Tag: blog

Checking on the Faeries

A couple of years ago Studly Doright and I helped our visiting grandkids build a faerie house. We carefully placed the house on a small tree stump, and then waited to see if any wee folk would move in.

At first I checked the fairy house on a daily basis with no luck, then a wise friend suggested that perhaps we should give them a little time and some space, lest we scare any potential residents away. Finally our patience was rewarded.

If you look closely in the photo above you might see a tiny winged creature to the right of the ladder.

Over time we learned to give the faerie folk privacy. Honestly, until our grandkids came for a visit in early August I hadn’t given the little guys and gals much thought. They went about their business and Studly and I went about ours. Yesterday, though, as we were working in the yard I went over to take a peek.

I didn’t see a single faerie anywhere, but just look at how much the tree has grown up around the house! Someday, after Studly and I are dead and gone, the new owners of Doright Manor may discover this little abode tucked away in the woods. I just hope they’ll give the faeries their space. Maybe I should leave a note for them, just in case.

Peace, people.

A Real Fungi

Monday is Labor Day here in the states, and Studly Doright has the day off work. Since he’d played golf on both Saturday and Sunday, Studly decided to do yard work on his holiday. I was drafted to assist. Oh joy.

My job was to drive the lawn mower around the yard and load fallen branches into the trailer while Studly used his manly skills to chop branches that were too big for me to lift. We’ve had two fairly severe thunderstorms this past week, so I filled my little trailer multiple times.

Once I’d finished my part I handed over the reins of the mower to Studly who insists that he’s better at the job than I am. Hey, I only almost backed over his foot twice today. That’s a real improvement over previous performances.

Doright Manor sits in the middle of a forest on a small lake. I grew up in the Texas panhandle where trees are few and far between, so I never get tired of exploring our woods. Today, while Studly was mowing I found this little party animal:

Yep, they tell me he’s a real fungi.

Peace, people!

An Accomplished Woman

If you’ve read my blog for more than a week you’ll immediately know that I am not the woman for whom this post was titled. I’m easily astonished, somewhat apprehensive, occasionally argumentative, and often admonished, but never accomplished.

As seems to be the case more often than not Studly Doright and I will go months without seeing friends socially only to have two or more invitations for the exact same day. On Friday evening we were invited to a 60th birthday party for Studly’s best golf buddy, and I’d made plans to meet friends who were passing through Tallahassee on their way to their new home in Melbourne, Florida.

I had already committed to meeting the traveling couple and Studly rsvp’d to the birthday party without consulting me. I mean why would he? He knows I have almost no social life. So we took separate cars to the party, and I kept an eye on my phone for my friends’ call.

The birthday party was at the home of a couple we’d met once at a Tallahassee restaurant’s trivia night; although, I had to be reminded of that. I swear, I wouldn’t remember Studly’s name if I didn’t insist that he wear a name tag at all times.

Their home was lovely and set up for entertaining. I asked the hostess, we’ll call her “Perfect, but not in a bad way” or just “PBNIABW” for short, if I could lend a hand in the kitchen.

“Well, not really,” PBNIABW said. “The birthday boy requested chicken fried steaks, and I’ve never made them before, so pour yourself a glass of wine and relax.”

Those are the kinds of directions at which I excel, and I followed them to the letter. I’m a great follower. As other guests arrived I mingled fairly well. I’m a follower, after all, and not much of a mingler. What I learned from my mingling was that not only is PBNIAW something of a gourmet cook, but she is also a damned good artist and an accomplished seamstress. Her beautiful artwork adorned almost every wall in the house, and her sewing room gave testament to her skills in that area.

When my friends called to say they had checked into their hotel, I said my good-byes to everyone and cornered Studly for a goodbye kiss.

“Hey,” I said. “Don’t forget you have an incredibly average wife who loves you.”

I’m not sure he was listening, though. He was too busy watching a variety of sports on the three, yes three, big screen televisions in the den with the host and other male guests. Damn. PBNIABW’s husband was perfect, too.

Peace, people.

To Xfinity and, well, not Beyond

Lately the speed of our internet connection at Doright Manor has been less than stellar causing me to grumble when playing my favorite online game, Design Home. Who knows how many perfect scores I’ve missed out on just because I couldn’t style a room quickly enough? The answer to that is none, by the way. Speed has nothing to do with how scores are tallied in this game, but still, it’s hard to keep up one’s inspiration when the right furniture refuses to load.

Studly Doright heard my grumbling from across the den last night and said he’d gotten an email from our internet service provider, Xfinity, saying that we were due for a modem upgrade. “Why don’t you head over there tomorrow and pick up a new modem?” he suggested.

So, here I am. Sitting in Xfinity hell with at least two dozen other people. The lines aren’t moving, and it seems that no one responds when their names are called. Buehler? Buehler?

https://goo.gl/images/AQUg11

At least the place has great WiFi.

Peace, people.

Forgetful

Have you ever had the feeling that you’ve forgotten to do something, but you can’t remember what it is you’ve forgotten, so you stumble through your morning with that little nagging thought tugging at the back of your mind?

Now, if you made it through that mess of a sentence/paragraph above you might be thinking, “Hell, I know what she forgot. It’s the punctuation mark known as a period. That woman forgot how to use a period to end a sentence.”

You could be right. That sentence definitely could’ve used a period, but what I remembered as I was writing it was that I had forgotten to write anything at all for the blog today, and while this blog post was meant for tomorrow it now has to be pressed into duty for today, and yes, I still need to remember to use a period every now and then. Kind of like breathing.

Now I just need to remember that I haven’t already written something for tomorrow. Oh! Will it never end?

Peace, people!

