Category: Life

Path? What Path?

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

Alma Mater

You’ve been asked to speak at your high school alma mater — about the path of life. (Whoa.) Draft the speech.

The Path of Life

There is no path, no paved road, not if you live your life.

In the words of C. G. Jung,

  

Instead, you must forge your own path, laboriously clearing trees and climbing over boulders in the rain, but occasionally enjoying stretches of level ground in the warm sunshine.

There will be times when you believe you can climb any mountain. There will also be times when you are certain that the next step will be impossible to take. 

Through it all you keep going. One foot in front of the other. Good days and bad. Mountains and valleys.

Of course, I prefer to dance and skip as often as possible. No one said the journey had to be boring.

  
http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/prancercise-joanna-rohrback_n_3351722.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular
Peace, people!

Habit, Just Saying

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

Quirk of Habit

Which quirky habit annoys you the most, and what quirky habit do you love — in yourself, or other people?

Some things just annoy the heck out of me, but because I am polite and civilized I never call people out on these niggling bits. Okay, every now and then I might say something like, “Are you a freaking idiot?” That’s polite, right?

There are two verbal tics that make me clench my jaw and grind my teeth. The first is the insertion of the phrase, “you know” into every sentence–sometimes multiple times. 

Example: I was, you know, going to, you know, buy a new brassiere, but, you know, they’re just too, you know, expensive.”

You might think I’m exaggerating, but my college roommate was a world champion “you knower.” I found myself copying her speech pattern and flipping “you knows” about like pieces of confetti. When I realized what I’d done I had a long talk with myself and banned the phrase from my vocabulary. You know, I’ve been fairly, you know, successful. 

The other thing that drives me crazy is hearing people, most often women, order their food in a restaurant by saying, “Could I have…?” Even if I don’t know the person, even if she is sitting two tables over I want to leap up and say, “It’s on the damned menu! Of COURSE you can have it.” 

Instead I say a silent curse at whatever cultural practice makes women think they have to ask for permission to order something that is clearly available for purchase. It’s the same as our reflexive “I’m sorry” for things that aren’t our fault. I’m guilty of that one, lest you think me perfect. And I am so sorry.

http://videos.nymag.com/video/Inside-Amy-Schumer-I-m-Sorry
Quirky habits I love? That’s a little more difficult. I love the way Studly Doright can fall asleep and begin snoring softly the minute he closes his eyes. Of course sometimes this habit falls into the annoying category if I’m unable to join him in slumber within five minutes.

Another habit I love is one found in those people who are so filled with gratitude that “thank you,” in many different forms has become habit. My friend LeeAnn is one of these people. Her conversation is peppered with sincere expressions of gratitude, “How kind!” “What a blessing!” and, “I’m so thankful.”

Likewise my friend Janie has made a habit of finding the good in every situation. She calls herself a “lucky, lucky girl” and she makes everyone else more observant of the good in their own lives.

I’m sorry, but I’m just not good at being thankful, you know. Sorry. You know, I’m working on it.  

 

From the book, Nuns Just Wanna Have Fun.
 
Peace, people!

In Need of a Hobby

I’m going to rant for a couple of minutes. Bear with me, or don’t. I just need to blow off a little steam.

This afternoon I went on Pinterest in search of a new hobby. I know I’m a blogger and that should be enough of a hobby, but I have this desire to create something that I can caress or sit back and admire. My friend over at https://sanseilife.wordpress.com/   knits and sketches and still manages to blog. Maybe she’s a super human, but she gives me hope that I, too, can enjoy multiple hobbies.

One article I found on Pinterest looked promising. Titled something like “Hobbies for Women,” the piece began by breaking hobbies down as suitable for different age groups. 

First it detailed hobbies for women in their 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s, suggesting modeling, photography, singing, and so on. But when I read the next category regarding hobbies for “Older Women” I sputtered out a really nasty word. 

Note the first line under the heading “Hobbies for Older Women” and just imagine this 59-year-old woman’s reaction:  

ELDERLY!!!! How dare this probably twenty-five year old twit call women over the age of 50 elderly? And she thinks I’m going to be putting puzzles together and canning tomatoes? Heck, I still ride a motorcycle and dance like a wild banshee. By golly, I’ve got better things to do than play Mah Jong!

I’ve a good mind to beat her about the head and neck with my cane. 

  
Peace, people!

Fit for a King

“You made your bed, now lie in it!”

Our mattress has seen better days. We bought it back when George W. Bush was President and his brother Jeb!, was governor of Florida, just to give you an idea of its advanced age. The darned thing is dished out and lumped up, and fails to provide comfortable support for more than ten minutes at a time. 

When Studly and I returned to Florida after eight years in Illinois, we planned on  buying a new bed, but decided to first buy a home and get settled. After the home was purchased Studly built his dream workshop/garage. Then we added a roof to our back porch and screened it in. The bed just kept being shoved into the background.

Last night I stayed up late watching back to back Naked and Afraid episodes and thinking about beds. Specifically I thought, “Every one of those naked people would kill to have my awful bed for a night.”

  
But I am not one of those naked people, dammit! 

The saddest thing is that we have two guest bedrooms. Both have really great, relatively new, pillow top mattresses. But one is a full sized bed and the other a queen. Studly Doright and I share a king sized bed. Ah, the American way!

Occasionally I’ll declare that I’m sleeping in one of the guest rooms, but then Studly makes these pathetically sweet puppy dog faces, and I realize I’d rather sleep uncomfortably with my king than comfortably without him.

