Last Friday morning my daughter-in-law treated me to a day at the Adolphus Hotel in downtown Dallas. We lounged by the pool on the seventh floor where servers attended to our needs.
I was almost positive I’d spotted former Dallas Cowboy quarterback, Tony Romo, in one of the cabanas. I was wrong—the guy was just barely taller than me. Sure am glad I didn’t ask for an autograph. 😉
Peace, people!
I assure you this story has a point.
I once nearly lost a hand in an elevator door. True story. A group of coworkers and I were staying in an elegant older hotel in San Antonio. We’d just checked in and were waiting for a group to exit the elevator so we could enter. As the last person left the lift, the doors began to close, I waited a beat before sticking my right hand out to keep them open, then Bang! The doors snapped shut, just missing my outstretched fingers.
For the rest of my stay I took the stairs. I never try to catch and hold the elevator doors anywhere, having learned my lesson. Half an inch and two seconds were all that prevented my nickname from being Lefty instead of Nana.
Once on a solo motorcycle trip from my home in Mahomet, Illinois, to my son’s home in Dallas, Texas, I stopped for the night in Fayetteville, Arkansas. I’d been on the road all day under the hot summer sun and was ready for a shower.
I checked into the hotel and unloaded the gear from my saddlebags. I’d packed light and was able to carry everything into the hotel in one trip. I entered the empty elevator and fully relaxed for the first time that day. This was my first major solo ride, and I’d been on high alert for many miles.
As soon as I relaxed, a poof of gas was forcefully passed from my backside. Yes, I cut the cheese. It was totally unintentional, but that didn’t keep it from smelling to high heaven.
“Thank goodness,” I thought. “I’m going up and the elevator is empty.”
Except that a well put together woman stopped the elevator on the second floor and rode up with me to the third. I was torn between apologizing for the smell and trying to mime blaming it on the previous occupants. Instead I just suffered in silence until the doors opened and I could escape. I think I heard her gasp for air as she went in the opposite direction. Probably scarred her for life.
Now, Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler and Joe Perry wrote the song “Love in an Elevator.” I’m thinking of writing one called “Lefty Farts in an Elevator.“ It should be a hit, don’t you think?
Peace and love, people!
What if I had a super power? Not a grand power, such as flying or being bullet proof or extra strong, but a discrete power. I’m thinking specifically of being able to manipulate space. No, not outer space, but the space immediately surrounding me.
For example, let’s say I’m driving in the third lane of a four lane interstate in Dallas, Texas, when I realize the traffic to my right is being forced to merge into my lane due to road construction. I’m about to be smushed between a car on my left and an 18-wheeler on my right. There are cars directly in front of me and behind me, and I have nowhere to go. I’m talking about an imminent collision.
Mentally, I shrink, both myself and my vehicle. Physically I pull my shoulders in closer to my body and visualize my car doing the same–well, except the car doesn’t have shoulders. Somehow it works. I come out of the situation unscathed, and I go about my day. I drive to my destination and have a nice dinner with my son and his family.
Only after I’m in bed that night do I start shaking. What in hell happened that afternoon? Honestly, I should be in the hospital, heck, maybe in the morgue. My car should be a total wreck. Instead, I get up, pour myself a glass of wine and finally calm down so I can sleep.
Now, what if I told you this happened to me several months ago? Would you think I was crazy? Or, would you think maybe, just maybe, that I have a bit of spatial magic as my super power? Okay, I’m pretty sure there’s a logical explanation for what happened, but it’s kind of fun to imagine me having this one very discrete ability.
Have you ever experienced anything similar? Something that, after it happened you thought, “WTH!?” Discuss. And don’t call the men in white coats to take me away–unless of course they’re employed by an exclusive spa and you’ve booked me a month-long stay.
I didn’t post anything yesterday morning because I was hanging out with my son and grandson going to estate sales around Dallas. None of us bought a thing, but we had fun looking at stuff we didn’t need or want.
After a light lunch some of us napped. I’m not saying I was one of the nappers, but about two hours of my life passed without my knowledge, so chances are I was.
We had a pleasantly low key evening watching television. The guys watched the movie, “Tag” in one room, while my daughter-in-law, granddaughter, and I watched the British series, “Safe,” until my eyes would no longer stay open.
Not sure what’s in store for today, but whatever it is will be just right. Tomorrow I’ll start driving home to Doright Manor.
