I have been wed for almost four decades, and we’re still taking plunges. We plunged in head first on having children. Every one of our cross country moves has been a plunge. It’s been a veritable plunge-a-thon! 

With any luck, the biggest ones are behind us. But those little ones, like watching my big, handsome man arranging my bouquet of flowers, I hope we have many more of those.

Peace, and Happy Valentine’s Day, people!

Revisit? I Think Not

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Never Again

Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.

Last year Studly Doright and I accompanied friends to a contra dance. Here’s that tale:

http://wp.me/p4O8fw-Gm

Dream a Little Dream

I had an amazingly fun dream last night. In it I was in a weird airport terminal awaiting my flight to a European destination to stay with my sister-in-law Lyn who was living there.
 The flight was delayed and I was just hanging out in the cool restroom–there was a waterfall in there. A young mom with two small kids in tow was crying and when I asked if she needed help she told me she’d misplaced her passport. 

Since I had a lot of time before my flight I helped her search everywhere she’d been. We looked and looked and finally found the passport at a kiosk in the airport. It had fallen behind a rack of designer bags. She thanked me profusely and we went our separate ways. 

I looked at my watch and realized I was going to have to rush to make my flight. So I commandeered an airport transport and went tearing through the airport. I got to my gate just as the plane was pulling away. I was pretty bummed. The next flight wouldn’t leave until midnight. 

But then the the young woman and her two kids approached me. “Come with us,” she said.

The next thing I knew I was in a cushy private jet traveling across the Atlantic. The seat laid all the way back, and I slept like a baby. I guess we made it to Europe. All I know is I woke up in the real world well rested.

Peace, people!