Tag: Doright Manor

All Fun and Games

  
Our housekeeper came on the 24th, and Doright Manor was spotless by the time she left: Tiles gleamed, faucets sparkled, and countertops shone. Studly Doright and I enjoyed Christmas Day and Boxing Day in a clean castle. Then the grandchildren arrived, along with the jolly mess that accompanies them everywhere they roam.

Within minutes of the kids’ arrival at midnight on Sunday the house looked like a violent windstorm had blown through. Suitcases exploded flinging clothing hither and yon, chairs that do not normally recline somehow morphed into loungers, and our cabinets were emptied of anything edible. 

And this was all before the gifts were opened. Once that occurred, Doright Manor disappeared beneath acres of brightly colored wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. There might’ve been actual books, gadgets, and toys in the pile, I’m just not sure they’ll ever be located. 

Thankfully the weather here in the Florida panhandle has been perfect for exploring the outdoors this week. The kids spent hours riding the mini-bike and motorcycle that Studly (a.k.a. Poppa) fixed up for them in the weeks before their arrival. The property surrounding the manor provided a perfect track for our budding bikers.

   
 And we spent a couple of hours learning basic gun safety.

   
 A prodigious amount of tree chopping took place, as well.

  
In other words, we tried to keep them outside as much as possible. 

The crew headed home on New Year’s Day leaving behind a trail of detritus and memories. The house might look like we’ve lost a rousing game of Jumanji, but it was worth every second.

Peace, people.

Silent Night

  
I went outside last night hoping to snap a picture of the full moon. Surrounded by trees, Doright Manor doesn’t have the best location for moon viewing, full or otherwise, and the clouds added another hindrance. 

The weather, though, was indecently warm for December, even for Tallahassee, Florida–75 degrees and as humid as a sauna. I wore my favorite flip flops and sang Walking in a Winter Wonderland to the neighborhood. No one threw rotten tomatoes, so I broke into Silent Night for an encore. From across the lake someone called, “Please, oh please!” I chose to take that as a request for more.

Peace, people!

It’s A Wonderful Life, You Know

Christmas Eve at Doright Manor  
George Bailey found out
When prayers sent up saved him
Life is wonderful

 

A gift from our daughter!
 
Although our children
Are far away this Christmas
Their presence is felt

I’m watching my favorite Christmas movie, It’s a Wonderful Life. As usual I began crying when young George Bailey prevented the pharmacist, Mr. Gower, from poisoning a young child. Studly Doright wanted to watch the next episode of Fargo, but I argued that we could watch that any old time. 

For once I won the battle for the remote. Studly’s even resisted the urge to flip to another channel during commercial breaks. I love him, even if he did buy me a holster for the gun I received for Christmas last year and still haven’t touched. Love is funny that way.

The cats are both drunk on catnip. 

   
 And I’m just content. I just heard a bell ring, and you know what that means.

 

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.
 
Peace, people!

Tantrum

Studly Doright and I were chilling out at Doright Manor. We’d just purchased season 1 of Fargo and had settled in to watch. Studly had the white fuzzy throw on his lap, and I had plucked our newest crocheted throw off the back of the sofa to keep things cozy. Soon Scout, our elder cat, settled herself on my lap and began purring. 

That’s when Patches lost it. Our normally timid younger kitty ran around like a mini-banshee, howling and scratching, shaking with fury. After tearing around the den for three full minutes she finally stopped her tirade and sat glaring at us from under the Christmas tree. Studly and I watched in amused bewilderment. Bemuserment, if you will.

Then it occurred to me that Patches had claimed the new throw. In fact, she’d been napping on it nonstop almost from the moment we brought it home from the Christmas party where we’d been fortunate enough to win it.

Patches was pissed that Scout was snuggled on the throw she’d claimed as her own. Like any younger sibling who’d been deprived of her favorite blankie Patches was throwing a tantrum.

Once we figured out the cause of distress I eased Scout from my lap and returned the throw to Patches who snuggled down immediately. Now Scout is peacefully sleeping near the tree and all is right with our world at Doright Manor.

   
 Peace, people!

Golden

rain blessed monday
peace abounds
beads of golden autumn leaves
linked through and around
while squirrels scamper
acorns to bury
in preparation for Florida’s
winter fury.

Our cats, Patches and Scout, insisted that I join them outside on the screened in porch this afternoon. After a brief nap with Scout nestled on my lap and Patches in the chair beside me I began watching the gray squirrels zipping around and hiding nuts like there is no tomorrow. I hope they aren’t disappointed by our dearth of winter weather. Maybe I’ll invite the little darlings inside for hot cocoa.

Presenting the Finished Tree

   
It’s not going to make it into the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or Southern Living. Martha Stewart isn’t going to copy my decorating technique, but it’s done. Or perhaps overdone. 

A couple of times I tried to stop hanging ornaments, but it was as if some one or some thing made me keep going until the tree itself was barely visible underneath the eclectic mix of Christmas tchotchkies. Must be the true spirit of Christmas at work right here in Doright Manor.

In the process of decorating the evergreen I managed to break not one, not two, but three ornaments: Dancer of eight tiny reindeer fame, Mickey Mouse dressed as Scrooge, and a random snowman. Now I’m down to just six reindeer, having never acquired Vixen. 

Maybe if I have another glass of wine this evening the tree will begin to look less cluttered and more classy. What goes best with kitsch? Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot?

Peace, people!

Easy Livin’

Our covered, screened-in porch is the perfect place to relax on a mild November evening. There’s a family celebration in full force across the lake, fairy lights and lilting voices twinkling on the calm water.

  
I’m sipping a Shock Top Raspberry Wheat Ale and tapping my toes in time with the guitar music drifting across the pond. Whoever’s playing isn’t very adept at their craft, but they’re quite enthusiastic. I like that in my musicians.

