I snapped these at the Destin Seafood Festival on Saturday evening. Studly Doright and I had no idea that the festival was taking place and just stumbled onto it by happy accident. Unfortunately, Studly doesn’t eat anything that lives in water and I’d eaten such an incredible seafood omelet at brunch that I wasn’t even a bit tempted.
I’ve titled these “Oh, to be Hungry!” and “Dream Buffet,” respectively.
I have a spoon for every need:
slotted,
bouillon,
curved and
Chinese,
cutty,
demitasse, and
dessert,
egg spoon,
grapefruit,
even a spork,
And yet all I require
Is a proper tool
with which to eat
my ice cream.
Three different times on Thursday I passed a garden area adjacent to the school at which I’m working. This garden featured the most gorgeous purple flowers. If I knew anything at all about plants I’m sure I’d be able to tell you their names, but I don’t, and I can’t.
Each time I walked by I thought to myself, “Those gorgeous flowers for which I have no name would make a perfect snapshot of the day on my blog,” but twice I didn’t have my camera with me and once my arms were loaded with testing materials.
Finally at the end of the day I found an opportunity to slip outside to take a photo of these breathtakingly beautiful plants. Alas, I was too late. Each of the blossoms lay wilted on the ground.
Now I have no idea what happened. Perhaps some group of ornery elementary students couldn’t help themselves and dashed the flowers to the ground. Maybe aliens were responsible for their demise, shooting death rays from the depths of space thinking to annihilate life on earth, but succeeding only in killing certain flowers. In that case we dodged a bullet, wouldn’t you agree?
But maybe it was just that time in the flowers’ lives. They’d reached the pinnacle of their collective existence and then simultaneously expired depriving me of a lovely photograph and the world of their fragrant beauty.
You know there’s a moral to this story, right? Stop and snap a photo of the unknown purple flowers. Gosh, that might just catch on.
Peace, people
I call this one, “The Thinker.”
Gather up your skirts young ladies
Then gather near the hearth,
Step in neatly, close the distance
Take your stand and do your part.
Bring your woolen projects with you,
knitted sweaters and worsted socks
Sidle up to fire’s hot embers
Careful of your flowing locks.
Take a sip of ruby brandy
deep and rich as baron’s blood
Maintain a rhythm slow and steady
Heady as a fragrant bud.
Knit one quickly and then pearl two
Change the pattern with a twist,
Catch a wayward thread untethered
Gathering wool with a fervent wish.
I call this one, taken inside a bathroom stall inside the Gulfarium at Ft. Walton Beach, FL, “FYI.”
This one’s interactive. I call it, “Who Gets the Movie/Book Reference?”
My birthday is October 5, and I will be 60! Let the festivities begin today and continue throughout this greatest month of the year.
In my honor, another Lesley (close, but no cigar) will sing the most ambivalent party song of all time:
I’m not crying, even though I’m now officially older than dirt. Nope. I’m dancing, y’all!
https://g.co/kgs/ZgmE5y
Peace and party, people!
Let’s call this one, “We Found the Beach and it was Good.”
Studly Doright never sets an alarm. He’s been getting up at the same early hour for the past 40 odd years now unless he’s sick or on vacation. So when I realized he was still in bed at 6:42 this Friday morning I immediately checked to see if he was still breathing.
Having confirmed that was still among the living I shook him vigorously. “Hey! You’re still in bed.”
“Mmphm,” he replied.
“You are late for work,” I persisted.
“Not going in today,” he mumbled.
“Oh.”
“I’m taking you to the beach for your birthday.”
Well, alrighty then!”
So here I am, sitting outside a hotel in Destin, FL. There’s not a beach within a mile.
“I swear,” Studly swears. “I booked us a room at the beach.”
There might be a reason I always book the hotels. Sigh.
Praying for Eyebrowz 