Dadgum Neck

I’ve been thinking about my neck recently. It’s not a topic I’ve really considered until just a few weeks ago when a woman told me my neck was making me look old. Of course, she was attempting to sell me some expensive skin care cream that would work miracles if only I’d apply it multiple times between morning and night when I would then switch to the nighttime formula that contained even more expensive ingredients. All natural. Organic, even. Even so, my neck would still be a problem.

“It’s got a bit of fat beneath the chin there. I can’t do anything about that,” she said.

Up until that moment I hadn’t noticed the fat beneath my chin. Now, it’s all I can see. Except, I can’t actually see it—not the view I need anyway. I need to see it from the side, but that’s all but impossible on my own. So from now on, I’m only looking at everyone straight on. No more profile shots.

So, if everyone would kindly queue up in a line facing me and only me, I’d really appreciate it. Save me tons of money.

Peace, people.

Get in line, kiddo.

Something Good

I spent several hours this afternoon wandering around the Word of South festival, Tallahassee’s annual celebration of music and literature. I’d planned to go yesterday, but the weather wasn’t great and I opted for warmth instead of music. Besides, I thought Rickie Lee Jones was scheduled for today and I really wanted to see her perform.

Since dates and times are my nemeses I totally screwed up everything. Got to Cascades Park a full hour before any acts were due to go on stage and then realized Rickie Lee Jones had performed the night before. I guess I’m destined to never see Chuck E’s in Love performed in person. Darn it.

But I was determined to have a good time, so I strolled around the park until I heard some music that made me smile. A quick look at my program told me the band playing was called DOUBLECAMP. Even the name made me grin. I spread out a blanket, gingerly eased this 65-year-old body to the ground and enjoyed every minute of their set.

A better music reviewer would have remembered song titles and such. All I remember is bobbing my head to every tune and savoring the sweet, clever lyrics and honest vocals.

Joe and Jordan

The band is made up of members, Joe Neary and Jordan Burmeister. They had a drummer along today, but I can’t for the life of me remember his name, so I hope he’ll forgive me if he ever happens to read this. He was really great to watch, though.

And DOUBLECAMP’s tunes? Fun. Upbeat. Pop with soul. Just what this day, and this old woman, needed. Give their song, All My Friends are Strangers, a listen. I think you’ll like it.

https://youtu.be/IOIeV8FHUcI

Peace, people!

Swoon Worthy

Huey Lewis reacted to MY post. Mine.

I love Huey Lewis. Yes, Studly Doright is well aware of the fact that Huey is my dream man. That voice. Oh my. That look. Oh dear! And he seems like a genuinely good person. Bonus points!

So when something I posted on Huey’s Facebook page gets a ❤️ reaction, I’m ready to chuck 45 years of marriage down the drain, ‘cause if Huey’s ready to propose, I want to be available.

Okay, I realize that THE Huey Lewis likely never saw my post or reacted to it, but someone he probably knows did and, hey, can a proposal be far behind?

I’d never leave Studly anyway. Right? Right.

Peace, People.

I Should be Asleep

11:38.

I’ve been in bed for more than an hour now. I read for a while. Yawned. Closed my eyes, but couldn’t doze off.

Tossed. Turned. Got up and had a talk with my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Took a drink of water. Now of course I’ll need to pee. But not right now—later when I’ve come close to slipping into some sweet dream.

There’s a headache working behind my left eyebrow, and an itch cropping up in various unreachable spots on my back. I’d wake Studly Doright to scratch for me, but he’s happily snoring and I hate to interrupt a man doing what he does best.

I’ve been under the weather for several days now. An upset stomach has me feeling BLAH. I’d take something to help me sleep, but that’s really not a great idea when one has a stomach virus.

So here I am, hoping to write myself into sleepiness. It could be working. I might have drifted off for a second or two. Yep. Now I need to use the facilities.

11:54.

Peace, people.

Oops!

When you realize that you took two Tylenol P.M. instead of two regular Tylenol at 2:30 p.m.—that’s an oops. Thank goodness I didn’t have a pressing engagement outside of Doright Manor today, but so much for getting much editing done on Reunion at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort this afternoon.

Let’s see how far I get before my eyes start to close.

