$&@?!

Yesterday afternoon I set about making hotel reservations for our trip to Illinois for our eldest grandson’s high school graduation in June. Due to Studly Doright’s frequent travel for business we’ve accumulated a rather hefty number of points for hotels in the Holiday Inn chain. Usually, exchanging those points for a hotel stay is a relatively easy task. Yesterday was not one of those times.

For some reason the Holiday Inn reservations link on their website wasn’t working, so I called their helpline. The conversation went something like this:

Them: (after a ten minute hold time) Hello. How may I help you today.

Me: I need to reserve a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Le Claire, Iowa, for two adults for the following dates… (I’m not sharing the dates here because I don’t want everyone to know we’ll be out of town.) and I’d like to use our IHG reward points to pay for the room,

Them: Yes ma’am. You do know you could use our website to conduct this transaction.

Me: Yes, I do; however, the link wasn’t working so here I am.

Them: Do you have your account number?

Me: I do. (I read it to her)

Them: Please hold while I check for availability.

Me: (humming along with the Muzak)

Them: Okay, ma’am the Holiday Inn Express in Montgomery, Alabama, is fully booked that weekend, but we could book you into another of our properties there.

Me: Alabama? I need a room in Le Claire, Iowa.

Them: Oh, please hold while I check for availability.

Me: (grumbling to myself)

Them: Okay, it looks as if there is a king room for $156 per night.

Me: Remember, I want to use my points to pay for the room.

Them: Well, you can’t. You could redeem your points to reserve a room with two queen beds, but not a king.

Me: Did you check my account to see the number of points we have in our account?

Them: Do you have your account number handy?

Me: Yes. I read it to you earlier, but I’ll do it again.

Them: Please hold while I check your account.

Me: Why, of course.

Them: Are you David Noles?

Me: (facepalm) No. My husband is David Noyes. The account is his, but I’m making reservations for the two of us.

Them: I’m sorry. You can’t do that.

Me: I’ve done it countless times.

Them: Sorry.

Me: May I talk to a supervisor?

Them: Well. (Pause). I’m going to have to put you on hold…

Me: I’m fine with that.

Them: Well, okay.

Me: (banging my head against the wall)

Supervisor: Hello, how may I help you, Mrs. Noyes?

Me: (sigh) I need to reserve a king non-smoking room at the Holiday Inn Express in Le Claire, Iowa, for two adults for the following dates in June and I’d like to use our IHG reward points to pay for the room,

Supervisor: Your account number, please?

Me: 555555555555 (not really, but I’m not giving you all my account number)

Supervisor: Thank you. We’ve reserved a king room in Le Claire, Iowa, for two adults on the following dates. You’re reserving with reward points. Is there anything else I could assist you with this afternoon?

Me: I could use a couple of Advil…

Supervisor: Pardon me?

Me: Never mind.

Supervisor: Thank you for choosing Holiday Inn.

Me: Okey doke.

Seriously, I think I lost 10 years off my life. But, all’s well that ends well, right??

Peace, people!

My Cat Has Questionable Taste

Gracie joined me as I binge watched the original Star Wars trilogy yesterday. She was especially taken with Jabba the Hutt.

I should’ve videoed her from the beginning, but didn’t realize she was watching.

I’ll have to encourage her to love Han Solo, I guess. To me it seems like a no-brainer, but then I’m not a cat.

Peace, people.

May the Fourth

I might not have mentioned my love of Star Wars in a while, but this is the perfect day to remind everyone. May the Fourth (be with you) is here and deserves some attention.

From the moment I first met Han Solo I was hooked.

What’s not to love?

When he took me along on his blast into hyperspace I turned to jelly.

Again, Han! Again!

When I feared that he might be crushed to death in the trash compactor I forgot to breathe.

Hey, Where’s Chewie?

And I’ll take Han’s words of comfort with me always. https://youtu.be/3bjEpLoL0ls

Peace, people!

