Category: Life

Celebrity Sightings

Almost every person I know has had a close encounter with a celebrity. Studly Doright once met Patrick Swayze. According to Studly, Mr. Swayze was short of stature. I think Studly was trying to negate the star’s charms.

I almost met Jamie Fox in a back hallway of Caesar’s Palace, but my friends hustled me away before I did something embarrassing. 

Other than that my biggest celebrity encounter was the time Dallas Cowboy greats Walt Garrison and Bob Lilly flew into Floydada, Texas, to campaign for some forgettable politician. 

The men autographed a football for me. I was 12 at the time and promised to never let that football out of my sight. Somehow my younger brothers found it and left it outside where the autographs faded to nothing.

I also met the Cowsills family rock group at a restaurant in Levelland, Texas. You may laugh, but that was a big deal to me. My friend, LA should have hustled me away before I embarrassed myself. I did end up with autographs from John and Barry (eeeee!) as well as two buttons and and a nickel in exchange for my green ink pen. That Barry (may he rest in peace) was a shrewd horse trader.

What brought up this topic today? I’m sitting in the outside dining area of Gordo’s Restaurant (where one can get lei’d every Friday night) certain that US representative Gwen Graham is seated a table away from me. I really wish a friend was here to hustle me away. “Hey Gwen! I voted for you!”

Peace, People!

Dialing

on rotary dial phones
zeroes caused existential angst
why, oh why did it take so long
to call a favored friend?
our own first number as a
married pair, 935-5000, swell,
we were stuck in zero hell.

remember party lines? so romantic did they seem,
and lettered exchange names: YUkon-9, PEnnsylvania-7, BUtterfield-8
before area codes took their place.
sentimentality aside, one fact stands alone:
no motorists died whilst talking on
a rotary telephone.

  
  

Not in (AR)Kansas Any More

There’s no place like home….

  

Name that Emotion

Emotions can be complicated. Granted, sometimes I’m happy, other times sad, but there are other emotions on which I am unable to hang a label. Indeed, I might not even have recognized these emotions before coming across this list on Facebook, but I’ve felt most of them at one time or another.

 

(There are grammatical errors embedded in the list above, perhaps due to translation issues, but none of the meaning is lost.)

Some of the descriptions resonate so strongly that they trigger the feelings ascribed to them. For example, #5, “vellichor: the strange wistfulness of used bookstores,” instantly evokes the musty smell of well used books and the sense of longing I experience upon crossing the threshold of such an establishment.

The oddest is “lachesism: the desire to be struck by disaster–to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.” I’m fairly certain that’s one I have no desire to entertain, but I can’t judge. Heaven knows I’ve experienced #’s 6, 9, and 22 more than a few times.

I have one of my own to add to the list. Pediluxuria: the feeling of having perfectly pristine feet that follows a spa pedicure. Not bad, eh?

Peace, people

  

Interstate Parking Lots–a Sonnet

more than 800 miles stretched before us
upon leaving home early this morning
with 300 strong horses to serve us
we conquered the road, 4 wheels a’turning

but summer’s freeways hold pitfalls galore:
roadwork, collisions, detours, and potholes
soon our horses could stretch their legs no more
the brakes were applied more than our throttles.

with technology we looked to the skies
and soon plotted a course for our horses
our new path allowed those miles to fly by
thanks to heaven for satellite choices!

our route now is open; traffic is clear
the steeds are running in their highest gear.

Studly Doright is responsible for much of this poem, most of which was composed as we sat in bumper to bumper traffic on I65.

Road Trip

two bikes in the back
of an old blue pickup truck
red striped straps hold firm.

a long way to go
Fayetteville, Arkansas, bound
settled in the cab.

bypass truckers’ stops
favoring mom and pop shops
plain country cooking.

Good conversation
with a real good man, my man;
wonder if he knows…

that these shared journeys
mean much more to me than where
this old road might go.

  
Not our truck. Not our bikes. But you get the idea!

Bassackwards

I was slow getting up and around this morning. The digital clock on Studly’s side of the bed clicked over to 8:05 before I even crawled out from under the covers. The cats demanded treats immediately, so I obliged them before eating breakfast. After a hot shower I looked through my closet for something to wear. Normally this is an easy task, but we are leaving on a motorcycle trip tomorrow, and I didn’t want to wear anything I’d need to pack.

After a bit of consideration, I pulled on my purple Haunted Mansion t-shirt and an old pair of JAG denim capris. At one time, these capris fit me perfectly, but they must’ve shrunk or something because their patented elastic band doesn’t seem to have much give anymore. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the 20 extra pounds I’m currently sporting. Okay, maybe it has something to do with the weight gain, but they just felt completely wrong. Since I had no need to go into town I didn’t change out of them and got down to business.

The morning was spent doing laundry and figuring out how to stuff everything into my smallest bag to make room for my riding gear. After rolling and folding, packing and planning, I went out to take water to the men who were putting the brick on Studly’s shop and chatted with them for a minute or two before heading in for a bathroom break.

After taking care of business I went to the sink to wash up. Taking a look in the mirror I realized why my pants felt wrong. I’d pulled them on backwards. The back pockets were right there as evidence. Sheesh. It’s a good thing the brick layers had my car blocked in. There’s no telling how many people in Tallahassee might have witnessed my blunder otherwise.

One question. How wealthy does one need to be in order to employ a stylist? I think I qualify as someone who desperately needs one. I’m sure the bricklayers would testify on my behalf.

Peace, people!

Those Were the Days

  

Not anymore, but there was a time

When laundry piled up in baskets

And toys cluttered the floors.

Our mornings were hectic

Nothing ever in its place.

Keys always missing and 

Lunch money dispersed.

Backpacks with homework,

Field trip permission forms, and

Last minute projects forgotten til 8.

Life was chaotic, messy; an adventure.

Airport Musings

Gate changes and delays
harried young mother
wearing infant son
towing another;
frazzled.

Distraught debutante clicking
three-inch louboutins;
furious glimpses of
red against gray
tiled floors.

Hawaiian-shirted tourist
clutching camera close
strap flapping on
printed purple
hibiscus.

Hipster dude in black framed
glasses, reading kerouac
while moving his lips
to the pure beat of
a lost generation.

Elderly passenger, bound
for Tokyo; cancelled
flight, long missed
connection results
in frantic call.