Poor Thag.

Peace, people.

Mary Oliver

Earlier this month I shared the poem, Wild Geese, from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2022/04/01/poetry-month-2/

The very next day I happened to hear a portion of an interview with the late poet on NPR, in which she described her traumatic childhood. A victim of sexual abuse from a very early age, Ms. Oliver turned to nature and to words to save herself. And while many of her poems are rooted in her love of the natural world, some address the abuse she survived.

Her powerful poem, Rage, deals with the hard truths of her young life.

Another poem, A Visitor, focuses on the aftermath.

I had no idea these poems existed—that this woman who wrote such beautiful words about nature also wrote soul-wrenching poetry about the dark horrors she endured as a child. I wanted to save this little girl, but she saved herself instead. I guess, in the end, we all do the same. If we’re lucky.

Peace, people.

Where’s the Beer?

I’m in the middle of proofreading and editing the first draft of Reunion at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. Every time I go through this process with a book I’m amazed at the silly errors I’ve made.

Honestly, I should turn out a better first draft. I taught English, for pity’s sake. My spelling savvy has always been above average; although, time and spell check have played hell with that skill. And I have a prodigious vocabulary. (See what I did there?) Yet, I often leave out words, apostrophes, and the occasional comma. My excuse? My brain works faster than my fingers do. Or maybe my fingers work faster than my brain. I’m sure one of the two is true.

With the help of several eagle-eyed beta readers I’m combing through my missteps, and just this morning I ran the editing program that comes with Microsoft Word. My score for the document was good, but not yet perfect, so I did a quick search to find the culprit.

I really did mean beer.

Apparently Word’s editor thought we were trapped in a vintage Wendy’s commercial.

https://youtu.be/riH5EsGcmTw

Peace, people.

Poetry Month, Day Two

My small collection of poetry books includes one by the incredible Billy Collins. Titled, Sailing Alone Around the Room, this book is a treasure. There are so many terrific poems in this book, but I’ll share just one this evening.

The Man in the Moon by Billy Collins

How perfectly Mr. Collins expresses my fascination with the man in the moon.

Peace, people.

Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month, so I thought perhaps I’d share some of my favorite poems over the next few weeks.

Today’s poem is Wild Geese from the wonderful Mary Oliver. I get chills every time I read it.

Peace, people.

Bye Bye Bras (and Knickers)

My spring closet cleaning continues at an amazingly slow pace. Every time I’m in a groove something shifts my attention away from sorting and tossing to less productive activities such as reading or napping.

That’s not to say that I’m not making progress, though, and this morning I found ten dollars in change in an old wallet. Cha-ching!

If my cleaning efforts could be kept strictly to the closet the whole process would be over and done with already; unfortunately, when I rearrange one group of items another space either opens up or closes off. That’s what happened when I moved my brassiere collection from a dresser drawer into the closet.

You see, I realized I had bras that hadn’t been worn since the presidency of the first George Bush and they needed to go. So I made a nice pile of saggy old bras on top of the electronic organ I’m totally incapable of playing.

I wondered if perhaps my knickers (panties) drawer had similar pieces, and indeed it did. Elastic? Had that stringy stuff around the waistband and leg openings once been elastic? I made a second pile.

Then I googled Goodwill to see if they’d accept my castoffs (not the worst of them, but the ones that could still maintain their intended functions) and the answer was no. So, what to do with a sizable stack of undies on the electronic organ? (I can actually play both halves of Heart and Soul—just not at the same time.)

Again I googled and found a company called Knickey. For a $5.00 fee, Knickey will accept used panties, bras, and tights. You box them up. They’ll send you a mailing label via email and it’s easy breezy! They recycle the undies into materials that can be used in mattresses. Maybe other stuff, too. Plus, they send you a pair of their organic panties.

I sent my underwear, even the worst of the worst, off this morning and now I’m free to not play the organ once again.

Here’s a link to Knickey: https://knickey.com/pages/recycle?gclid=Cj0KCQjw_4-SBhCgARIsAAlegrUpmIdrZe3wrFKHI00uDJ60edwHxXMr1l17OLcBXeKz81zg6ze0QsIaApYLEALw_wcB

And that’s how it’s done.

Peace, people.