Dizzy Is As Dizzy Does

I’ve been called “ditzy” more than once in my life but never “dizzy.” However, after a random dizzy spell threatened to take me out this afternoon I might have to embrace that nickname as well.

I was minding my own business, walking into a department store in search of my favorite brand and color of blush when objects in my peripheral vision appeared to be off kilter, a bit fuzzy. Hmmm, I thought, that’s weird, but continued to the cosmetics counter. Just a few yards from my destination I truly almost passed out. I quickly sat on a stack of ladies’ blouses and placed my head between my knees.

After a moment my equilibrium returned and I continued on my errand—with no luck, by the way. It seems my favorite blush, the one I’ve used for at least a decade is in danger of being discontinued. $&#%?!

Since the episode I’ve felt a bit on edge, worried that it might happen again. I drove home to Doright Manor on backroads just in case I needed to pull over, but there were no further dizzy spells—just the hint of a headache.

Of course being the hypochondriac that I am I now have decided I have either a brain tumor or something equally nefarious. Most likely it’s a sinus issue. Or maybe it’s the ghost of my latent talent rising to the surface and I’m going to be the next superstar on Broadway. Hello, Dolly, er Dizzy.

Peace, people!

Sunday, Sunday

There was a time in my life when Sunday evenings were fraught with angst. The weekend so close to ending. A new school week or work week impending. Now, as a self-employed writer I have more ambiguous feelings about a Sunday evening. The angst is gone because my time belongs to me.

I write all through the week, taking breaks when I feel the need, and I often forget what day it is. If Studly Doright weren’t still employed full time I’d likely forget the days altogether.

Speaking of Studly Doright, he still has the Sunday evening angst. Two more years and he too can forget what day it is.

Where are you on the continuum? Still dreading Monday morning or blissfully unaware? The Mamas & The Papas had some thoughts on that.

https://youtu.be/h81Ojd3d2rY

Peace, people!

Thrift Shop Oddities

I reached a critical point in my sequel to Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort this morning. After I completed the scene I sat back and relished the feeling of a minor accomplishment. Of course when I reread the scene tomorrow I’m sure there’ll be alterations to be made, but the scene has been laid out and that’s huge.

A reward was in order. I took myself to lunch at Sweet Pea Cafe in Tallahassee then I stopped by a local thrift shop to see if they had anything interesting. And, wow! I was rewarded with several neat pieces. I didn’t buy anything, but I was tempted. See if you can figure out which item I almost brought back to Doright Manor.

Oh, deer…
Stacked elephants. Weird, but cool.
Is it a rooster. Is it a lamp? Yes!
A dining table and chair carved from cypress trees. Beautiful craftsmanship, but certainly odd.
A fish vase. Carp, anyone?
Flowers plus frogs = a fountain

Peace, people!

Apple Watch Workout

I’m not a fitness nut. For a brief time in my life I was, but stuff happened and I reverted back to just being a nut.

At the wonderful age of 64 I have few aches and pains. Both of my knees still work and if it weren’t for a frozen shoulder and some digestive issues I’d feel almost as good as I did at 16. I’m quite a bit fuller figured than I was then, but I’m okay with that. (Hoping I didn’t just jinx myself with all this talk of feeling good.)

Yesterday morning my Apple Watch challenged me to a 20-minute dance workout. I like to dance. No, I LOVE to dance. My morning routine usually includes dancing to at least one of the songs on my Amazon Echo playlist. Three to six minutes of cardio after which I shower and then sit down for a writing session. That sequel isn’t going to write itself, you know. Could I attempt a 20 minute dance-a-thon? Challenge accepted.

And I made it! Granted, every now and then my dancing looked more like me standing in place and snapping my fingers to the beat than actual dancing, but I kept at it—even going a few minutes over time because I couldn’t figure out how to stop the workout timer on the watch.

So now I’m laying in bed trying to decide if I’ll go for it again. Another 20 minutes of sleep or 20 minutes of dance. It’s a tough decision. Yes, it is.

