Unretouched photos of me sunbathing. 
Peace, people!
Warning: Graphic Content
Unretouched photos of me sunbathing.
Peace, people!
Category: Florida
Just a Scary Night in Jacksonville
Studly Doright and I drove over to Jacksonville last Thursday afternoon to purchase a 2010 Honda Goldwing he’d found on Craigslist. Even though Jacksonville isn’t terribly far from Tallahassee, Studly arranged to take Friday off from work so he wouldn’t be driving home from Jacksonville on an unfamiliar bike after dark.
Craiglist purchases always make me nervous. After all, there have been cases in which the person placing the ad just wanted to murder and rob someone by luring them to a meeting spot. As a proactive measure once we got to the designated location I stayed in the running car with my finger poised to dial 9-1-1. Studly shook his head and laughed at me. I get no respect.
Once we had the bike and title in hand, I set the car’s GPS for our hotel address and with Studly following on the Goldwing we set off across Jacksonville. Studly had instructed me not to worry if we were separated, assuring me he’d find the hotel on his own if necessary.
As soon as we got on the interstate a car cut in between us and in spite of Studly’s instructions I slowed a bit to allow him to catch up. Before long I spotted him in my rear view mirror making a move to catch me. Unfortunately, the driver of the car fell victim to a bad case of road rage and I watched in horror as he attempted to intimidate Studly.
Now, my husband is a former motocross racer. His reflexes and instincts are still sharper than those of most people I know, but this angry driver was incredibly aggressive and determined to teach Studly Doright a lesson.
When our exit popped up I hoped this person would stay on the interstate, but no, he came off right behind my husband. We immediately hit a stop light, and the driver stopped beside Studly. I was watching intently in case I needed to intervene. Studly was nodding. The driver was yelling; although, I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Apparently, the angry man finally felt vindicated and took a left turn as soon as the light turned green. Studly and I made it to our hotel without further incident.
Once in our room I asked Studly what had happened. “Oh,” he said calmly, “he threatened to shoot me.”
My knees buckled. To think I’d been so concerned about the Craigslist seller and only mildly worried about the road rage guy. I didn’t sleep well that night.
In the morning we left the Goldwing at the hotel and headed to a diner for a great breakfast. Much to my surprise Studly suggested we find a beach, so we followed the signs to Hanna Park, a gorgeous two mile stretch of powder soft sand. The tide was out, and we plucked a handful of delicate, intact shells from the beach.
The walk and the clean tang of salt and sea cleared my head. All was right in the world, and I banished the potential violence of the night before from my mind. After taking Studly back to his bike we parted ways for the rest of the day. I drove down to St. Augustine to see what the outlet stores had to offer and Studly headed home to Doright Manor.
I hope that stupid driver came down with a bad case of diarrhea followed by extreme constipation and excessive gas. Otherwise, I wish him well.
Peace, people.
Sweet Weekend, Part 2
I had so much fun bumming around the Word of [South] festival on Saturday that I couldn’t wait to return on Sunday. Pre-festival I stopped in at one of my favorite eateries, the Crepevine for breakfast and then once at Cascades Park I was immediately handed a free mimosa. Life was good!
Part of me was a little nervous that Sunday wouldn’t be able to compete with Saturday, but that free mimosa totally erased my doubts. I’m uncomplicated that way.
My first stop was to the stage where an act billed as The Sonnet Man was already in progress. http://www.thesonnetmannyc.com 
This young man has set Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies to music, creating “Hip-Hop Shakespeare Fusion.” He was incredibly fun. I loved watching the kids in the audience head bobbing to Sonnet 130.
Next up on the same stage was musician Jim White, whose debut album, The Mysterious Tale of How I Shouted “Wrong-Eyed Jesus” was the inspiration behind the 2003 doucumentary “Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus.”
http://www.jimwhite.net
I became an instant fan of Jim White who bills himself on his website as “songer/songwriter, author, fine art photographer, crackpot philosopher, folk artist, record producer, film maker, dad.” He’s quirky, immensely talented, and might be a little addictive.