Peace, people
Tomorrow I’ll set out on a road trip in my “old” car, a 2015 Mazda CX-5 with an outrageous 85,000 plus miles on the odometer. The car was in a minor accident back in November, but one can barely tell even upon close inspection.
My first destination is Buda, Texas, outside of Austin. There, I’ll rendezvous with my niece, CB, who bought two tickets to see Michelle Obama and invited me to join her. I can hardly wait for Thursday night!
On Friday I’ll drive north to Dallas where I’ll deliver the car to my son. He’s buying the Mazda for our oldest granddaughter, but it’s a surprise, so shhhh! I’ll spend a couple of days in Dallas with my son and his family before heading back to Doright Manor near Tallahassee, Florida.
The original plan was for me to fly home, but Studly Doright decided I needed a car to run around Tallahassee in. I’ve already put nearly 6,000 miles on my 2019 Lincoln. Apparently that’s excessive, so I’ll be picking up a used car at a dealership in Dallas and driving it home. This will be my every day driver, and chances are it will someday end up being another grandkid’s car. Of course, at the rate I rack up miles, it might have a million on it by then, but who’s counting?
Peace, people.
When I was in Texas in early October my son, grandson, and I spent part of one morning scoping out estate sales in Dallas. Fortunately I was living out of a suitcase, otherwise there’s no telling what I’d have bought. Yes, I know I could’ve gone to a pack and mail place and have purchases delivered to Doright Manor, but I didn’t want to spend money on postage.
Early in the day I bought a nice tennis bracelet, and it looked like that would be it for me. I looked at some nicely priced, nearly new designer bags, but honestly, my cup (and my closet) runneth over when it comes to purses and such.
At the final sale we went to I found this intriguing silver piece, and my son bought it for me as a birthday gift:
Here it is with the dome up:
And with the little plate removed:
Finally, a close up of an attached holder. That was what gave away this whatchamacallit, in my book.
Well, that and the assistance of an informed collector. It needs a good polishing, but its beauty shines through.
What do you think it is? I probably won’t laugh at any guesses. No promises.
Peace, people!
As many of you reading this know, my husband, aka Studly Doright, and I live in the Florida panhandle just west of Tallahassee. On Wednesday a category 4 hurricane named Michael blew right through our neighborhood and caused some excitement. I happened to be visiting my son and his family in Dallas, so I’ve only gotten second hand reports from Studly as to how our home, Doright Manor, fared.
First things first–he and the cats are fine. We have several trees down, but that was to be expected. He didn’t think there was any damage to the house, but the road in front of Doright Manor is blocked with trees. I’m sure he’ll be out there with his chain saw and axe as soon as the weather allows. The power went out fairly quickly, but we’d bought a huge generator after last year’s storms, and he’ll be able to enjoy his creature comforts.
Studly is an area director for a public utility, so he’s working from home during the storm. He sent me a text early this morning:
Scout is an incredibly helpful cat, especially during conference calls. She thinks Studly is talking to her.
I was supposed to have flown into Panama City Beach today (Thursday), but we changed the flight to Friday. Studly wasn’t sure he could get out of our neighborhood to pick me up in PCB which is a two hour drive on a normal day.
So I’m hanging out with granddog Toby. We had a good walk in his Dallas neighborhood this morning. Now he’s taking it easy and I’m going to read my book. I sure am ready to be home, though.
Peace, people.
Here in Dallas, Texas, on this October Wednesday morning, the sun is just barely up. I’m getting ready to walk Toby, my granddog, under the promise of a clear sky.
Back home at Doright Manor near Tallahassee, Florida, my husband, Studly Doright, is hunkered down, as the locals say, while Hurricane Michael drops buckets of rain and rattles the rafters. I’ve weathered more than one hurricane, but they each have their own personalities, and none are to be taken lightly.
I didn’t evacuate for the storm. It just happened to hit while I was visiting my family in Texas. Studly Doright left Dallas on Sunday morning and drove 12.5 hours to be home ahead of the storm. We’d already planned for him to leave on Sunday, but the approaching storm made everything seem more urgent.
Tonight I’ll be attending a concert with my granddaughter while Studly makes sure all of the hatches remain battened down back home. Tomorrow I’m supposed to fly home. Fingers crossed that the local airports aren’t impacted by Michael’s wrath.
In the meantime, I’ll be listening to this beautiful instrumental piece by Robert Linton. I found it when I googled the phrase “A Distant Storm.” And praying. A lot of praying.
Peace, people!
