Nineteen days ’til spring.
Someone please tell the flowers
They have bloomed too soon
Four hundred plus hours
Winter’s hand stays in command
Do calendars lie?
We suffered our share
Of thirty degree days, at
Least three by my count.
Today though, sun reigns
Warding off the brisk chill of
Florida’s winter.
And those who survived
Are made stronger still by that
Which has not killed us.
A little sarcasm on this Tuesday. Forgive me for basking in this beautiful day.
Peace, people!
My cold has faded to a manageable annoyance, leaving me with a slightly sexy rasp instead of my normal high-pitched twang. It’s my favorite stage of the illness, and I wonder why I couldn’t have just fast-forward to the good part.
We had a doozy of a thunderstorm last night. The sky this morning is a gray blue, and the forest looks like something out of a fairy tale, all vine-y and mysterious. A migrating flock of ducks has landed on Lake Yvette, periodically hassled by a nesting pair of snowy egrets. I tried taking a picture, but only ended up startling all parties involved. (See below)
My dad would have loved sitting out on the back porch, having a cup of coffee, and of course his ever present cigarette. He’d have said, “Sis, look at this.” Or, “I just saw something run through the brush right there.” We’d speculate as to what he’d seen, maybe catching another glimpse, maybe not.
And he and I would just sit watching the woods all morning, pausing only to fetch another cup of coffee.
The ducks weren’t that crazy about me snapping a picture.
Peace, People.
If I ever want a good laugh I need go no further than Craigslist, that online domain where goods are bought, sold, and traded, where jobs are found and relationships launched.
I’ve never actually purchased anything advertised on Craigslist, nor have I discovered a job worthy of my considerable talents, but there is something slightly mesmerizing about Craigslist. I’m especially fond of the personal ads and rants and raves.
In the relatively small market of Tallahassee I discovered a potential 50 Shades of Grey scenario in the making:
Tallahassee Italian late 50’s (looks and acts younger) seeks attractive open minded younger female for a 50 shades relationship. Please send description or pic in first reply. No experience necessary if interested in learning the lifestyle. Be open to :
-being shown off
-shared
-light bondage
-spanking
-costumes
-role playing
-being trained
-obediant
-more
I am a classy, patient, understanding teacher. If you have experince let me know.
He says he’s classy, so he must be, right? He does have some serious spelling deficiencies, though.
And how about this rant I politely edited about an older female driver from a self-avowed nice young man?
You are a menace. You are not in a position to lecture anyone on driving or etiquette. I apologize for ending our conversation with an abrupt “F____ You” and I admit it was not my finest moment. However, I was a bit flustered after you almost caused an accident and then ambushed me in the parking lot. When I calmly explained to you that I had the right of way, you agreed. Then you claimed that the rules did not apply to you and proceeded to denigrate me, my manners, and my upbringing. My manners are fine, because I was not raised by people like you.
If I see you pull a stunt like that again, I will do the polite thing and call the cops.
Sincerely,
Nice Young Man
I couldn’t make this stuff up, folks!
So if you’re in need of a giggle, check out Craigslist. Oh, and read my poem:
Craigslist
Whatever I need
Day or night
A quick search of
Craigslist can make
It all right.
Need a car?
A job or a house
To rent?
Golf clubs or maybe
A small pup tent?
Personal ads
In search of romance?
Casual encounters
Might turn raves
Into rants.
Just need to discuss
A topic online?
The forums can
Guide you,
If you just have the time.
Oh Craigslist however
Did we survive
Before you brought
This variety
Into our lives?
Peace and happy reading, People!
There once was a man from Nantucket….
Whoa! That’s not where I’m going with my limericks.
Apparently limericks come in three types: ones you can tell in the presence of ladies (what a sexist thought), ones that can be told in the presence of clergy, and true limericks. Mine are just a mixture.
Studly and I moved out east
To avoid that old snowy beast
In Florida we’ve begun
To worship the sun
Or to revel in warmth at the least.
A bather in beauty to see
In a suit cut way up the knee
Once arrived on the beach
As pert as a peach
Amazingly she was a he.
Believe it or not, the beautiful person pictured above is transgender. Cool, eh? I should look so good!
Jose Cuervo and I went a’dancing
He wasn’t much for romancing
After two or three shots
I puked up my guts
And Jose went on with his prancing.
There once was a lady so daring
Her bodice was cut low for baring
The men all around
Made hardly a sound
So caught up were they in their staring.
My husband, Studly Doright, and I recently purchased a home, Doright Manor, on a small lake near Tallahassee, Florida. We are not lake people. We are Texas panhandle people, born and raised in the dry, dusty plains and ill-prepared to handle any body of water larger than the occasional rain puddle.