Jim’s set made me thirsty. There might’ve been alcohol involved, but I had decisions to make. Did I want to listen to Grant Peeples and Tom Franklin or Chatham County Line? Ultimately I flipped a coin and ended up at Grant Peeple’s gig.
Pictured below is Grant. He’s the bald guy. I didn’t catch his guitarist’s name. A self-described “’vegetarian that watches NASCAR, and tree-hugger with a gun below the seat,’Grant Peeples is known for his axe-sharp socio-political tunes, raucous humor and heart-gigging ballads.”
Watching the crowd as Grant performed, it occurred to me that many in attendance weren’t quite grasping that his lyrics were hitting close to home. He poked pointed fun at the GOP, racists, homophobes, etc., and they loved him.
http://grantpeeples.com
Trading off with Grant was author Tom Franklin, who read aloud excerpts from his novel, Smonk. https://g.co/kgs/uCw4M
I didn’t get to the book tent in time to purchase his book, but it quickly was added to my wish list on Amazon. He writes the south as he sees it, and he sees it clearly.
Next on my impromptu itinerary was author Adam Johnson. Adam is an FSU graduate with some serious writing credentials. According to Wikipedia “Adam Johnson is a Pulitzer Prize-winning American novelist and short story writer.
“He won the Pulitzer for his 2012 novel, The Orphan Master’s Son. He is also a professor of English at Stanford University with a focus on creative writing.”
Adam read his short story, Nirvana, and had the audience in the palm of his hand. Check out this man’s work. He is amazing. https://g.co/kgs/ZdTev
You’d think I could’ve gone home happy after all I’d experienced, but like a glutton I stayed for one more author, renowned columnist Leonard Pitts, Jr. Having read Mr. Pitts’s column in the Miami Herald for years I could scarcely believe I was sitting just a few feet from him as he read excerpts from his latest novel, Grant Park.
I was in awe, and pray that I didn’t sit there on the front row with my jaw hanging open like a beached fish during his talk. He also offered his keen insights on the current political climate in the U.S. and accepted questions from the audience.
As soon as the applause died down at the end of the presentation I sprinted to the book sellers’ tent and bought a copy of Grant Park.
Best of all, I made him laugh when he signed my book. Leonard Pitts, Jr. has a great laugh. Here’s the link to his website:
http://www.leonardpittsjr.com
What an awesome day. I cannot wait to dig into the books I purchased, and I’m already looking forward to next year’s festival.
Peace, and happy reading, people.
Sweet Weekend, Part I
If days were desserts this past weekend would have been a fresh slice of orange sponge cake, piled high with luscious red strawberries and topped with cream cheese icing. It was that good.
After a ridiculously pleasant night’s sleep Friday night (thank you Tempur-pedic!), a refreshing shower, and a hearty breakfast I dressed and headed into Tallahassee on Saturday for the Word of [South] Festival of Literature and Music.
This marks the festival’s second year. I was in La Antigua de Guatemala last April and missed out. Not that I’m complaining. My week in Antigua was the experience of a lifetime. And from what I hear the festival saw its share of rain in 2015.
There was not even a hint of precipitation this time around, though, as authors, musicians, and artists from all over the country shared their time and talents with those of us in Tallahassee. There was something for everyone, from gospel, folk, soul, rock, and jazz on the musical spectrum and every imaginable genre on the literary side.
Cascades Park hosted the event and one had only to walk from one venue to another within the park to experience a completely new vibe. And did I mention that with the exception of two concerts the event was free of charge? Sweet! 
I wandered aimlessly for a bit before finding a schedule of events for one of the stages.
The Biergarten stage was just one of five venues featuring performers. Seeing Rita Coolidge’s name on the list I hurried over to grab a seat. I had no idea who Leslie Poole and Paul Garfinkel were, but I arrived as their set was in progress and fell in love with their words and message.
Ms. Poole, the author of several books about Florida, read from her most recent published work, Saving Florida. I’m not a native Floridian, so learning about the efforts of women on the front lines of environmental activism in the Sunshine State was an eye-opening experience.
Mr. Garfinkel’s engaging folk songs woven around Florida’s delicate ecosystem bestowed even greater weight to Ms. Poole’s vignettes as the two traded places in the spotlight. Their performance was a lively, thought-provoking give and take.
