Doing the best I can with what I have
Nothing much to say here–it’s just where I found a Starbucks this morning at 8:01. I ordered my coffee Frappuccino with almond milk and am currently waiting for my name to be called.
It’s a huge, very nice Starbucks. Unfortunately it’s on the opposite side of the road from the way I’m traveling, so I’m probably going to have an interesting time getting back on the road to Nashville. Oh well, life without my morning drink is no life at all.
Peace, people.
Thursday, November 14. I’ve been looking forward to this particular Thursday for two months now. Why? Because I’ll be driving the eight and a half hours to Nashville, Tennessee, to spend a weekend with some of the coolest women I know.
These are women I’ve ridden motorcycles with, cried with, argued with, and laughed with. They’re good women and great friends.
Studly Doright and I have moved so many times that it’s been hard to maintain friendships through the years. The core members of this group of women, though, has been there for me for at least two decades. And even though we don’t see each other more than once a year, I know they’d be there for me in a heartbeat. All I’d have to do is call.
Most of us are in our 60’s now. For some of us, our motorcycle riding days are over, but the ties that bind us together remain. We’ve made some wonderful memories, like the time we bought fake ponytails that caused us to speak in weird foreign accents. Or the impromptu talent shows that have resulted in fits of uncontrollable, pants-peeing laughter. I could go into more detail, but I’d likely be uninvited to Nashville, and nobody wants that.
I’ll pack my bags this morning. Should I pack that ponytail? I think I can still pull off the accent.
Peace, people!
Did you know that limericks, those innocent little stanzas we wrote in elementary school, are actually often intended to be erotic? Naughty? Filthy? Perverted?
Okay, many of us have heard the one about the man from Nantucket. It was the source of much shock and giggling when I was a teen, even though I don’t think I knew the entire limerick until I was quite a bit older and read it graffitied onto a bathroom stall.
For some reason, though, I though it was an outlier, and that most limericks were similar to my personal favorite about the lady from Niger:
There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.
Brilliant, right?
But on Saturday I found this hardcover (dare I say “hardcore”?) book at a garage sale. Now, I’m going to be honest. I did NOT read the small print on the cover. I just noted the repetition of the word Limerick, and thought, “What fun!”
Only when I got home and began reading the limericks inside did I realize that every single one was naughty. Aha! That’s why one should always read the small print.
Complete and Unexpurgated. Yep. Sure is.
I wanted to share one with my readers, but it took me awhile to find an example that wasn’t so offensive that I’d lose followers.
Out of 1700 limericks, the one above was one of the less bawdy.
So what do I do with this 517 page book? I figure it’ll make a great gag gift in just the right setting, or maybe I’ll keep it to give my grandkids a shock when they have to clean out my belongings someday. I’ll bookmark it with a pair of tassels and really make them wonder.
Peace, people
Studly Doright played in his golf club’s annual members’ tournament this weekend, so I had great heaps of time all to myself on Saturday and Sunday. There weren’t any estate sales within easy driving distance, but I found ways to spend money anyway.
By far the best activity I engaged in this weekend was a walk through Dorothy B. Oven Park in midtown Tallahassee. I’ve likely driven past this park hundreds of times, but never really paid it much attention. This weekend, though, there was an arts and crafts show taking place there, so I thought I’d give it a go.
After strolling through the booths I took off down a path and discovered just how lovely this little park is.
The weather was perfect for a walk in the park, so I lingered awhile. Afterwards I walked back to the craft booths where I bought one little picture.
It looks sweet in my “Beach Bedroom.”
Peace, people.
I’m accustomed to dining alone in restaurants, smiling at small children and making faces at babies while their elders chat and eat.
Seldom do I feel jealous of their familial camaraderie, but sometimes, I hear,
“Nana, sit here. Sit by me!”
“No, I get to sit by Nana. Right, Nana?”
And I long for those days when my grandchildren argued over who would get to sit next to me, the revered Nana, at a meal.
I watched yesterday as two young children clamored to share space with their Nana at lunch. I bit my tongue to keep from saying “Lucky you!” to the Nana being fought over. I wanted to encourage her to savor this time. All too soon these children would be teenagers obsessed with their iPhones or grumbling that they’re bored and they’d rather be with friends or hurrying through lunch because they couldn’t be late for some activity.
Nowadays, when I’m lucky enough to dine with my grandkids, I resist saying,”I want to sit by Garrett (or McKayla or Dominique or Jackson or Harper)” because that just wouldn’t be cool, but I sure think about it.
Peace, people.
The venom of a Harvester Ant, scientific name, Pogonomyrmex, is twenty times more potent than that of a rattlesnake.
