I was so proud of myself for getting all of the dirty laundry from Studly Doright’s recent golf trip taken care of on Monday. Truly, it seemed I must’ve had some assistance.
But then I helped him clean out the car he’d driven to Texas and in the back seat I discovered two hotel bags stuffed with more dirty laundry.
“Really?” I said.
“Oops,” he shrugged. “Look at it this way, your task was divided into manageable portions. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. That’s just how I roll.”
Peace, people.
Studly Doright has been gone for nearly a week. He’s due home any minute now, and it’s about damned time. I don’t sleep well when he’s gone, so I might’ve had a little more wine than was prudent last night.
The good news is, it worked. Last night I slept deeply and had wonderful dreams. The bad news? Apparently I ordered a pair of tights and a deck of tarot cards from Amazon. I only know this because there are messages to that effect in my inbox.
All I can say is, the future’s so bright I’ve gotta wear tights.
Peace, people!
Gracie, our new cat, seems to be a smart girl. Today she figured out how to open the door to the hutch where her treats are stored.
When I confronted her she was nonchalant.
Last night she brought me a package of treats. She meowed conversationally until I opened the package for her. I’m sure she thinks I’m rather dense.
Still, she loves to snuggle with her not so bright human. Can’t beat having a sweet kitty on your lap on an autumn night.
Peace, people!
Maybe seventeen, the carhop, her pregnant belly preceding her, waddled up to the driver’s side door.
She carried two root beer floats and an order of fries on a tray that she hooked onto a window rolled halfway down. She brushed away droplets of sweat dotting her forehead.
I was pregnant, too. Barely older than the carhop. The float was a craving. The fries an after thought.
We made eye contact, the waitress and I. My place in the passenger seat somehow granting me special dispensation.
I felt superior, there with my husband. I made judgements over greasy fries and root beer soaked ice cream.
Every now and again I wonder how her story played out. A right turn here. A detour there. She’d be my age, or thereabouts.
I hope her life’s been good.
Even after living in Florida for eight years I’m still amazed by the flowers that bloom in the fall.
Peace, people!
I danced one night with a cowboy
He asked; I said yes, even though my friends were whining to go
I remember the smell of him, like new leather and spice,
The feel of his crisp white shirt and my hand in his,
And the way he held me close, like I was fragile and precious.
He asked if he could take me home, but I was spoken for already, so I thanked him for the dance
And went on my way.
Have you ever had one of those days where you seem to successfully dodge one mishap after another? I have to confess that’s not my norm. If a ball has begun rolling down hill a mile away from me then chances are our paths will cross before long and I’ll go heels over head in spectacular fashion.
Yesterday, though, on my way home from Tallahassee I managed to avoid one potentially injurious incident after another. Rather than go into detail I’ll simply list them.
1) Someone driving a sporty red car ran a red light through a busy intersection just as I entered said intersection. My reflexes saved me. My raised middle finger was of no use.
2) A mile or so down the road an impatient driver on a side street pulled around another car and darted in front of me. I applied my brakes and my horn simultaneously. No fingers were raised.
3) As I entered a tightly engineered roundabout the car in front of me came to an abrupt stop causing the car behind me to very nearly rear end my car. At this point I’m thinking, Should I just park and call an Uber to take me home?”
4) I turned onto a familiar country road to take a shortcut home. A road construction crew had stopped oncoming traffic allowing cars in my lane to proceed. Unfortunately one southbound idiot decided he didn’t need to wait on cars going northbound and came right at me. I’ve now become something of an expert at avoiding crashes, so I find space to make room for the $&:(@?! and after honking and glaring at him I went on my less than merry way. Note: glares are as ineffective as middle fingers.
5) At this point I figured I had most certainly survived the gauntlet. Now that I was within three miles of Doright Manor surely nothing else could befall me. Then there was a cow. Now, I grew up in rural Texas where it wasn’t uncommon to see a lone cow or even a small herd of cattle on the road, but this was a first for me in Florida. I rounded a curve in the road and there she was, just waiting for me to kill both of us. I pressed on the brakes and stopped with at least two entire inches to spare.