Then the beautiful Rita Coolidge took the stage.
Rita, a graduate of Florida State University, read from her memoir Delta Lady, and entertained the crowd with tales of her bohemian days as an art major here.
My friend Julie and her lovely mom enjoyed Rita’s talk with me. We hadn’t arranged to meet at the event; it just happened. Sweet, right?
After Rita’s presentation I had lunch at the Edison and ran into yet another friend, Cathy, who made room for me next to her place at the bar. We then hustled over to another of the stages to hear Diane Roberts read excerpts from her book, Tribal: College Football and the Secret Heart of America.
Having grown up in Texas, I could completely relate to Diane’s college football obsession. This woman, a professor at FSU, is hysterically funny. If you have any love for the game you need this book. Even if you despise the game you need this book.
I knew Studly would be getting restless, so I headed home shortly after having Ms. Roberts sign my newly purchased copy of her book. When I got home he was chomping at the bit to take the Goldwing out for an evening drive, so we suited up (“all the gear, all the time” is our motto) and rode over to Havana for a meal at a local Italian restaurant, providing the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Tomorrow I’ll share photos of Sunday at the festival. I’m still on an intellectual and emotional high after my experiences.
Peace, people!
Apalachicola Art Walk
Saturday morning I had no idea I’d be sipping a beer at noon at a corner cafe in the small port town of Apalachicola. Having had the most luxurious night of sleep I’ve experienced in years, I lingered in bed feeling as if I’d been kissed by an angel.
Of course, it was probably only Studly Doright who’d pecked me on the brow on his way to the golf course. I guess his grey hair was halo-like in the semidarkness, but you never know.
Before showering I looked on Facebook and read a post about an art walk in Apalachicola. Knowing that Studly would be tied up with his favorite hobby well into the afternoon I made haste with my shower and got on the road.
I’ve written about Apalachicola before. The quaint fishing village on Florida’s forgotten coast is known for oysters and sponges and apparently, art.
I snapped a few photos as I walked about town:
I even purchased a photograph (below) by and directly from photojournalist Richard Bickel whose work has appeared in National Geographic Traveler, Conde Naste Traveler, Newsweek, and other publications of note. It makes me happy.
After a lunch of salmon and grapefruit salad (oddly wonderful) at Tamara’s Cafe, I drove across the bridge to Eastpoint and then crossed another bridge for my first taste of the beach this year on Saint George Island.
Studly Doright doesn’t understand my attraction to the ocean. I tell him I have a compulsion to be in the presence of sand and waves and water, but the only sand and water he acknowledges are on the golf courses he plays, and he does his best to avoid landing in either.
So I sent him this photo, and told him sand was a good thing. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t impressed.
I’m already planning my next beach day.
Peace, people.
Just Another Nail in the Wall
I’ve been a busy little decorator these past few days. After two years of living in the home I’ve dubbed Doright Manor I’m finally hanging some artwork.
Now, the term “art” is used loosely here. There are no Ansel Adams or Georgia O’Keefe pieces gracing our walls. Instead, I’m fond of framing pretty greeting cards and random pictures from glossy magazines, a holdover practice from our days of living below the poverty line, along with finds from estate and garage sales.
I like to say my taste in art is eclectic. That sounds so much better than questionable or dubious. The few pieces I’ve purchased from art galleries don’t do anything for me once I try to find a spot for them. I really have fared much better with my more frugal purchases.
Regardless of cost or source all of my pieces have something in common: They hide multiple nail holes. Never mind the amount of time I spend measuring and calculating, marking and leveling, I never get it right the first time. Even if I’m hanging a single picture I end up with roughly 9,643 holes in the wall. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but just barely.
My expertise comes in cleverly masking those holes. “Oh, look, you placed a butterfly on the corner of the frame! How cute!” people exclaim. Damned straight, Skippy–that butterfly is camouflaging at least three holes.
I know at this point in the post I should provide a photo of a few of my displays, but no good could come of that. My readers will either pity me or laugh at me. And I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle that.
