Today I'm driving the Texas grandkids to the airport in Panama City, Florida, for their flight home to Dallas, Texas. Neither of have them have ever flown unaccompanied, and there are some jitters. Not on their parts, mind you, but underneath this calm exterior I'm going a little nuts.
We've had a good time these past two weeks spoiling these kiddos. Doright Manor will be awfully quiet once they leave. 
Dominique, Jackson, and I had a couple of free hours yesterday so we checked in at The Drop Zone, a Tallahassee hot spot for school aged youngsters. Why weren't these trampoline play areas around when I was a kid?
My photography won't win any awards, but that's okay. Jackson had fun while Dominique mainly lolled around the spectators' area with me.
Peace and trampolines, people!
Our granddaughter, Dominique (14), is bright, beautiful, and growing up way too quickly for my liking and too slowly for hers.
One of her closest friends will celebrate her quinceañera (fifteenth birthday) on Saturday and Dominique has been invited to sit at the head table. She already has her dress for the occasion, but needed a pair of heels, and since she isn't flying home until Friday, we had to take action.
I'd love to tell you that she tried on dozens of pairs of shoes, oohing and ahhing over every detail in an effort to find the perfect pair, but that wasn't the case. Dominique marched straight to the rack where a dizzying array of special occasion shoes were displayed, pointed at a pair of silver heels, and said "Those."
No amount of cajoling her to try on a pair of strappy sandals would sway her, so it was done. I didn't know whether to be elated that the process had been so simple or sad because it was over so quickly.
I took her for lunch afterwards at a high end burger restaurant, and she took far longer agonizing over the toppings she wanted than she had over the shoes. Come to think of it, she's a lot like me.
Peace, people.
The Texas grandkids are visiting us here at Doright Manor, and they don't always want to do the same activities. Yesterday Studly Doright took Dominique to the Tallahassee Museum for zip lining adventures (Jackson doesn't meet the height requirements) while Jackson and I went to a local arcade.
I didn't take many photos though, because I was too busy being defeated in two player challenges. This kid knows his way around video games.
When we returned home I challenged him to an old-fashioned type of game.
I won, thank you very much.
Hopefully Studly Doright took some photos of his time with Dominique, but I won't hold my breath.
Peace, people!
Our youngest grandson, Jackson, is something of an old soul. He's much more interested in shopping at vintage and antique stores than in shops selling toys. When he and his sister visited last summer Jackson found a knife for his collection at Planters Exchange in Havana, Florida. So yesterday morning he asked if we could check out their merchandise.
Dominique has almost no interest in shopping for vintage items, so she wandered and grumbled.
Although, at another shop she was tickled to find a wax apple with a bite mark on it.
And she wanted a picture of a funky door at Planters Exchange, but only if I'd pose with it.
Jackson came home with a new knife for his collection, so our trip was a success.
I'm exhausted, but at least everyone is happy.
Peace, people!
I took the Texas grandkids to the Tallahassee Museum today to check out the tree to tree adventures and the resident animals. Unfortunately Jackson wasn't tall enough to tackle the challenge he'd set his heart on, so we just concentrated on the animals instead.
Broken hearted kid^^^
Dominique was more enthusiastic about walking through the exhibits than her brother:
And the only way I could get a photo of both of them in the same shot was from a distance:
We did pick up a strange stalker on our visit.
There's nothing like being stalked by a vulture to make you wonder if there is something he knows about the impending future.
This little museum is a wonderful slice of Florida.
Yesterday I drove across Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, on my way to see my son and his family in Dallas. More than once I encountered torrential thunderstorms that reduced visibility to less than a handspan.
My knuckles are still bone white from holding the steering wheel in a death grip. At least most of my fellow travelers kept their speed in check; although, occasionally a hotshot would come barreling willy nilly through the downpour as if the roads were dry and the sun shining fiercely. I'd have flipped them the bird if I hadn't feared taking my hand off the wheel.
In addition to dodging the aforementioned would-be NASCAR drivers, I also had to avoid an odd variety of other objects, including, but not limited to the following:
1) a blue and orange striped beach chair
2) one canvas bag approximately three feet long.
3) an infant car seat (no baby, thank goodness!)
4) a tennis shoe
But the best thing I had to dodge was a large alligator. He was dead, thank goodness, but still gave me a fright as I saw him just in the nick of time. Apparently some other driver wasn't as fortunate as I'd been.
Hopefully today, as I head north and west away from the coast, the weather won't be as crazy, the drivers less aggressive, and the gators safely in their proper habitats. I'm tired of being the artful dodger.
Peace, people!
