Tag: Doright Manor

Buckle Up!

Lots of stuff happening in the next few weeks.

I already voted, so now it’s just a matter of nail biting. So sick of political ads, especially the negative ones. Wouldn’t it be nice if the ads stopped once you’d cast your votes? That being said, please vote.

On the 12th of November, I’m heading to Las Vegas for a huge writing conference at Bally’s (or the Horseshoe, Bally’s is getting a name change). I’m hoping to learn how to up my marketing game, which right now consists of me saying, “I’ve written books. Several books. You should buy them,” to everyone I meet. My friends are ready to throw me off a cliff, and I wouldn’t blame them.

I’m so excited to meet other indie authors and engage in geeky author stuff. I’m old, so I won’t overindulge. Maybe…

Then there’s Thanksgiving—my favorite holiday. Just good food, football, and fellowship. There’s no rush to buy gifts or push to over decorate. And the mimosas I make to aid in the cooking process are the best. Okay, they’re just orange juice and champagne, but they do the trick.

Our daughter and her kiddos are flying into Orlando in early December. Studly Doright and I are going to meet them at the airport and spend time with them before they leave on a cruise. I still hope one of the grandkids will let me hide in their suitcase. It could happen.

The build up to Christmas is in full swing, of course. Our son and his family are coming to celebrate with us at Doright Manor. So excited! I’m already buying gifts, and that’s something I normally put off until almost the last minute.

Oh, and somewhere in the mix, my newest book, Christmas at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort will publish. Hopefully around Thanksgiving. 😳 Have I mentioned yet that I’m a writer? That I’ve published several books? Wait, that’s a cliff, please, I’m begging you. I won’t mention it again….

Whew! That was close. I think I’ll have another glass of wine.

Peace, people!

I See the Light

Studly Doright had an interesting escapade a few days ago. I’d left for water aerobics at 6:30 a.m., while Studly waited for a co-worker to stop by Doright Manor to pick him up for a business trip to somewhere in western Florida.

While he waited, he opened up his motorcycle workshop to fiddle with his Suzuki for a few minutes. He left the door up since he didn’t plan to be inside the shop for very long.

As he checked to see if his bike’s new tubeless tires were holding air, Studly noticed a small group of worms headed his way.

“How odd.” He thought. “Maybe they’re attracted to the light.”

Stepping outside, he realized these worms weren’t behaving in a very wormlike manner. They raised their little heads in a suspiciously snakey way.

Now, my husband only fears a few things: crazy chickens, stampeding dairy cows, and snakes of any variety. These erstwhile worms were snakes, albeit, extremely skinny ones.

He freaked out and stomped each one in turn, then looked up to find more snakes headed his way. After all was said and done, Studly Doright had wiped out fourteen snakes. Maybe an entire generation!

I was appalled. “Why didn’t you just turn out the light? They were clearly attracted to it?”

“If I’d turned out the light, I wouldn’t have been able to see the snakes.”

I shuddered. Good point.

Peace, and sweet dreams, people!

Going Commando

This post might come under the Too Much Information category, so I’ll forgive you if you want to tune out.

I went to water aerobics this morning. I’d gotten up early and donned my two-piece swimsuit, pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt as a cover up. The water aerobics class didn’t begin until ten, so I went to my favorite coffee shop and worked on my current manuscript, managing to wrack up 1200 plus words in two hours. Not bad for a Saturday.

My watch alerted me when it was time to head to the pool and I arrived at Trousdale aquatics center with a few minutes to spare. My plan was to burn a ton of calories during my class, pack them back on at Sweet Pea Cafe, and then arrive back at Doright Manor before Studly Doright made it home from golf so I’d have my choice of nap locations. Dibs on the sofa!

About midway though froggy jumps, I realized I’d forgotten to pack my bra and undies. Hm. So as soon as I got out of the pool I stretched out on one of the loungers, soaking up the sun. But the clock was ticking. If I wanted that sofa nap I was going to need to take drastic measures.

In the locker room I pulled my T-shirt over my sort of soggy swimsuit top, but the bottoms were still really wet. So, I did something I can’t remember ever having done in my life. I pulled my jeans up over my naked bum and went commando.

Even though there was no way anyone could possibly tell I had no knickers on, I felt like I was wearing a scarlet letter on my forehead: C for commando or B for breezy. I gobbled down my lunch and scurried back to my car, then raced home, pulling into the driveway just minutes ahead of the competition.

And yes. I got the sofa—but only after I added undies to my ensemble. Going commando isn’t going to be my new norm. I promise.

Peace, people!

Freak Out

A succession of banana spiders has spun webs on one corner of Doright Manor for the past few months. We’ve watched as the web grew and evolved as each patient female passed on her creation to the next in line.

I believe we were on the fourth in the lineage, and the once meager web now stretched from one side of the driveway to the other. Truly, it was a work of art. Until it wasn’t. Until I somehow forgot about the freaking web and walked right through it this morning.

