eBay or Goodwill

Last week we had new carpet installed here at Doright Manor. In preparation for the arrival of the carpet layers I had to clean all of the stuff from the closet floors. Simple enough.

Finally I’d moved everything that might be in the way of the workmen into the seldom used living room and decided this afforded me the perfect excuse to assess every item, Marie Kondo style, to see if any joy was sparked before putting anything back in its old storage place.

After nearly a week of sorting through the odds and ends I’ve come to believe that joy is relative. Just because something doesn’t spark joy today doesn’t mean it won’t tomorrow. I’m hopeless.

That’s not to say I haven’t decided to get rid of a few things, but the manner in which they’re to be disposed of is giving me a few headaches.

I’m an avid Star Wars fan, and have collected dozens of action figures, plush toys, calendars, mugs, and silly promotional items over the years. But they aren’t being displayed. Instead, they’ve just been sitting and collecting dust. I did list a couple of items on eBay:

Vintage Yoda
Vintage Max Rebo

So far, I have one bid on Max and no bites on Yoda yet, even though he’s priced dirt cheap, and is in slightly better shape than Max. I’ll end up losing money on both items, but at least someone will get some joy out of them. And I’ll likely cry when they’re gone.

One of my problems in purging stuff is deciding if if an item should be tossed, sold, or donated. Actually, the tossing is fairly straightforward. Some things don’t deserve a second chance like the chewed up, stuffing-less cat toy I discovered in a box of clothes. But also in that box was this:

Vintage pleather!

This deep pink (I stress “deep” and not “hot”) pleather suit was my grandmother’s in the 80’s. Yes, my grandmother’s, and she looked gorgeous in it. I can’t remember why she gave the suit to me, but she must’ve been in her 70’s at the time and told me then that she was keeping the matching trousers because she’d still wear them. I just love that.

I wore the ensemble once many years ago to a party, but it wasn’t “me” for a number of reasons, and now the size ten is a tad too small. Plus, it still isn’t “me.”

BUT, should I send it straight to Goodwill or might someone browsing on eBay see it and say, “My goodness! I MUST have that deep pink suit!” This is my dilemma.

I think I’ll ruminate a while longer, and honestly that suit isn’t taking up too much closet space, right?

Peace, people.

Subdued Fourth

Today we celebrated Independence Day here in the United States. Celebrated might be an overstatement in my case. I napped, having been unable to sleep last night. I did wear my special flag t-shirt most of the day, though.

Then, while Studly Doright and I were cooking our dinner of vegetable kabobs and fruit salad, I managed to get cooking oil all over the front of my shirt. I might’ve said, “Yankee Doodle Dammit!” Or something similarly patriotic as a result.

We’ll likely spend our evening watching “Shameless” on Netflix while listening to our neighbors across the lake shoot off fireworks. Is it wrong for me to hope a predicted thunderstorm might keep the ruckus to a minimum tonight? It’s not as if they have any children.

Suddenly I feel like the Scrooge of July 4th. Bah firecracker!

Peace, people.

My New Ride

Doright Manor is located in a hilly rural housing development about eight miles outside of Tallahassee, Florida. And when I say “hilly” I am not exaggerating. For as long as we’ve lived here we’ve talked about riding our bikes around the neighborhood. But that’s as far as we ever got to doing it. We could ride about a quarter of a mile and that was it.

Then my brother, Kelly, and his wife, Susan, stayed with us on their journey to Fort Meyers, Florida, and they left some items with us to be picked up when they passed through Tallahassee later in the week. Among those items was a pair of e-assist bikes. They told us to try them out, and we did. They were great fun. We could pedal for awhile and then take a break by using the battery power.

Studly Doright immediately began researching e-assist bikes and soon had one ordered for me.

Voila!

This isn’t a great photo, but I’ll do better next time.

Pretty cool, right? He’s now looking for a conversion kit for his bike. Until then, I might share.

Peace, people.

The Eyes Have It

On Saturday afternoon Studly Doright and I drove out to the Tallahassee RV Park to meet up with my brother and sister-in-law who were spending the night there before moving on with their big adventure.