My husband, Studly Doright, and I recently purchased a home, Doright Manor, on a small lake near Tallahassee, Florida. We are not lake people. We are Texas panhandle people, born and raised in the dry, dusty plains and ill-prepared to handle any body of water larger than the occasional rain puddle.
When we bought our lake home we both envisioned rowing hither and yon around our lake for hours on end, working those muscles that spend too many hours typing on a keyboard and too few doing actual labor. We were going to get in shape! To that end, Studly bought us a two-person kayak. Thank goodness he had the foresight to purchase a fishing kayak–broad on the bottom and damned near impossible to tip over.
Our first venture into the world of kayaking was tense. I yelled. He cried. Or maybe it was the other way around. At any rate, that was just the part where we tried to get into the vessel without getting wet. After several borderline pornographic physical manipulations, Studly and I found ourselves seated in the appropriate slots. To us it made sense that he take the front seat and I take the back. Him: Strong. Me: Weak. We: Wrong.
The back person does all the hard work. All of it. The front person is just there to look pretty and occasionally help steer. We discovered this at the halfway point. There was no way we could switch places without one of us getting drenched. I had to shoulder the load–the big load where the pretty one should be.
Slowly I rowed. Inch by painful inch I paddled and an hour later we found ourselves at our dock confronted with a final challenge. How the heck do we get out of this infernal thing? My arms were shot and Studly couldn’t get enough leverage to pull himself up onto the dock. You see, boats don’t stay still when you pull them into the dock. No. They continue to move in all sorts of ways. Back. Forth. Sideways. They rock and roll. They Zumba.
But, we are not quitters. Nossirree. Neither of us wanted to die out on that lake mere yards from our own back door. “Let’s back the boat away from the dock,” said Studly. “We’ll aim for that grassy area beside the dock, get a running start and shoot onto dry land.”
“Huh?”
“Yea,” he said. “Just help get us out into the inlet and I’ll power us onto the grass.”
“Sure.” Wearily, I pushed against the dock, and then stroke, stroke, stroked out into our little inlet, giving my man plenty of room to make his final stand.
He instructed me to lift my paddle and be ready to spring out of the boat as soon as we hit the shore. Spring. Yep, he said that. I’ve never seen arms work so powerfully. Boom, boom, boom and we hit paydirt. My spring was sprung and I fell onto damp grass, almost, but not quite, touching my lips to the solid ground.
“Quick! Grab the boat!” Studly yelled. Just in time, I caught hold to prevent him from floating away. I steadied the vessel as he rolled out, sprawling in lake mud. I’d have laughed at the sight, but I couldn’t summon the energy.
We both recovered. Slowly. And we’ve been out in our kayak many times since that first one. Every time we learn something new, but getting out never gets easier. I keep intending to google the topic. “How do I get out of my kayak without inflicting mortal wounds on my partner?” The good news? I think I’m developing an arm muscle. But it might be a mosquito bite. Time will tell.
Peace, People.
Above is glimpse of our lake taken from the safety of my back porch.
Shehanne Moore encouraged me to republish some of my older stuff on WordPress. Well, it doesn’t get much older than this piece. I give you my second blog post on WP.
https://nananoyz5forme.com/2014/07/11/a-thigh-slapping-good-time/
Studly Doright and I were in Orlando, Florida, on Monday and Tuesday this week, prior to flying to Shannon, Ireland, on Wednesday. He had meetings to attend, while I had some time on my hands. Monday I treated myself with a trip to one of the outlet malls, but on Tuesday I decided it was high time I visited The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios.
I walked all the way back to where the map indicated Harry Potter’s world would be. I saw the bus, and I took a selfie in front of #12 Privet Drive, but I was confused. Where was Diagon Alley? I walked all the way around the area, but was stymied. Was this all there was?
I’m such a Muggle, but on a hunch I walked through a nondescript opening in an unmarked brick wall, and voila!
Diagon Alley! Honest, one can’t see this opening from the area where the triple decker knight bus and Privet Drive are, even though they’re just a few feet away. How wonderfully magical to be forced to stumble onto it!
Butter beer is pretty damned tasty; although, there’s no actual beer in it. Drat.
I ogled the newest Firebolt model:
By far the longest line in Diagon Alley was formed outside the wand store. I spoke with a little girl who was still giddy that the wand she purchased had chosen her. I was tempted to join the queue, but I’ll wait until I can bring my grandkids. And a wand in my hands might not be a good idea. I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.
So, what were my souvenirs?
A pair of scraped palms, and a skinned knee.
I fell, having failed to realize that the curb was about five inches higher than my bifocal lenses led me to believe. Fortunately a couple of young men rushed to my aid, and helped me to my feet. The part that’s the most injured is my pride. It could’ve been much worse, so I’ll take my lumps as a renewed call for caution.
Praying for Eyebrowz 