For some reason today’s post magically disappeared from my WordPress site. Thank goodness two of my blogging friends had already liked it, so I could copy from my notifications.
Be sure to click on the link for the story–I kind of had nightmares last night.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2019/06/14/snapshot-241/
Our elder cat, Scout, and I were lounging on the back porch yesterday afternoon having a heart to heart talk about the birds and the bees. Scout has been spayed, so it wasn’t THAT kind of talk. Instead, we were captivated by the appearance of what I believe to be a barred owl that makes a showing at Doright Manor every evening around 5 p.m.
It looks a great deal like the owl found on the Audubon Society’s page:
I told Scout that she wasn’t to try to make friends with the owl, as such an attempt wouldn’t end well for her. She assured me that she wouldn’t leave the safety of our screened-in porch, but she hesitated to vouch for her younger “sister,” Patches, saying something along the lines of, “The idiot will most likely be shoved, I mean, might accidentally run right out the door and into the grasping claws of that owl.”
There’s no love lost between my felines.
Within seconds of our conversation we heard a ruckus coming from the lake.
To me it sounded as if a predator had absconded with one of the offspring of our pair of nesting egrets. Ours aren’t as large as those pictured below, and would make a tasty snack for an alligator or even a turtle, but from the sound of the commotion something swooped down from the sky and alarmed our great egrets.
Scout turned to me and in all seriousness said, “Gee, I hope that was, I mean, wasn’t Patches.”
Such concern.
Peace, people!
Today (June 12, 2019) is our youngest grandchild’s 7th birthday. Among the gifts we sent her was a journal with a lock and key. Her mom, our daughter, just posted the following:
This kid will never do things exactly by the book. Pun intended.
Peace, people.
I tend to be an annoying person. One would think that since I’m aware of this tendency that I’d be able to temper my behavior and know when to cease and desist. One would be wrong.
Even in the midst of my most annoying times, and even as my brain is yelling at me to shut the hell up, I continue along the path of greatest annoyance. It’s a talent of sorts, I suppose.
Take my new dairy-free, mostly vegan diet for example. Any time I have an opportunity to dine with someone other than Studly Doright, I lecture myself about how to handle my food requirements.
“Listen, Leslie,” that’s what I call myself. “Just peruse the menu, and don’t make a big deal of your dietary restrictions. No one else at the table needs to hear what you can and can’t eat. Just order and be done with it.”
Easy enough, right?
Instead, once I’m in the actual ordering situation I’m all, “Hey, do the shrimp lettuce wraps contain any dairy? I can’t eat any dairy, and you do not want to be around me if I accidentally ingest anything with dairy. The gas emissions alone are enough to choke a grown man, and I’m not talking about an average grown man here. I’m talking about The Rock or even Chuck Norris in his prime. And then, the bouts of diarrhea and/or constipation are absolutely devastating. I’ve lost 22 pounds over the course of two bouts of digestive distress brought on, perhaps, by my intake of dairy products. And you know, I’m not technically a vegan; however, I know that vegan fare is totally dairy free, so it’s safe for my digestive system and won’t result in a bout of the squirts and the subsequent resulting hemorrhoids, so that’s why I’m asking about the shrimp lettuce wraps, in case you wondered, which you probably didn’t, but still….”
About half a sentence into the above ramble, my brain is calling me all sorts of awful names and warning me that I’m going to die alone, friendless, and unloved if I don’t stop speaking immediately. Do I listen? Naw. Stupid brain.
So, I’m having lunch with a friend on Thursday. My self lecture has begun, but this time I’m thinking about applying duct tape to my mouth and merely pointing at my food choices. That’ll work, right?
Our daughter. Ashley, has been visiting us at Doright Manor since last Wednesday. She was supposed to fly home today, but the flight she was on was overbooked. Delta airlines offered $1,000 to anyone volunteering to be rebooked on the same flight tomorrow. Her response?
So, we have our favorite daughter for another night! I’m excited because I get to introduce her to my Meetup group at dinner tonight. Studly Doright is happy because he got to introduce her to his work buddies this afternoon. Ashley is happy because she gets another day of rest and relaxation. It’s a win win win situation.
Peace, people!
On Wednesday evening my daughter, Ashley, who’s visiting from Illinois, and I decided we’d drive to Orlando. Studly Doright had suggested we go to one of the theme parks, offering to give us his hotel points if we wanted to spend the night. We were as giddy as little kids, and promptly made plans to visit Universal Studios.
We drove over on Thursday and went to Universal City Walk for an early dinner and a movie (Aladdin!) after checking into the Doubletree hotel. We didn’t stay out too late, though, because we planned to be at the park when it opened on Friday morning.
We arrived at Universal by eight a.m., along with those who had early admission because they were staying on property. To our surprise and delight we were waved through by one of the workers and were allowed to board the Escape from Gringott’s ride in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter along with the early admission crowd.