They’d stopped by on Monday on their way to Fort Myers, Florida, where they’d pick up their new Airstream trailer. After several days of orientation and practice with their new trailer they were ready to hit the road. First, though, they needed to collect a few things they’d left at our house. Rather than have them drive all the way to Doright Manor and back to the RV park, we loaded their stuff into Studly’s pickup and met them at the park.

Their new trailer is beautiful—very posh and spacious. We enjoyed wine and cheese with them and their adorable dog, Gus.

That’s my brother, Kelly, dog, Gus, and me.
Look at Gus’s eyes. I think he’s a bit leery of his Aunt Leslie.

We had a wonderful dinner with Kelly and Susan before bidding them goodbye and safe travels. Kelly says he’ll start a blog about their journey. If he does, I’ll share it with you all. It’s bound to be good.

Peace, people!

Some Days

Today was one of those days. My younger brother and his wife stayed the night with us on their way from Houston. Texas, to Fort Myers, Florida, where they’re going to pick up their brand new Airstream travel trailer.

They had their adorable dog, Gus, with them, so we kept our cat sequestered in the master suite last night. The two were aware of each other, but no one got chased and neither of them puked from nervousness, and we had a great visit with family.

It was a win-win. Still, I didn’t sleep well, and having the cat on my chest all night didn’t help much.

After breakfast at a local cafe our guests headed to Fort Myers and I came back to Doright Manor for a nap. The cat settled in beside me on the sofa in the den, and within minutes I was out like a light for the better part of two hours.

When I awakened it was as if I were in an alternate universe. The sky was dark, and I wondered if I’d slept the day away. I hadn’t. But a storm had blown in while I was napping making early afternoon look like nighttime.

I looked at the calendar on my watch fearing that I’d forgotten an appointment with the insurance adjuster, but realized that wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. Then I began thinking about the carpet I’d ordered. It was supposed to have arrived on the 19th. Today’s the 23rd. Hmmm.

The carpet company had required a deposit. Had I made one? I couldn’t remember. I knew I’d gone to their office to do so, but couldn’t remember actually making a payment. The checkbook didn’t have an entry either. Had I used a credit card? Suddenly I was certain that the reason my carpet hadn’t yet arrived was that it had never been ordered because I hadn’t paid a deposit.

I called the store, “Hi, this is Leslie Noyes. I think I ordered carpet from you, but I can’t remember actually making a deposit.”

The woman on the other end laughed, sort of, “We can sure check.”

A couple of seconds later she read off my address and said, “Yes, it appears you paid a deposit using your credit card, and we’re just awaiting delivery of your carpet.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or humiliated or worried for my sanity. I’m going to blame it all on the lack of sleep and the lengthy nap I took this afternoon. I’m going to avoid using sharp objects, though, for the remainder of the day.

Peace, people!

Cristobal, oh Cristobal

A tropical storm named Cristobal is playing havoc with weather here in the Florida panhandle, dropping torrential rains and stirring up occasional tornadoes. We’ve had a brief respite from the storm this morning, and I’d get out and run some errands while the sun shines, but there’s a paint crew working inside the house to cover up the holes plumbers created while fixing our water leak. I feel like Roseanne, Roseanna Danna.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

This afternoon the rain is predicted to return and continue through the weekend. We’ve been in drought conditions for several months, so the rain is welcome, but I worry that mushrooms will begin growing out of my ears if the storm lasts much longer.

If we have to have a tropical storm at least this one has a musical name. Cristobal always makes me think “crystal ball” and when I picture the storm in my head I see this:

I hope the fortune teller sees an end to Cristobal in the crystal ball in the near future.

Peace, people!

Power of Observation

Never will I claim to be the most observant of humans. In fact, my husband of nearly 44 years, Studly Doright, is fond of telling me that I have “awareness issues.” I’d disagree with him if he weren’t so right.

Yesterday I wrote about a woman who, while visiting in my home, thought that when I said that I’d just finished my first novel that I meant I’d just finished reading my first novel.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2020/06/08/my-first-novel/

Okay, I get it. I don’t look all that scholarly, but she was in my home, where literally the first thing one sees upon entering Doright Manor is this:

And this:

Look around a bit and you’d see this:

And this:

And even this:

Oh, and then there are my Star Wars books:

And

The dust is real.