Ok, just one. No laughing. Pity’s ok, though. Or vice versa.
Peace, people!
Classic Car Dreaming
Studly Doright and I were out piddling Saturday afternoon. He’d played golf that morning, and I’d driven to Apalachicola to spend some of his money. All in all a win-win, I’d say. He made it back to Doright Manor ahead of me even after helping a friend move some items from one house to another.
When I pulled into the driveway, he was out working (playing) in his shop. I talked him into taking me out for dinner since I’d worked so hard at shopping and beach walking that morning, and couldn’t quite summon the energy to push the power button on the microwave. It’s a tough life, I know.
After dinner he subtly suggested we go grocery shopping, and I reluctantly agreed. If there’s food in the house I’ll eventually have to cook it or ignore it. Both require energy. I just am fresh out of energy lately–shall I blame it on the weather? Daylight Saving Time? Age? All of the above?
The Publix supermarket nearest our home is adjacent to a Sonic drive-in. As we pulled into the drive in we realized the first Saturday car show was in progress and the first car we saw belonged to one of Studly’s friends! Of course we pulled over to look, and for once I remembered to snap a few photos.
The car below was one of my personal favorites. I love the color scheme on this Bel Air. I want to say it’s a ’57 model, but I forgot to look.
Next is our friend, Pete’s car. It’s a ’55 Chevy Nomad station wagon, hardly stock. Pete’s been working on the build for three years, and it’s a beaut. He isn’t finished with the project–work on the interior is still in progress. This was the car’s first foray into the limelight.
Other cool cars from our evening:
Look at the Jaguar featured in these next photos. I’d never seen this model before in person. I love the way both the hood/bonnet and trunk/boot open.
We eventually made it to the grocery store, but Studly’s enthusiasm for food shopping had been replaced by visions of engines and headers and carburetors, so I got off easy. Hurrah for horsepower!
Courting Studly
The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”
To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.
I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.
Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears.
After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign.
Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand.
Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me.
Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”
So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans.
This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused.
There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!
Peace, people!
Spring House
On Sunday afternoon I toured the only private residence designed by famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright in the entire state of Florida.
The residence, Spring House, is tucked into a quiet Tallahassee neighborhood just a few blocks away from busy Interstate 10.
The main entrance to Spring House is less than captivating. A portion of the roof has succumbed to weather and age.
But the view from this angle is still breathtaking. Typical of Wright’s designs, the home blends into the natural beauty of its surroundings.
Check out the website:
http://www.preservespringhouse.org
Built in the 1940’s, Spring House has been in decline for several years; however, the Spring House Institute works to raise money to purchase the home in order to restore it to its original state.
Part of their fundraising includes offering tours of the home on the second Sunday of each month. If you are interested in architecture, and particularly in the works of Frank Lloyd Wright, I highly recommend the tour.
We weren’t allowed to take photos inside the home, but it was incredibly odd and weirdly functional. The main floor featured a stunning sitting area looking out onto the beautiful north Florida flora.
Above that were the sleeping areas for two adults and four children. Each room had an impressive view. I especially liked the boys’ sleeping area which featured windows all around. It felt like a camp cabin.
I purchased some souvenirs, along with paying the tour fee, in order to help the Institute reach its goal. Places like Spring House need to be cherished and preserved for future generations.
If you haven’t read the book, Loving Frank by Nancy Horan, you really should. He wasn’t a particularly nice man, but definitely a genius.
Peace, people!
bravery behind the barrier
A flump flump of great wings conveyed our visitor across the lake to the intense scrutiny of two ordinary housecats. 
“Oh,” said Scout, “if only we could climb through this screen you would make a fine dinner.”
“Two dinners, maybe three,” added Patches, who was better at estimating portions than her sister.
The visitor surveyed them with cold amusement.
“Good luck with that, you silly house animals.”
And with that he flew away.
Note: Neither of the blue heron pictures were taken by me. I found them on Pinterest but was unable to find a credit. My own heron would not stay in one place long enough for me to snap. I guess he didn’t care for the fame and fortune being featured in my blog my bring him. His loss.
Praying for Eyebrowz 