When we bought our lake home we both envisioned rowing hither and yon around our lake for hours on end, working those muscles that spend too many hours typing on a keyboard and too few doing actual labor. We were going to get in shape! To that end, Studly bought us a two-person kayak. Thank goodness he had the foresight to purchase a fishing kayak–broad on the bottom and damned near impossible to tip over.
Our first venture into the world of kayaking was tense. I yelled. He cried. Or maybe it was the other way around. At any rate, that was just the part where we tried to get into the vessel without getting wet. After several borderline pornographic physical manipulations, Studly and I found ourselves seated in the appropriate slots. To us it made sense that he take the front seat and I take the back. Him: Strong. Me: Weak. We: Wrong.
The back person does all the hard work. All of it. The front person is just there to look pretty and occasionally help steer. We discovered this at the halfway point. There was no way we could switch places without one of us getting drenched. I had to shoulder the load–the big load where the pretty one should be.
Slowly I rowed. Inch by painful inch I paddled and an hour later we found ourselves at our dock confronted with a final challenge. How the heck do we get out of this infernal thing? My arms were shot and Studly couldn’t get enough leverage to pull himself up onto the dock. You see, boats don’t stay still when you pull them into the dock. No. They continue to move in all sorts of ways. Back. Forth. Sideways. They rock and roll. They Zumba.
But, we are not quitters. Nossirree. Neither of us wanted to die out on that lake mere yards from our own back door. “Let’s back the boat away from the dock,” said Studly. “We’ll aim for that grassy area beside the dock, get a running start and shoot onto dry land.”
“Huh?”
“Yea,” he said. “Just help get us out into the inlet and I’ll power us onto the grass.”
“Sure.” Wearily, I pushed against the dock, and then stroke, stroke, stroked
out into our little inlet, giving my man plenty of room to make his final stand.
He instructed me to lift my paddle and be ready to spring out of the boat as soon as we hit the shore. Spring. Yep, he said that. I’ve never seen arms work so powerfully. Boom, boom, boom and we hit paydirt. My spring was sprung and I fell onto damp grass, almost, but not quite, touching my lips to the solid ground.
“Quick! Grab the boat!” Studly yelled. Just in time, I caught hold to prevent him from floating away. I steadied the vessel as he rolled out, sprawling in lake mud. I’d have laughed at the sight, but I couldn’t summon the energy.
We both recovered. Slowly. And we’ve been out in our kayak many times since that first one. Every time we learn something new, but getting out never gets easier. I keep intending to google the topic. “How do I get out of my kayak without inflicting mortal wounds on my partner?” The good news? I think I’m developing an arm muscle. But it might be a mosquito bite. Time will tell.
Peace, People.
Above is glimpse of our lake.
Irish cream coffee
Sun shining on Yvette Lake
Silvery fish surfaces.
The weather this week in Tallahassee has been just beautiful. Temperatures have been in the low 70s with no wind, so I’ve been walking every day, which happens to be real exercise, or so I’ve been told.
Most days I just stroll around the neighborhood, but yesterday afternoon I left the crockpot on low to cook Studly’s much-anticipated dinner and drove into town so I could walk around Lake Ella.
Just about a mile from the Florida capital building sits this scenic little lake surrounded by gigantic oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. Lake Ella is a popular destination for walkers and bird watchers.
Above is pictured my favorite feature of Lake Ella, a huge oak tree that spreads its generous branches near the ground for children to climb on and around. Such a sweet tree!
Little parks like Lake Ella are just a part of what makes Tallahassee so appealing to a girl from the arid southwest plains of The Texas panhandle. When I die, don’t bury my heart on the lone prairie, just spread my ashes somewhere near a lake. The little fish will love feasting on me!
Peace, people!
Some weird hunting season must be in full swing here in the Florida panhandle. My friend Lee Ann, visiting from Indiana, and I discovered this on our return from Apalachicola on Saturday afternoon.
We’d driven down to eat lunch at a little restaurant called The Owl (I highly recommend this charming place where the waitress said she’d be back to ‘water us’ before taking our order). After our wonderful meal–Lee Ann had a grouper sandwich; I had a crab and shrimp salad–we wandered around the quaint downtown area spending money and making witty repartee.
No trip to the Gulf would be complete without a visit to St. George Island, so even though the temps were in the mid-40’s Lee Ann and I walked on the beach for a bit before heading home.