Peace, people.

An Old Joke

Many, many years ago I participated in a youth conference at a small Baptist college in Plainview, Texas. The day’s events opened with a large group session at which several speakers welcomed us and offered their own particular brands of wisdom. They were all good, but the only one I really remember was a young man who told a hilarious story about misunderstandings. To this day I think it might be the funniest tale I’ve ever heard. Enjoy.

One day an English Lady was looking for a room in Switzerland. She asked the local schoolmaster if he could recommend anything she might like. She finally decided on a quaint little apartment and returned to the Hotel at which she had been staying. When she got back she suddenly remembered she had not seen a Water Closet (commonly known in America as a bathroom). She immediately wrote back to the schoolmaster asking him if the apartment had a W.C. The schoolmaster upon receiving the letter did not understand the meaning of the abbreviation, W.C. He took it to the local priest to see if he knew the meaning, and they finally decided it must stand for Wayside Chapel. This is how the schoolmaster answered the letter.

Dear Madam: 

I am happy to inform you that we do have a W.C. It is located nine miles from the house in a beautiful garden surrounded by a grove of pine trees. It seats 300 people, and is open Monday, Wednesdays and Sundays, which is not real handy if you are in the habit of going regularly. 

My dearest ladyship, I suggest you go on Wednesdays for there is an organ accompaniment and even the most delicate sound is audible. The W.C. is very busy during the summer months, so I suggest you go early and get a seat even though there is plenty of standing room. Some families come with packed lunches and make a day of it. 

I am proud to say my daughter was married in the W.C. It was there she met her husband for the first time. I remember the rush for seats that day. There were ten people in the seat I usually occupy, and it was very uncomfortable. We have been planning a bazaar, and the proceeds are to go toward the purchase of plush seats, even though they are not needed. We recently had a bell erected on our W.C. which rings every time someone enters. My wife is a very delicate woman and cannot get to the W. C. very often. It has been six months since she last went, and it hurts her very much to go.

Well, I must say good-bye for now, and if you are still interested, I shall be happy to save you a seat next to mine. Sincerely,
The Schoolmaster

Oh mercy. It still cracks me up.

Nancy Drew Rides Again

My sequel to my debut novel, Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, is coming along nicely. I’m about 65,000 words in and the penultimate scene is staring me right in the face. I went to bed last night feeling pretty good about my efforts. Then around two a.m. I woke up thinking, It all feels a little Nancy Drewish at best or a grown up version of The Little Rascals at worst.

Somehow I managed to go back to sleep hoping my subconscious mind could find a solution. When Studly kissed me before he left for work around 5:30 I told him my early morning thoughts.

“Easy fix,” he said. “More cleavage. Cleavage in every scene.”

I laughed and laughed.

Later, at my typewriter: Paula leaned over the counter, treating Mark to a view of her well-defined cleavage. In his mind’s eye he replayed all the cleavage he’d ever been privileged to see. “In all my years I’ve never encountered cleavage as perfect as yours, Paula.”

Bolstered by his compliment, Paula exposed even more of her bosom. “Thank you. I do special cleavage-enhancing exercises.”

Mark smiled. “I apologize for ever confusing you with Nancy Drew. Her cleavage is nothing compared to yours.”

Paula winked. “I know. I sabotaged her efforts to have nice cleavage in the book, Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Missing Cleavage.

Of course I promptly deleted all that.

Today I shall attempt to fix my work in progress with little to no mention of cleavage.

Peace, people!

Selfie Fail

Yesterday morning while still in bed I attempted a selfie to test out a different setting on my iPhone. Now, I darn near blinded myself with the flash. I was still seeing the afterbursts an hour post-photo. But the worst part was the horrifying image captured by the camera.

I won’t share it here, but let’s just say Jabba the Hutt might have a fraternal twin.

Note to self: Camera angle is everything.

Peace, people.