Imagine me, engrossed in reading a bit of mail I’d retrieved from the mailbox, blithely strolling from the porch to the garage when the unmistakable sticky filaments plastered against my face, my hair, my glasses, my arms. I screamed and launched into the Oh Hell No dance hoping to shake loose the mama arachnid who might be about to deliver her painful bite at any moment. I think I was successful, but two hours post-encounter I still imagine she’s lurking nearby.

Not one of ours, but this is what a banana spider looks like. Beautiful, but their bites are extremely painful.

Worst of all I feel horrible about destroying her web. Hoping she won’t seek revenge.

Peace, people!

The Cat Wants What the Cat Wants

Routine is everything to our cat, Gracie.

She wakes Studly Doright up at five every morning and makes him carry her to the kitchen for a treat.

After he leaves for work, she snuggles with me and insists I get up at six. While I shower, Gracie watches me from her ringside seat on the side of bathtub. She presides over my morning routine, ensuring that I take my vitamins, and calcium, and allergy meds, and well, you get the idea.

The day proceeds with Gracie allotting time for feeding, naps, and play when she’s not actively supervising my work. In the evening she lets us know it’s time to stretch out on one of the chairs on the screened-in porch by pawing at the patio door.

Bedtime routine with Gracie is reminiscent of my days of tucking in a toddler. She gets a bowl of her favorite wet food, a bit of playtime, then we snuggle into our bed. But Gracie isn’t ready to sleep.

She’ll jump off the bed in dramatic fashion and rush down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon she’ll come back toting a bag of treats in her mouth. If she can’t get to the cat treats, she’ll bring a bag of people food—nuts, trail mix—whatever comes closest to resembling her treats, so the gist of her message is clear—one last snack, please.

Once she gets what she wants Gracie disappears into one of the guest bedrooms for the night only reappearing in our room when it’s time to wake Studly up for work. And the routine begins again,

I wish Gracie had been around during the years I taught. I could’ve used a good scheduler.

Peace, people.

Awareness Issues: Who’s Clueless Now?

I’m not known for my mindfulness. Frequently I walk into doors, trip over lines in the floor, and manage to poke myself in the eye while applying makeup. I once nearly caught the house on fire by accidentally dropping a load of clean laundry on top of a burning candle. If not for the unique scent of burning elastic, I’d likely be living somewhere other than Doright Manor. And those were my favorite panties. 😢

Studly Doright, on the other hand, prides himself on his observational abilities. And I have to admit that he notices stuff other males often don’t—new haircuts, new eyeglass frames, anything new I happen to have purchased hoping he wouldn’t notice. That old line “This old dress? I’ve had it for ages!” never works on him.

Very rarely will he be out of the loop when something changes in his domain. But when he slips, I’m there to take note.

Just a couple of days ago I heard him say, “Hey, you finally hung the grandkids’ senior pictures!”

“Yes, honey, they’ve been up in the same location for two months now.”

“Really?”

“Yep. A couple of feet from the door you walk through multiple times every single day. Now who has awareness issues?”

Then he reminded me of that time when I didn’t realize he’d shaved off his beard until he’d been clean shaven for a month. In my defense, it never was much of a beard.

And the time I got into the driver’s seat of a complete stranger’s car and wondered why my key wouldn’t fit into the ignition.

And also the time I had a conversation with my own reflection in a mirror. I was a bit drunk, but still…

I guess I remain the clueless one. How could he not notice these stunning young people though? Boggles the mind. Has anyone seen my phone? Oh, right, I’m using it to blog.

Garrett and Dominique

Peace, people?

Fasten Your Seatbelts

Studly Doright and I decided to get away for a couple of days. Our anniversary is on the 30th, so it seemed a good way to celebrate 45 years of marriage. I was going to say “wedded bliss” but that count is only around 20 years. I jest. Mostly.

We left Doright Manor under sunny skies, but about an hour from our destination we ran into a torrential rainstorm complete with lightning and thunder. Visibility was down to about fifteen feet and I had a firm hold on what we lovingly call the “oh shit” handle.

Not even the worst part of the storm…

We’re headed to Jacksonville where we have reservations at the Margaritaville Resort on Jacksonville Beach. Hoping the storm isn’t a harbinger of what’s to come. Of course Studly is sick of hearing me sing “Stormy Weather,” so he might just pull over and kick me out. If you see me hitchhiking on Interstate 10 west of Jacksonville, throw me a towel, please.

Peace, people!

Travel Day

I’m on the road today, traveling to be with friends whose son died unexpectedly this week. I left Doright Manor yesterday and should arrive at my destination in Oklahoma early this afternoon.

There was no time for stopping except for necessary stuff (gas, potty breaks, food) yesterday, but at one of those necessary stops I was delayed leaving by a mother hen and her chicks.

One little chick was under my car, while others were scurrying across the parking lot, but mama gathered all of her babies together and headed for safety. Because that’s what mamas do.

Peace, people.

Half a Cat: A Furry Tail

Gracie is upset that I won’t allow her to go outside on the screened-in porch this afternoon. It’s an 80° day and the sun is shining, but there’s a breeze blowing the pollen around, and my allergies just can handle it.

So Gracie is making do with the next best thing.

That tail starts flicking about now and again leading me to believe there might be a lizard teasing the cat from outside the window. This cat leads a really tough life.

Peace, people!