Instead of taking my well-worn path back to Tallahassee through Sopchoppy and Crawfordville, I turned towards the tiny burgs of Sumatra, Wilma, and Clio. All three are one-blink towns: blink once and you’ll miss them. This road is almost completely enveloped in pine forest, with occasional glimpses of swampland.
Just past Sumatra we noticed a trio of 4-wheel drive pickup trucks being driven erratically on the grassy area beside the main road. Lee Ann and I both wondered aloud just what was wrong with those um, knot heads. A little further along we realized what was wrong: Hunting Fever.
Hound dogs, armed camouflage clad men, and pickup trucks abounded. The testosterone glimmered all around us, like hairy legged fairy dust. We even spotted one hunter standing on the tool box of his truck, rifle at the ready. Instinctively I ducked thinking we would feel a bullet whiz past at any minute. It was madness, I tell you, madness!
After stopping for a bathroom break in Hosford we turned north towards Tallahassee. Not far beyond the Hosford city limits sign we came up on a group of pickup trucks parked next to a bridge. A man wearing a bright orange hunting vest over the requisite camouflage ensemble stepped into the road and began gesticulating wildly. Even though his intended message wasn’t clear we slowed down just in case he was attempting to warn us about a large herd of elephants on the highway.
A reduction in our speed must have been his goal since we received a cheerful thumbs up from Mr. Orange Vest. We soon saw a hunting hound apparently hot on the trail of some prey, nose to the ground heading off the road and into the brush. Had we not slowed down we might have hit the little guy. Thanks Mr. Orange Vest!
Lee Ann and I never did figure out what was being hunted so exuberantly yesterday. We did see deer placidly grazing along our route, so that didn’t seem likely. Whatever it was I hope most of them successfully evaded the hunters, and that no dogs or hunters were injured in the process.
Peace, People!
I am not squeamish. Heck, anyone who has taught elementary schoolchildren knows that one either loses fear of all creepy crawly critters or one does a good job of faking bravery. Otherwise one’s desk will have lots of unwelcome visitors during the school year. I became quite adept at feigning affection for a variety of animals: “Oh, what a precious little tarantula! May I hold him?” “You have a pet boa constructor? Those are my favorite!”
Honestly I don’t mind most critters as long as I’m not caught unaware. It’s the ‘holy crap’ moments that get me. Yesterday, I had one of those ‘holy crap’ moments. The day had been about as wonderfully boring as a day can be. I’d spent the morning putting away Christmas decorations and attempting to locate all of my regular decor. I swear, one of these days I’m going to figure out a way of tagging decorative items so I can remember where things go.
I mailed a package to our oldest granddaughter in Texas, and then stopped by the big truck stop to get a soda. When I returned home I parked the car and then walked up the driveway to get our mail. Upon opening the mailbox not one, but two lizards ran out to greet me. Holy crap! I screamed, dropped the mail onto which one of the lizards was clinging and did the “ooh ooh ooh” dance–shaking my hands and stomping my feet just in case….well, just in case. Poor lizards–I think they had a holy crap moment, as well.
Studly and I live near Tallahassee, Florida, in the state’s panhandle. We both love this part of Florida, but it is not what most folks have in mind when they think of the Sunshine State. For one thing, there are very few palm trees in our area. Instead, we have massive moss-covered oaks and towering pine trees. In addition, our terrain is hilly, quite unlike the famously flat peninsula.
I do wish we lived nearer to the Gulf or the Atlantic. In a perfect world, I’d live a maximum of 10 minutes from a white sand beach, as it is, I’m about 75 miles from the Gulf, but the first really good beach is about 90 miles away. Yesterday was January 1, 2015, and I resolved to be at the beach on that day. Since I’m a grown woman with a driver’s license I waited for Studly to depart for the golf course and pointed my car south to the Gulf of Mexico.
On previous trips I had always immediately gone straight to St. George island, turning left just past Bayside Burgers in Eastpoint, but today I drove on to Apalachicola for brunch. The restaurant I’d planned on visiting was closed (New Year’s Day, duh!), so I asked a local couple for a recommendation and they pointed me to Caroline’s River Dining.
I had a yummy crab quiche for brunch while seated at a table with a fine view of the Apalachicola River. Afterwards, I strolled around the historic downtown, mainly taking photos of signs for some reason.
Only a few businesses were open, so this is definitely a place I’ll need to revisit in the future.
On my way home I couldn’t pass up going out to St. George Island to start off the new year with my toes in the sand.
Maybe this will provide my beach fix for a little while. Or maybe, I’ll convince Studly to move to the Gulf of Mexico. I can see me as a professional beach bum.
Praying for Eyebrowz 