Unless one lives outside of the U.S., I’d be willing to bet that they’ve seen a “Beto for Congress” t-shirt. Beto is a junior state congressman from El Paso, Texas, who’s running for the U.S. Senate against Republican incumbent, Ted Cruz. And while I live in Florida, I’m a huge Beto supporter. I really want, nay, need a Beto t-shirt.
On Sunday afternoon my son, grandson, and I attended a concert/rally for Democratic candidates in downtown Dallas. I just knew I’d be able to buy a Beto t-shirt during the event.
The rally began at 2 p.m., but the three of us figured that Beto wouldn’t speak until near the end of the night. We spent the morning going to estate sales, went out for brunch, and then took a short siesta before driving to the concert around 4:30. Finding a parking place wasn’t difficult, but we had quite a hike from our “$10 a day” parking lot to the park where the concert was in full swing.
Jason had loaded a backpack with a blanket to sit on and we all took umbrellas since there was rain in the forecast. Unfortunately after we walked all the way from the parking spot we encountered a sign telling us that backpacks weren’t allowed. Grandson Jackson and I went to the end of a long line of concert goers while Jason ran back to the car with the backpack.
As Jackson and I waited in line a guy came by asking if anyone had extra tickets. The folks in front of us happened to have a pair and he bought them.
My brain said, “Huh.”
“Is the event sold out?” My mouth asked.
“Yep. Right as we arrived they put the signs up.”
“Well crap,” said my brain.
I instructed Jackson to hold our place in line while I went in search of spare tickets. I only needed two since kids’ admissions were free. I tried my luck behind us first since the guy who scored the tickets in front of us had already tried that direction. Nothing. So I went to the front of the line hoping the guy had been mistaken. Nope. The event was indeed sold out.
I texted Jason, and went back for Jackson who was nearing the front of the line. We stood near the press line figuratively beating ourselves up for not purchasing tickets in advance. Then, just as I noticed Jason crossing the street to join us, a young man came around the press barrier.
“Here,” he said. “I heard you needed a couple of tickets.”
When I tried to pay him, he refused to take the money and disappeared back into the press area with a wink and a smile. He was like our knight in shining armor, or the Lone Ranger. Hi ho, Silver!
Jason, having just read my text about the concert being sold out wasn’t expecting to see Jackson and me smiling from ear to to respective ear as he approached.
“He just gave the tickets to you? What did he look like?”
“Like the Lone Ranger, my son. Like the Lone Ranger.”
Our little group then made the rounds of all the booths in search of Beto merchandise. Unfortunately, though, like the event tickets, the Beto t-shirts were all sold out. And this time, no Lone Ranger to help out. I managed to buy this one at a booth promoting the band, Polyphonic Spree:
But I was in search of one like this:
Finally I gave up, had a Shiner (a wonderful Texas beer), a gourmet slider, and enjoyed the rally. And what a rally it was! Beto was the main event, though, and he did not disappoint. He’s running a positive grassroots campaign, never once mentioning his opponent by name, and refusing to accept money from political action committees (PAC’s).
Beto has visited every county in the sizable Lone Star State at least once and several multiple times, speaking sometimes to a handful of people and other times to groups of thousands. Texas has long been a “red” state, but Beto has a chance to upset that apple cart.
I will wear my alternative shirt proudly back in Florida. My only regret is not being able to cast a ballot for this young man in November.
Peace, and hi ho Silver, people.
Studly Doright and our son, Jason, spent the past three days playing in a member/guest golf tournament at Prestonwood Country Club in Dallas, Texas, while I did some shopping and spent time with the Texas grandkids. After the first day of the tournament my guys were third in their flight. On day two they took the lead, and on the third day, Jason sunk a six-foot putt to win their flight in the tournament on the first hole of a playoff. Exciting stuff!
The tournament culminated in a dinner for players and their guests at the club. Since my daughter-in-law was out of town for the weekend, I was on my own with these two chumps, er, champs for the event.
Studly had his eyes closed, but I still love this photo of these two.
Those who read my posts know I’m not a dressy kind of girl. It’s almost impossible to get me out of flips flops, but guess who wore heels on Saturday?
Yep, these are my actual feet.
We had a lovely time at the dinner. The menfolk received a great many pats on their respective backs and I basked in their reflected glory. It’s good to be queen.
Studly will leave Dallas on Sunday morning, but I’m hanging around for a few more days of fun with Jason and his family. I’ll miss this guy, though.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 