I am making a big push for that new mattress, and am engaged in thorough research. I’ve studied Consumer Reports, solicited advice and suggestions from friends, and taken field trips into every mattress store in the greater Tallahassee area. I didn’t put this much effort into choosing my wedding gown.

  
With any luck, and by luck I mean a nice annual bonus, we will get a new mattress this year. If not, I might have to sign up as a contestant on Naked and Afraid.  Anything for a good night’s sleep.

A New Arrangement

A few weeks ago, Studly Doright and I spent all afternoon moving furniture from one end of Doright Manor to the other. 

When we moved in nearly two years ago I made an error in measuring our guest bedrooms. Ok, let’s be honest, I didn’t bother measuring, and one of the bedrooms ended up being cramped and claustrophobic, while the other felt cavernous. With two sets of company coming for a long weekend, we decided to right that wrong.

One set of bedroom furniture is antique and fragile. It belonged to my grandmother, and even though I’m sometimes tempted to sell it I just can’t bring myself to part with it. While the headboard and footboard are massive the bed is a small full size and barely allows one adult to sleep comfortably. 

   
 
The other set is fairly new, acquired when my dad lived with us. The queen sized bed and armoire are nothing fancy, but the mattress is top notch. I’ve dubbed it, The Texas Bedroom, and it holds my go-to bed when Studly’s snoring passes the merely annoying stage and heads into the sonic torture realm.

   
 
The moving process from one end of the house to another was tricky, in that one room would need to be completely empty before the other furniture could be moved down this hallway:

  
Studly, a self-proclaimed master of both logistics and wiseassery carefully studied the necessary steps for a week before finally declaring, “Well, this is gonna suck.”

It did indeed suck. Neither Studly nor I are young any more, and that antique bedroom set is both heavy and unwieldy. Add fragile into the mix and we had ourselves quite an afternoon of gently persuading the pieces to hold together while we balanced them precariously on moving dollies. At the end of the day copious amounts of both wood glue and Ben-Gay were involved.

The results, though, were pleasing. The beds are much better suited to their respective rooms, and I am a happy camper. And in the end, isn’t my happiness what it’s all about?

Peace, people! 

Women are from Earth; Men are from Uranus

Studly Doright fell into a deep sleep as soon as the lights went off in Doright Manor last night. In contrast I watched the minutes, then hours, tick by on my Fitbit, practiced coordinating my deep breathing skills with the rise and fall of his snores, and not only counted sheep, but also organized them according to height, weight, and quality of fleece. It was a long night.

Twice during the night I felt the call of nature. Being a considerate woman even in a state of severe sleep deprivation, I carefully slid out from under the covers, making the most minute movements imaginable. With the stealth of a cat I moved through our bedroom and down the hall to access one of the guest bathrooms in order to allow dearest Studly to slumber in peace, undisturbed by the sound of a flushing toilet or running water.

Returning to bed after both trips to the loo I gently eased myself onto the mattress and matched my movements to his snores, pulling the blankets up to my chin in increments of a half millimeter per second. Studly never stirred.

At some point I slept. I know this because I was awakened rudely by Studly who abruptly sat up with a loud grumble-snort-sigh combo, followed by an inelegant roll out of bed, and topped off with a vicious tug of the covers. Granted he couldn’t have known that I struggled with sleeping last night, but geez Louise, he could’ve shown a little respect for the near dead.

I fumed as he showered and readied himself for the day ahead. As Studly noisily fumbled about for his keys and wallet I leaned across his side of the bed to kiss him goodbye. 

Sweetly I asked, “Honey, did I steal the covers last night?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

“Then why did you jerk them like a magician pulling the old tablecloth trick?”

“I dunno. Maybe I was looking for a rabbit?”

His humor just barely saved him this time. Grrrrr.

Peace, people.

Goodwill Hunting Stuff

I undecorated the house on Saturday, organizing and discarding as I worked, so this afternoon I took a large box of unnecessary Christmas decorations to one of our Tallahassee Goodwill locations. 

Of course I couldn’t drop off my donation without first looking around for possible treasures. While I didn’t purchase anything I found a few items that tickled my fancy. 

Little Buddha had a fish…

  

Take a walk on the WILD side.

Seriously, I almost bought this exercise shaker thing. I remember when they were quite the fad.

And how about this lovely fairy dancing with a bunny? I might have nightmares.  
  

I love boxes, and this one seems to have some specific purpose.

  

The question is, what is that purpose?

There were several interesting cigar boxes. I remember using my Grandaddy’s cigar boxes for school supply holders before the surgeon general had his say. 

  

Finally, this young lady seems to have lost whatever it was she carried. I almost bought her, she looked so sad.   

I’ve been ruminating on thrift stores these past few days. What are your thoughts on thrift shopping? I have friends who wouldn’t set foot in one and other friends who swear by them. More later, I think, as I sort through my feelings.

Peace, people!

Silent Night

  
I went outside last night hoping to snap a picture of the full moon. Surrounded by trees, Doright Manor doesn’t have the best location for moon viewing, full or otherwise, and the clouds added another hindrance. 

The weather, though, was indecently warm for December, even for Tallahassee, Florida–75 degrees and as humid as a sauna. I wore my favorite flip flops and sang Walking in a Winter Wonderland to the neighborhood. No one threw rotten tomatoes, so I broke into Silent Night for an encore. From across the lake someone called, “Please, oh please!” I chose to take that as a request for more.

Peace, people!

Autocorrect Made My Day

Last night I texted my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, and my eldest sister-in-law, Lyn, a photo of one of my Christmas gifts.

  
This was the ensuing conversation:

  
Oh, autocorrect, you made my evening!