can you feel rain on the lake
from afar?
i can.
every drop,
each plip drip
on the surface
a joyful kiss
a shiver
so fluid
tiny tributaries
form and form again
if water always seeks the
least resistant path
i am here
unprotesting,
welcoming,
rain,
i know how you feel.
Doright Manor is built in such a way that four doors open onto our porch. There is set of French doors in the formal living, another from the den, and another from the master bedroom. Then there is a single door opening from the master bath directly across from the French doors in the den.
Since completing our covered/screened in porch project we’ve almost exclusively used the den doors to access our new seating area on the porch. This morning while sipping my coffee and watching squirrels cavort around the lake I decided to open the door to the master bath so the cats could easily access their litter box without having to go all the way around the house.
Our older girl, Scout, is totally chill about the new doorway. She’s sitting in one of the patio chairs like, “Yeah, I knew that door would open eventually….No biggie.”
But our younger baby, Patches, has had her mind blown. It’s like she’s discovered Narnia. Patches has run back and forth nonstop across the porch all morning to verify the door’s existence, stopping at intervals to meow a clear question, “What’s going on here?” There might be an expletive in there, but I’m not that fluent in Cat.
At some point she’ll run out of steam and questions. That’s when I’ll open the door onto the master bedroom. That will really blow her mind.
Peace, people!
Our covered, screened-in porch is the perfect place to relax on a mild November evening. There’s a family celebration in full force across the lake, fairy lights and lilting voices twinkling on the calm water.
I’m sipping a Shock Top Raspberry Wheat Ale and tapping my toes in time with the guitar music drifting across the pond. Whoever’s playing isn’t very adept at their craft, but they’re quite enthusiastic. I like that in my musicians.
The man I adore, Studly Doright, is inside the house heating leftovers from yesterday’s Thanksgiving Day meal. I’m not a bit hungry, having already eaten two pieces of pecan pie, an avocado, bacon, and cheese omelet, and a ham sandwich today. The ale is my dessert.
Life is good here at Doright Manor. There’s a black and white cat winding around my ankles and a black cat snuggled down for a nap in the chair next to me. No, it’s not an exciting life, but it is filled with peace and love.
Peace, people.
Studly Doright, the love of my life, is a bit of a horse trader. He doesn’t trade actual horses (dear Studly harbors an unnatural fear of farm animals, large and small); instead, he trades cars, trucks, motorcycles, basically anything that is motorized transportation.
On Tuesday he informed me that he’d bought a pickup truck. I nodded and smiled. “And, by the way,” he said casually, “We have to pick it up on Wednesday.”
Again, I nodded, like the dullard I must be.
Studly cleared his throat and I looked at him expectantly. “Um, it’s in Orlando….”
Normally a proposed trip to Orlando would have me jumping up and down like a small child. Universal Studios, DisneyWorld, tacky souvenirs, oh joy! But on the day before we are to host a Thanksgiving meal in our home? Nooooooooooo! For one thing I knew there’d be no dawdling. We’d drive four hours south, in holiday traffic mind you, then turn around and drive four hours back to Doright Manor. But I had no choice. Studly can be an awful bully, I mean, awfully persuasive.
The trip down was enjoyable. In addition to his gifts in persuasion Studly is always entertaining. Once again we drove right by the Cafe Risqué, Florida’s all nude cafe, even though we have a series of running jokes about what’s on the menu. Trust me, you don’t want to know the jokes.
Traffic was interesting. One seriously aggressive driver came lane surfing around us, easily going 20 m.p.h. above our rather sedate 75. (Speed limit was 70.) As we neared Orlando we passed her after she’d hit another car. I’d have cheered, but she ruined someone else’s weekend.
Once we arrived at the car dealership Studly took a test drive while I stretched my legs and looked at cars. The dealership had a gorgeous red BMW convertible that could’ve come home with me if I had just a few more (thousand) dollars in my bank account. After he returned, smiling like an idiot, Studly told me I could start for home while he finished making the deal.
I’ve officially been home now for an hour, and put together another pecan pie that should be done in 10-15 minutes. Studly got caught in a holiday traffic jam on the turnpike. I’m enjoying a Shiner Bock and the Thanksgiving classic Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Studly is probably cursing at rude drivers. Who knows, he might actually get to check out the menu at Cafe Risqué.
Peace, people!