The man I adore, Studly Doright, is inside the house heating leftovers from yesterday’s Thanksgiving Day meal. I’m not a bit hungry, having already eaten two pieces of pecan pie, an avocado, bacon, and cheese omelet, and a ham sandwich today. The ale is my dessert. 

Life is good here at Doright Manor. There’s a black and white cat winding around my ankles and a black cat snuggled down for a nap in the chair next to me. No, it’s not an exciting life, but it is filled with peace and love.

  
Peace, people.

Conundrum

I roused myself from bed fairly early Monday morning, showered, drank a couple of cups of coffee, and did my best to look presentable before leaving Doright Manor on a minor shopping expedition. On most days my efforts at self beautification are wasted, and I leave the house looking, at best, like a third generation homeless woman on a epically bad day. 

On this Monday, though, the stars were aligned, the makeup gods full of good will, and I looked really good for a 59-year-old grandmother. Dare I say I was glowing? I blew myself a goodbye kiss in the mirror and took off in search of items Studly Doright wanted for his new diet. (More on that in a future post–if I don’t kill him first.)

 

No, this isn’t me, but if you squint and pretend then it’s almost me.
 
While pushing a cart around Whole Foods I stooped to pick up a can of cranberry sauce from a bottom shelf and felt my back suddenly go “squitch!” I winced in pain and attempted to stand up in the throes of a full blown muscle spasm. Abandoning the cranberry sauce I crab walked to the checkout and paid for the things in my basket. 
 
Again, not me.
 
My face must have reflected the squitching going on in my lumbar region because the lovely young cashier found someone to carry my groceries to the car for me. Truly sometimes age and its accompanying pains have their perks. 

Once in the car I thought in my practical self voice, “Go have a massage.”

My vain self answered, “But, but, your makeup looks so good today! You know that only happens once ever decade or so.”

For a heartbeat I listened to my vain self. Thank goodness I decided to go with practical me, but for a heartbeat I was faced with the ultimate conundrum: Is it better to feel good or to look good? In a perfect world I could do both.

 

This is what I think I look like when getting a massage.

 
This comes closer to the truth.
  
Peace, people!

Doright Manor Musings

Outside Doright Manor the temperature is 85 degrees. It’s a warm October day, but not terribly humid. Of course I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort having just enjoyed a Smart Ones spicy chicken and fries meal. 

There are two separate shows being played out for my enjoyment. One is a recording of The Walking Dead. The other is the steady procession of roofers hauling bundles of shingles up a ladder to our covered/screened in porch addition.

My cats are fascinated by the roofing show. They want to attack the dangling cords and to pounce on the dropped sacks that seemingly appear from nowhere and float enticingly to the ground. They are both indoor cats, though, so the roofing show is as real to them as The Walking Dead is to me.

Hopefully before too many more days all the work on the porch will be completed, and the cats will be able to venture into the great indoor outdoors. Studly Doright and I are making predictions on their first adventures. 

Scout, we feel, will embrace the porch immediately, claiming it as her territory, but Patches fears everything and it may take her awhile to cross the threshold. I give her a week before she takes the plunge, whereas Studly thinks it will take much longer. We live exciting lives, don’t we?

  

Peace, people!

Suspense at Doright Manor

Occasionally I have delusions of grandeur, but I’m never fooled into believing they’re anything other than delusions. I’m not a brave woman. Tonight was proof of that.

I returned home to a dark, empty house after an afternoon at the movies and some heavy-duty window shopping. Studly Doright wasn’t yet home, and I didn’t expect him to return for several more hours. As usual I parked my car in the garage and walked around the car to the door. 

Before opening the door I heard a beep-beep-beeping sound. Carefully I turned the knob and edged the door open. The entry alarm was going off. We’ve lived at Doright Manor for a year and a half and the alarm has never even peeped. Slowly I backed away, shut the door, and retreated to my car.

I’m not going to lie, my hands were shaking as I dialed 911 while simultaneously backing the car out of the garage. The operator was professional, and thorough, and didn’t sound like she thought I was being a paranoid idiot.

Then I had to wait. Outside. In the dark. Okay, I had my lights on high beam, but the dark outside of that bright halo seemed particularly threatening. I called Studly and told him all that had transpired. As we talked I noticed my phone battery was on the verge of going dead and hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. Signing off, I felt utterly alone.

By the time the officer arrived, a seemingly endless twelve minutes after I initially called 911, I was convinced that I should sleep in my car until Studly got home. Hey, it’s a small SUV, I could get comfy in there.  As long as I didn’t have to use the restroom I’d be ok, right?

The second Deputy Perkins appeared I felt immense relief. He and I approached the back door and could hear the incessant beeping. My heart was thumpety-thumping, providing a nice rhythm section for the alarm. 

I turned on the light just inside the back door and with trepidation walked to the flashing alarm, expecting it to read something along the lines of “Danger, Danger, Run for Your Life!” Instead, the words Power Outage were displayed in large LED letters. 

Sheepishly I grinned at Deputy Perkins, “Honestly, sir, we’ve had disruptions in power before and they’ve never set off the alarms.” 

To his credit, and the credit of his entire department, he was so understanding, and if he thought me crazy he had the decency not to say so out loud.

He also insisted on going through Doright Manor room by room to make sure no one was hiding there. Thankfully all he found were the two cats who were both fairly frazzled from having listened to the annoying alarm for heaven knows how long. One had expressed her displeasure by puking on a bathroom rug. 

Now I’m sitting here sipping wine and contemplating the excitement of my evening. I’m still fairly filled with adrenaline from the fright. I know I’ll crash soon, but until then I’ll be doing something constructive. Like having more wine.

 

Patches has assured me she’s ready to serve and protect.
 
Peace, people!