Of course, a harvester ant doesn’t deliver a large quantity of venom, so their bites, while painful, aren’t usually fatal unless administered by a large number of ants at one time. And most harvester ants aren’t particularly aggressive, at least those found in the Florida panhandle aren’t.
I attended my last Olli class at Florida State University for this semester on Thursday morning. There’ll be one more class session of The Parallel Universe of Ants on the 14th, but I’m meeting a group of girlfriends for a long weekend in Nashville, so perhaps I’m done with Fabulous Ant Facts.
The ants have found a place in my heart, though. And regardless of what Olli class I take next semester, the ants will be my first love. Tread lightly where you go, friends, lest you accidentally stomp on one of the coolest critters ever.
Peace, people.
Last weekend Studly Doright went on a motorcycle adventure. He and a group of friends from Tennessee, Virginia, and other locales, converged on the small town of Dillard, Georgia, for a few days of dual sport riding in the mountains.
(For those not acquainted with dual sport riding, it’s fairly self-explanatory. The motorcycles for dual sporting are licensed for street riding, but also equipped for off road trail riding.)
Studly was a late edition to the trip when plans for a different kind of motorcycling tour fell through at almost the last minute. He put all his spare energy into getting his dual sport bike ready. Much farkling* took place in a short amount of time.
I was concerned that he didn’t have the right gear. The group was heading into the Appalachian mountains, and the weather was supposed to take a turn towards winter-like temperatures. Still, he’s a grown man, so I kissed him goodbye and wished him good luck.
Even though the group roughed it during the day, the organizer, G, planned their route to make sure their nights were spent in motels, so they had WiFi service and phone connectivity. I felt better about the trip knowing I could speak to Studly each evening.
He said the mornings were mind numbingly cold, but the warm afternoons made for perfect riding. Every day he had an anecdote for me. My favorite is about a water crossing.
As you might expect, water crossings can be tricky, and no one wants to drop a bike in an ice cold river, for a number of reasons. The group of riders approached a wide river that was flowing at a rapid clip. Swirls and eddies indicated there were rocks of indeterminate size beneath the water.
The first rider made his way across, encountering deep water on his route, so when Studly took his turn next, he veered a couple of yards left of where the other rider had gone. Studly’s route was no better than the first rider’s, and while neither fell into the river, the ride was more harrowing and the water deeper than was comfortable.
(That’s not a picture of Studly, or anyone else we know, but it could’ve been, right?)
Our friend G ventured into the river after Studly, trying to pick out a shallower path with fewer rocks. About midway across he stopped, trying to discern the best way to continue without swamping his bike.
Along about then, a local man and his black Labrador Retriever approached Studly and the first rider. He’d heard them calling back and forth across the river to the remaining riders and wondered if they needed help.
The dog was joyful, as Labs are known to be, and ran boisterously between Studly and the first rider, enjoying the attention and “attagirls!”
When the dog noticed G out in the middle of the river she took off to get some loving from the stranded rider, unerringly leaping and bounding from one point to another without ever getting in water more than three inches deep. She basically gave G, and the remainder of the group, the best path for continuing across the river. They all remained relatively dry, thanks to a dog.
Any doubt about that man’s best friend thing? I should think not.
(Again, not THE dog, but he is standing in water….)
Peace, people!
*Farkle/farkles: An ADV/dual-sport term for gear you’ve added or want to add to your bike, such as more lights, GPS, heated grips and so on. Usage: “I just bought that new KLR 650, so I’ve got to go load up on some farkles before the next ride.”
Interloping man
Creeping ’round my craggy lair
Shaking in your boots
Sir, you seem my type
Quite crispy on the outside
Moist in the middle
You smell of cold fear
And yet still you venture forth
Brave fools taste good, too.
I was just composing what most likely was a brilliant piece on how difficult I’ve found it to stay in the moment for the past week or so. I’ll be standing at my bathroom counter and cannot recall if I’ve already taken my vitamins or if I’ve applied my moisturizer. You know, important stuff.
Right in the middle of this Pulitzer Prize worthy essay I clicked back to make a quick edit and poof! The whole thing disappeared. Five hundred or more words gone.
I tried seeing if they’d paste back in, then I checked to see if my truly wonderful words had been saved as a draft. Nada.
Now the only thing remaining of this awe inspiring post is the title. I guess it says it all. Now, did I take my meds?
Peace, people!
I’m running behind this morning. It’s 7:50 on this Tuesday morning. There’s a dental appointment scheduled at 10 a.m., clear across Tallahassee, and I’m not even close to being ready. In fact, I’m still in bed scrolling through Facebook and wondering what in the world I could post here.
Then, this comes along.
It made me giggle and inspired me to get up and get ready to see the dentist! These teeth aren’t going to clean themselves.
Peace, people.