6) I managed the rest of the drive without incident, and have decided to become a hermit. At least for a day or so. My guardian angel needs a rest.
Peace, people!
Last week I took Gracie, our new cat, to visit the vet. The rescue organization we’d adopted her from had already given her the necessary vaccinations and even microchipped her. So this was just an introductory visit.
Sweet, crazy Gracie did not enjoy the experience, and I’m certain neither the vet or the vet tech did either. My cuddly, lovable cat went absolutely ballistic.
I came away with a bite. The vet sustained a couple of scratches. The vet tech cowered in a corner. It was not fun.
When we finally managed to get her pinned down, the vet looked her over and said she appeared healthy, but she noticed that Gracie’s back twitched, and she asked me about her toilet and grooming behaviors.
Now, Gracie takes her grooming seriously. Sometimes her grooming sessions take thirty minutes or more and she repeats the session many times a day. When she potties she takes up to ten minutes to cover up her waste, often returning to the box just to make sure she can neither see nor smell the poo or pee. She is fastidious.
She also scratches herself quite often. My first concern was fleas, but if she’d had any when she arrived in our home they’ve long been eradicated.
I told all of this to the vet and she said, “Your cat has a Type A personality,” but she went on to say that Gracie also has Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome, also known as Rolling Skin Syndrome. https://www.vet.cornell.edu/departments-centers-and-institutes/cornell-feline-health-center/health-information/feline-health-topics/hyperesthesia-syndrome
Apparently in some cats the condition can result in self-mutilation! Thankfully our Gracie doesn’t seem to be incapacitated by the syndrome, and ninety percent of the time she’s very laid-back. We’re trying some pheromone diffusers to calm her rather than resorting to any prescription medications that could have nasty side effects of their own.
Gracie is such a loving cat. In the mornings she hops into bed with me and makes a dramatic flop onto my chest as if to say, “I missed you, Mom!” She follows up with a great many kitty kisses and gentle pats to my face. She’s not going to let herself be defined by any old diagnosis.
Peace, people!
If you aren’t squeamish when it comes to violence on the small screen. If your sense of humor skews to the offbeat. If you’ve finished watching a series on Netflix and aren’t quite sure what to watch next, then do I have a suggestion for you: “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs.”
Brought to us by the Coen Brothers of “No Country for Old Men” and “O Brother Where Art Thou” fame, “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” is an anthology of six short films set in the post-Civil War west in the 19th century.
Each of the stories has the feel of an O. Henry story; albeit with a good deal more blood and guts involved. I guessed the ending of the sixth tale, but only because by that point I had a feel for the twisted nature of the project.
Some big name stars added their talents to the film, including Liam Neeson, James Franco, and Tom Waits, among others. One of my favorite actors of all time, Tyne Daly, has a role in the final tale.
If I had a single complaint about “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs,” it would be that it ran a bit long. Maybe six vignettes were one too many; however, if asked, I couldn’t possibly choose any one of them to be left out.
Again, this anthology isn’t for everyone, but if you’re willing to take a walk on the wild side, give it a try.
Peace, people!
On a regular day I’m not a terribly organized person. My thoughts don’t coalesce; they flit and flutter like a pair of courting butterflies. Since election eve, though, I’ve been even more scatter-brained. My phone’s gone missing a record number of times. I’ve carried my shoes to the car thinking they were my purse, only noticing I was barefoot when I placed a foot on the brake pedal in order to start the car. I probably shouldn’t be allowed to get behind the wheel.
When Joe Biden was predicted to have won the election I thought maybe I could get my head back to it’s normal irregular operational status. I even managed to sleep seven undisturbed hours on Saturday night, Unfortunately Trump isn’t willing to concede, so I’m still frazzled.
My brain won’t settle down enough to allow me to write. I’m worried that Trump will somehow pull off the ultimate scam. He is, after all, a master scammer. Look how he’s conned millions of people into believing his lies. I don’t trust the process anymore after four years of gaslighting and projection and the undermining of our democratic process. So if tomorrow I accidentally put my phone in the oven and back my car into a wall you’ll know why.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 