We rode every ride we wanted to, and one of those twice, never waiting in line for a ride more than 20 minutes, thanks to good timing and express line tickets. It was a magical day.
Above, we posed outside of Hogwarts.
Those critters above are from the Men in Black ride.
Ashley, below, wore her protective goggles with style and grace.
Below, the dragon surprised Ashley by beaching flames into the sky. It was intense.
We had fun in Toon Town:
After we posed for the two photos above we rode a couple of rides that left us soaking wet. My only regret for the whole day is that I didn’t think to take photos of us looking like a couple of drowned rats. After we left the park we had to stop at a turnpike oasis and change clothes. My tennis shoes are still wet 24 hours after the adventure.
We’re back at Doright Manor now, recuperating from the trip. Exhausted, yet happy.
Peace, people!
My daughter arrived in Tallahassee to hang out with us for a few days. Why? Just because she could.
Two days later…
There’s my baby girl! She and I really have no plans. We’re just going to enjoy each other’s company and see if we can manage to stay out of trouble. There are no guarantees on the second part of that sentence.
Peace, people!
Is there a particular food you are so fond of that you dream about it? You know I wouldn’t ask such a question if I didn’t intend to tell you about my dream food, right? I’d make you guess, but I doubt anyone except my friend Lila would even come close, and she only reads my blog sporadically.
How about a multiple choice quiz?
a) grilled shrimp
b) sushi
c) pepperoni pizza with onions and pineapples
d) gazpacho
Okay, if you chose a, b, or c, you’re not far off, I’m fond of them all, but d) gazpacho is my ultimate craving. I can taste it even as I type.
The first time I had this cold tomato soup I was in a high school home economics class. As I recall a local farmer had donated a whole bunch of tomatoes to our class, and our instructor, Mrs. Craig, decided to introduce us to a dish most of us had never heard of. I remember wrinkling my nose at the prospect of a cold soup, but then being quite taken by the combination of tastes. Still, I didn’t try gazpacho again until I was in my forties, and that’s when I became slightly addicted to it.
I’ve never actually made gazpacho. Studly Doright refuses to try it, and I don’t want to be wasteful. Plus, I eat too many tomatoes too often, I break out in a rash. Last night, though, Studly was out of town, and I decided to make myself gazpacho juice using our favorite new toy–a masticating juicer.
My juice was awesome. I need to fine tune the recipe a bit to make it taste more like the soup I crave, but I’m already close to having it perfect.
Here’s a recipe for gazpacho, although, it can be made with different ingredients, and below that, one for the juice I made.
Gazpacho Recipe from Barefoot Contessa website
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Gazpacho Juice
Yummy stuff.
Peace, and good eating, people!
I went for a swim last night. It was my first real swim in over three years, and I relished every stroke.
Studly Doright and I had a pool once, back when we lived in Melbourne, Florida. Our backyard there was perfect for a small in-ground pool, and I swam almost every day all year round. When we moved to Illinois we didn’t even consider adding a pool to our property, but I’d hoped we’d have one if we ever returned to the Sunshine State.
We’ve been in the Tallahassee area for more than five years now, and I’ve given up on having a pool of my own. The backyard here at Doright Manor isn’t conducive to a pool–the ground slopes down to the lake and the expense to shore it up in addition to that of building a lanai around it, wouldn’t be practical at this stage in our lives. Studly would like to retire at some point, and I can’t say I blame him. Still, I miss swimming.
Tallahassee has some fine city parks with pools, though, and last night I decided to join one of the water aerobics classes at the park nearest my home. Slipping into the water felt like coming home, and I patiently went through the exercises as our instructor led the way. Then, glory of glories, she had us swim a couple of laps. I was afraid I wouldn’t remember how, or wouldn’t be able to make one lap, let alone two.
But I was good. Smooth and easy like I’d never stopped swimming. I fantasized that the young lifeguard on duty might stop me as I left the pool and compliment me on my form. Perhaps, I thought, he might ask if I’d ever competed in high school or even college. I’d have blushed and told him no, then thanked him for the compliment. For the record, he didn’t single me out for special recognition. I’ll just have to work harder next time.
Tomorrow my muscles will likely be a little sore, but I’ll relish the pain. I can’t wait for the next time.
Peace, people!
This one, my Patches, doesn’t think I know she’s nestled next to my leg. If she knew I was aware of her presence, she’d meow as if she’d been mortally wounded while simultaneously leaping from the bed onto the floor and racing from the room.
Which is exactly what happened immediately after I snapped this picture. At least I have visual proof now that Patches sometimes needs to be snuggled, in spite of what she tells her friends.
(Cartoon by Scott Metzger.)
Praying for Eyebrowz 