Category: Life

Blogging and Originality

One of my blogging friends commented on a recent post of mine that it was un-original. Her comment didn’t offend me. I didn’t take it as a condemnation, but as her initial thought upon reading my post.

Her comment did make me think about the reasons I blog. It certainly isn’t to become rich and famous, and blogging has wreaked nine kinds of hell on my already lackadaisical housekeeping skills. After thinking and thinking…

  
…I came to the conclusion that I write merely to write.

-Sometimes I shoot for originality. How might I twist this phrase or that to say something banal in a decidedly fresh way? 

-Sometimes I just need to share the moments of my life with a few photos and captions. 

-Sometimes I feel like a kid and need to be silly. 

-Sometimes there’s scarcely a point to be found in my writing, even if I’m the one looking for it.

-Sometimes I write in poetry what I cannot say in prose.

Yes, my friend was right. My stocking post was decidedly lacking in originality. Hopefully I’ll be able to continue writing such pieces for many years to come.

Peace, people!

Tantrum

Studly Doright and I were chilling out at Doright Manor. We’d just purchased season 1 of Fargo and had settled in to watch. Studly had the white fuzzy throw on his lap, and I had plucked our newest crocheted throw off the back of the sofa to keep things cozy. Soon Scout, our elder cat, settled herself on my lap and began purring. 

That’s when Patches lost it. Our normally timid younger kitty ran around like a mini-banshee, howling and scratching, shaking with fury. After tearing around the den for three full minutes she finally stopped her tirade and sat glaring at us from under the Christmas tree. Studly and I watched in amused bewilderment. Bemuserment, if you will.

Then it occurred to me that Patches had claimed the new throw. In fact, she’d been napping on it nonstop almost from the moment we brought it home from the Christmas party where we’d been fortunate enough to win it.

Patches was pissed that Scout was snuggled on the throw she’d claimed as her own. Like any younger sibling who’d been deprived of her favorite blankie Patches was throwing a tantrum.

Once we figured out the cause of distress I eased Scout from my lap and returned the throw to Patches who snuggled down immediately. Now Scout is peacefully sleeping near the tree and all is right with our world at Doright Manor.

   
 Peace, people!

Golden

rain blessed monday
peace abounds
beads of golden autumn leaves
linked through and around
while squirrels scamper
acorns to bury
in preparation for Florida’s
winter fury.

Our cats, Patches and Scout, insisted that I join them outside on the screened in porch this afternoon. After a brief nap with Scout nestled on my lap and Patches in the chair beside me I began watching the gray squirrels zipping around and hiding nuts like there is no tomorrow. I hope they aren’t disappointed by our dearth of winter weather. Maybe I’ll invite the little darlings inside for hot cocoa.

And Just What Do YOU Do?

 
I saw this meme on Facebook today and had to giggle. For one thing, it’s the kind of offhand remark I’m inclined to make and then get embarrassed by. Often my mouth and my brain operate from completely different game plans.

But this meme also reminded me of a time during Parent/Teacher conferences back when I was teaching seventh grade. We taught in teams of four teachers: math, social studies, science, and English. And when conference time rolled around we met with parents as a team. 

I greatly enjoyed this team concept approach because we learned much more about our students and their parents than we might have otherwise. Sometimes we might have learned a bit too much.

We were chatting with one parent and one of my co-teachers kept saying, “I feel like I should know you. You look so familiar.”

Finally the parent said, “You must recognize me from work.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” replied the teacher. “Where do you work?”

“At the XXX Toy Box on Elm,” said the parent.

My good Christian co-worker went bright red and completely silent. We never let her live that down.

Peace, people!

Let It Snow (Somewhere Else) 

I love snow in theory. Newly fallen snow is indescribably lovely, draping the world in peaceful beauty. Even day two can be nice if one doesn’t have to scrape snow and ice off of car windows or shovel the heavy stuff off of sidewalks and driveways. By day three, though, the majesty has worn off. 

Studly Doright, our two children, and I lived in North Dakota for three years and had quite enough of the frozen precipitation. Snow would begin falling around October 31, and didn’t stop until late March. Sometimes snow was still on the ground in April and May. Brrrrr! 

Now that Studly and I live in north Florida I occasionally find myself romanticizing the idea of snow. Not enough that I want to actually experience it in person, mind you, but I miss being able to watch it fall softly from the comfort of my home.

Fortunately I can find it on the Internet. 

Dean Martin sings Let It Snow and I melt. Ironic, right? (There’s a brief commercial at the beginning…)

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mN7LW0Y00kE#

 

Peace, people!

Skewed Priorities

I’ve mentioned before that I have a tendency toward hypochondria. Any splotch becomes a melanoma, every cough a case of pneumonia, a brief lapse in memory is perceived as senility. My mind is my worst enemy. 

So this afternoon when I had two weird twinges in my chest I immediately turned to Studly Doright and announced that I was having a heart attack. I’ve already survived one fake heart attack, so I know all the symptoms. 

Neither one of us got too upset, until I realized that if I had a heart attack for real it might put me in danger of missing opening weekend for Star Wars The Force Awakens! I refuse to even consider that occurrence, so any heart attacks, real or imagined, have to wait until after the Star Wars franchise has run its course. I might live forever. 

May the Force be with you. And me. 

Peace, people.

  

Presenting the Finished Tree

   
It’s not going to make it into the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or Southern Living. Martha Stewart isn’t going to copy my decorating technique, but it’s done. Or perhaps overdone. 

A couple of times I tried to stop hanging ornaments, but it was as if some one or some thing made me keep going until the tree itself was barely visible underneath the eclectic mix of Christmas tchotchkies. Must be the true spirit of Christmas at work right here in Doright Manor.

In the process of decorating the evergreen I managed to break not one, not two, but three ornaments: Dancer of eight tiny reindeer fame, Mickey Mouse dressed as Scrooge, and a random snowman. Now I’m down to just six reindeer, having never acquired Vixen. 

Maybe if I have another glass of wine this evening the tree will begin to look less cluttered and more classy. What goes best with kitsch? Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot?

Peace, people!

One Word

if you were told
that starting
tomorrow you
would be
allowed
just
one word
what would
your word be?
mine would be
“peace” people! 

Picasso’s Dove of Peace
 

What word would be yours?