The hours I spend at Tallahassee Animal Services as a volunteer are the among the best of my week. Only surprise calls from my grandchildren can top being with the cats and kittens at the shelter.
Each week has its pleasures: cuddling a sweet kitty and feeling it purr against my chest, enticing a morose cat from her perch at the back of a kennel to come closer for a behind-the-ear scratching, watching a hopeful feline leave with his new family.
But each week has its little messes, too. This past Wednesday I spent some time doing laundry and putting it away. The shelter goes through countless loads of dirty towels, blankets, and cloth toys. Soiled items are placed in an oversized trash bin.
I grabbed an armful of laundry this week and was rewarded with the icky wet smell and feel that only dog pee can produce. And now I had that smell, too. All over my tee shirt.
Having successfully loaded the washer I stooped to pick up a substantial piece of fuzz from the floor and realized just in time that it wasn’t fuzz, it was poo. Stinky, relatively new, poo. All in an afternoon’s work.
Here are just a few of the animals available for loving adoption at Tallahassee Animal Services. Remember, “Don’t Shop, Adopt!”
Peace, people!
Driving down a busy street in Tallahassee this afternoon I came across a street preacher:
On one side of his sign he’d written
He That Hath The Son Hath Life
On the other side was written
Repent! The End is Near!
I tried to snap a photo of that side, but I was driving, so safety first, right?
This Store Closing sign was to the man’s left, so maybe the end really is near.
Studly Doright took today (Friday) off so he could spend time with his mom before she has to head home on Monday. Studly excels at finding fun locations for lunch, and he outdid himself today.
Just outside of Perry, Florida, is Deal’s Famous Oyster House. People drive for many miles to experience the cafe’s oysters on the half shell along with just about any other kind of seafood one might desire.
Now, Studly doesn’t eat seafood, so we knew there must be some additional reason he chose Deal’s as our lunch destination. It didn’t take long for that reason to be exposed:
This, my friends, is a one-woman percussion instrument. We believe her name is Zodie and her instrument is called the pogo stick. One plays the pogo stick by dragging it along the floor and tapping it in time to a recorded melody, while simultaneously spinning an attached tambourine and drawing a bow across a string. Simply put, my mind was boggled!
Oh, and the seafood was incredible. Saint Helen and I had fried shrimp and hush puppies. The breading was light and didn’t overwhelm the shrimp. Perfection. Studly had chicken. Silly boy.
Peace, people!
Yesterday I posted photos of the murals in downtown Colquitt, Georgia. Those murals pale in comparison to the silo murals in this small Georgia town.
Neither Saint Helen nor I claim to be professional photographers, and our only cameras are on our iPhones. Hopefully, though, our photos will convey at least an idea of the scope and beauty of these larger than life works of art:
Every crop grown in the area surrounding Colquitt is depicted on the silos.
We stopped in at the Colquitt Chamber of Commerce before heading downtown, and the women there were full of lively conversation and helpful information. In a future post I’ll share the town’s Cotton Hall Theatre schedule. I’m hoping that Studly Doright and I can attend one of their Swamp Gravy performances in the near future.
Peace, people!
Saint Helen and I visited the quaint community of Colquitt, Georgia, today. We had a scrumptious lunch at the Tarrer Inn, and then wandered around the scenic town square.
At one shop we purchased some lotion that’s purported to help alleviate the pain of arthritis. After one use Saint Helen was pleased to report that she had no pain in her hands. Of course she then had to sheepishly confess that she hadn’t actually had any pain in her hands to begin with. See why I adore her?
Colquitt is known for its murals, and for good reason.
Each corner building has its own mural depicting periods from the town’s history.
Once Saint Helen shares her photos of the town’s beautifully painted silos with me I’ll post them, as well. Of course, if her hands are giving her trouble she might not be able to hit SEND on her iPhone.
Peace, people!
Saint Helen (my mother-in-law) and I were enjoying our morning coffee out on our newly completed screened-in porch when this magnificent bird made an appearance.
Saint Helen grabbed her iPhone and quickly snapped this photo as the bird flew away to handle some noisy business just around the bend in the lake. Our imaginations have run amok:
Heck, we aren’t even sure what kind of bird this is. Maybe an egret? A heron? An ostrich? If any of my readers can identify it I’d be grateful.
Praying for Eyebrowz 