Pumpkin Jumpsuit vs. Risqué Shirtwaist: There are no Winners

Yesterday I shared my tale of shopping angst. I’ve been in search of a cocktail or after 5 dress for an upcoming soirée, and so far I have found nothing. The dresses that fit my 5’8″, size 12, slightly past middle-aged frame, are few and far between. And ugly. I might be nearing the age of 62, but I refuse to dress like my obituary is going into tomorrow’s newspaper.

At one point yesterday I decided to think outside the box in my pursuit of the elusive not-so-matronly dress, so I went to a local store in Tallahassee that always has a mix of new and vintage clothing displayed in their windows. It’s a nice shop, with friendly staff, and a variety of casual and dressier items in stock.

After walking around the store with me and asking about my style and color preferences one of the sales ladies opened a dressing room and began bringing different pieces for me to try on. I was seriously stoked to see just what she might find!

The first outfit was a light green floral jumpsuit. It didn’t scream “COCKTAILS” at me, but I was keeping an open mind. This isn’t it, but it was similar:

On me, the pants ended around mid-calf and the waist hit about two inches north of where my actual waist resides. And the floral pattern just made me look like I needed a good weeding.

Next she brought me another jumpsuit. I wish with all my heart that I’d had the presence of mind to take a photo of me wearing it. First off, it was orange. Not a pretty orange, but a washed out, 70’s shag carpet orange. In fact, I’d swear Studly and I lived in a rental that had the exact same color carpet during our poverty period.

The jumpsuit was crafted from chenille, so I looked like a pumpkin, freshly picked. And again, the waist was too high and the legs too short. Stifling a bout of giggles, I politely asked the sales lady to refrain from bringing any more jumpsuits to the dressing room.

So she brought me an adorable dress. It was simple and sweet on the hanger, but on me? Fugedaboutit. My bosom could not be contained by this little slip of a dress. Indeed, parts of me better left hidden made mad attempts to escape if I even dared to breathe in the gown. It was a Jekyll and Hyde affair, to be sure. All meek and mild on display, while determined to ruin my reputation whilst being worn. Be very glad that I didn’t take photos of this dress. That’s not it below, but you get the picture, right!

My little experiment in thinking outside the box was unproductive; however, I left the store with a badly damaged self-image, and that’s what really counts.

Peace, people.

A Fashion Fine Line

My clothing needs are simple most of the time. If I have a couple of pairs of jeans and/or capris that fit me, enough shirts to get me through a week without having to do laundry, and appropriate footwear for the season, I’m good to go. Occasionally, though, like now, I require something for a special occasion.

When I was younger, it was easy to find a cocktail dress for an evening out. The problem then was finding the money to buy it. Now that I have the money, my body nixes just about any dress that I find appealing, and every outfit I’ve tried on is either too hoochie coochie-ish or too funereal. I look like I’m either trying to get picked up or have already been put down.

I’m not panicking yet. The upcoming event is still several weeks away. And I did find one outfit I really liked. What do y’all think?

Peace, people.

Meme-Free Pledge

One of my long-time real life friends wrote this piece and posted it on Facebook. I took the pledge and hope that you will, as well. Thanks, Jim for making a difference. Here’s the pledge:

This political season, I am taking the Meme-Free Pledge, abstaining from sharing any political meme on social media. Like if you approve, Share and substitute your name for mine if you wish to join me!

WHEREAS: There is broad agreement that American democracy is under attack by foreign adversaries by means of spreading misinformation (propaganda) in order to create anger, fear, and mistrust, and

WHEREAS: Some of the adversaries’ most effective weapons in this effort to spread misinformation are memes shared through social media, and

WHEREAS: It is often difficult to know the source of these memes,

I HEREBY PLEDGE to assume that any political meme I see has been planted by America’s adversaries, and therefore, I will not share them, neither in public social media, nor private. This includes secret groups to which I belong and private messages.

I FURTHER PLEDGE to push back against these attacks on American democracy by exposing the misinformation, and if the misinformation is especially egregious, I will report it to Facebook or other social media formats.

I ALSO HUMBLY PLEDGE (this is the hard one for me) in my clarification of misinformation, I will do so with only sourced facts, without emotion, doing my best to avoid insulting or demeaning the poster, using language to the best of my ability that will not sound like a sneer or put down. (This is the hardest part, but the most important.)

Respectfully,

Leslie Noyes with thanks to my friend, Jim Lovell, whose post I’ve borrowed.

The Meg

Sometimes one needs a bit of mindless fun, at least I do on occasion. The summer movie, The Meg seemed perfect for that, and since Studly Doright had no interest in seeing it, I went by myself on a Wednesday afternoon while he was in Orlando for meetings.

Sure, there were other, more cerebral movies I could’ve spent the afternoon watching, but I was in the mood for a no-brainer. I certainly chose well.

First off, there will be no Oscars awarded for The Meg, unless perhaps it earns a nod for “Best Film Featuring a Gigantic, Vengeful Shark in the Tradition of Jaws.” The shark, or rather, Megalodon, is fearsome, and for such a large creature he sure could sneak up on people. I jumped and giggled every time it happened.

Jason Statham played second fiddle to the Meg, as Jonas, a diver with deep sea experience and a troubled past. Of course. Isn’t a troubled past de rigueur for a hero in a disaster-type film?

Rainn Wilson portrayed the stereotypical billionaire with a heart of lead who funded the deep sea expedition that unleashed the Meg on an unsuspecting world.

The remainder of the cast performed admirably, joking in the face of danger, recovering at a remarkable pace in the face of the deaths of their co-workers and loved ones: “Too bad about your dad. Hey, you wanna go grab dinner? I’m starving.”

I left the film totally unchanged. I’d gained no new insights into the human condition. Made no new vows to be a better person. But, I now know that one motivated, plucky dog can out swim a giant, prehistoric fish, thus bringing about a fairy tale ending. All is well.

Peace, people.