Most of my books are on kindle nowadays, but the evidence that I’m a reader is pretty clear. So perhaps I’m not the only one with awareness issues. Maybe we can start a club.

Peace, people.

Oh, What a Night

Studly Doright sometimes must travel overnight on business. During the pandemic, though, he was able to be home every night. Company travel was suspended for the last three months. Now that businesses are opening up again, though, he’s had to make up for lost time.

Last night was his first on the road, and I hate to admit that I was kind of looking forward to it. I’d already planned on getting a bit drunk and finishing my novel after determining that too much sober writing was inhibiting the writing process. However, I completed the novel while stone cold sober on Monday morning, so now I had no excuse to get tipsy whilst Studly was away.

I did go to bed later than our usual old people time of 9 p.m., and I read awhile longer before falling asleep. Such a little rebel.

Usually when Studly is away at night I struggle to fall asleep, but I don’t even remember the light of my Kindle fading, so quickly was I in lala land. But around 1 a.m., Scout kitty sauntered into the bedroom meowing loudly.

I knew she had no immediate needs, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. Scout promply jumped onto the bed, stood by my head, and without warning, puked all over my pillow.

My reflexes took over. I plopped her onto the floor, where she continued retching, and ran to the bathroom to get a wet cloth to clean up her mess. On my way back to the bed, I stepped in the additional cat puke. I said a really awful word before wiping the sole of my foot and returning to the bathroom for a clean wet cloth. This time I thought it wise to turn on the lights fearing there were piles of puke everywhere.

Apparently, though, I’d stepped in the only little pile in our oversized bedroom. What are the odds? Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.

I took the soiled pillow case off of my pillow and wiped the sheet off, then the underlying mattress, but since it was the middle of the night and no one was sleeping on the other side of the bed I figured morning would be soon enough to change the sheets. I’d just take over Studly’s domain.

Once back under the covers I used the Calm app to begin relaxing enough to return to sleep, and I’d almost succeeded when I caught a whiff of cat puke. It was on my shoulder! I jumped out of bed, took off my pajama top and washed my left shoulder before putting on a different top. Fortunately I hadn’t been laying on that side and the sheet wasn’t contaminated.

Back in bed again, I tried to relax, but I began to worry about Scout. After all, I had ejected her from the bed rather violently. What if she was she really sick? After about half an hour of internal debate, I put on my glasses, turned on the lights, and went in search of my 16-year-old baby.

Scout was curled up on the sofa in the den and meowed when she saw me. I apologized for being so abrupt and for calling her a bad name. She followed me back to bed where she couldn’t stop giving me head butts and kitty kisses. She was so apologetic that I couldn’t go back to sleep for at least another hour.

Now, she’s off, happily patrolling the screened-in porch, while I’m preparing to wash the sheets and treat the carpet to a good cleaning. It’s 8:30 a.m., and I’m already looking forward to a nap.

Peace, people.

Never Underestimate the Value of a Good Shower

Yesterday (Friday) was the first day in two weeks that Studly Doright and I were able to use the shower in our master bathroom. A water leak in the hot water pipes had us taking sponge baths and ultimately building a temporary shower stall in the garage.

It wasn’t pretty, but Studly had it hooked up directly to the hot water heater, so after nearly a week of sponge baths it felt like heaven.

We’ve now dismantled the structure. There’s no telling what the bits and pieces of our shower will be used for in the future. Let’s just hope they never have to come together to be a shower again. I couldn’t concentrate in there, and the acoustics weren’t great.

Peace, people.

Are Those Your Knickers?

My beautiful blogging friend, Shirley Blamey, called me via FaceTime from her home in England this afternoon. Her equally beautiful husband, Michael Steeden, joined us on the call. I absolutely love these two—their wit, wisdom, and encouragement have helped buoy me as I attempt to finish my novel during the pandemic.

We’ve enjoyed several FaceTime calls and I’ve become quite comfortable letting these two wonderful people into my life. So comfortable in fact that as I was engaged in conversation I set about the task of hanging some of my delicates up to dry.

All at once I hear Shirley say, “Are those your knickers?”

For some reason I thought my panties weren’t visible on the screen, but sure enough, those were my knickers. I just hope dear Shirley and Mike aren’t permanently scarred by the sight.

Not my panties. Not my clothesline.

Peace, people.