Tag: Havana Florida

Not that Desperate

Doright Manor where I reside with my husband of forty one years, is in a rural neighborhood about ten miles west of Tallahassee, Florida. We have a Havana, FL, address, but we are only slightly farther from Tallahassee than we are from the little town of Havana. On most days I drive into Tallahassee at least once to walk, shop, or sometimes to take in a movie.

The knowledge that Hurricane Irma will hit near us early next week has me feeling antsy, and even though I’ve already shopped for supplies I began to worry that I might have forgotten something. So yesterday I drove over to see the movie “It!” and followed up with a trip to a Publix grocery store.

My hope was that I could purchase some canned meat meals, such as tuna or chicken with crackers and mayonnaise, that require no refrigeration. I’d looked a couple of days ago, but the store was completely out of those items. The clerks thought they’d get some more in before the storm, so I deemed it worth a trip.

Here is what the canned meat aisle looked like:

I wasn’t even a little bit tempted by these delicacies:

Canned squid! Who knew? I just know I’m not that desperate.

The store was busy, but the mood was generally buoyant, even though now it looks as if Tallahassee will get a bigger piece of the storm than was previously predicted.

Studly Doright and I still aren’t sure if we’ll evacuate ahead of Irma. I’m leaving the decision up to him. I call him Studly Doright for a reason, so I’m in his capable hands.

Please send good vibes out to all those in the direct path of the storm, especially to one of my British blogging friends and her husband who are vacationing in Florida. They had to evacuate the Keys and may have to go to a shelter in Miami if their hotel has to be vacated.

Thanks for reading. I have absolutely the best followers. Peace, people.

Hurricane Watch, September 2017

Irma is coming, and she’s nobody’s favorite aunt. We’re watching her closely here at Doright Manor in Havana, Florida, and contemplating our options.

A Facebook friend from Melbourne, FL, sent me a link to a weather website that allows one to view a storm’s projected path and wind speeds in three hour increments.

ventusky.com

Just type in a location and the animated map will indicate when that area might be impacted and how long residents might be dealing with the brunt of the storm.

Below is the projection for Havana from late Sunday to early on Monday:

Pretty cool, huh? Of course these are all still projections.

If Irma had a heart she’d just dissipate and go frolic as some lighthearted waves in the Atlantic. Go away Irma! We have nothing you need!

Be prepared and stay safe!

Peace, people.

Well Tended Forest

I slipped outside last Sunday afternoon, too restless for a nap, too lazy to do laundry. Leaving the quiet air-conditioned comfort of our home for the heavy, humid Florida air I was temporarily sightless as my glasses fogged over. Mole-like, I stumbled up the driveway.

There was no purpose to my walk as I left the confines of Doright Manor and slowly trudged through the neighborhood, but I was struck as always by the abundance of foliage. A product of the semi-arid Texas panhandle where relatively few trees grow, I’m constantly amazed by the variety and the vigor of my surroundings. 

  
Studly Doright and I do not live in a prettily manicured housing development. When we moved to Tallahassee we steered clear of what I’ve come to call “cookie cutter” neighborhoods. I don’t mean that term to be derogatory. Indeed, our home in Melbourne, Florida, was in such an area, and we appreciated the continuity of architecture and the strict guidelines that kept the community pristine.

This time, though, we knew we’d most likely be settling into retirement in this home, and Studly wanted a separate garage for the storage and care of his motorcycles. Most home owners’ associations won’t approve that sort of project, so we opted for a more loosely governed neighborhood.

We still have a neighborhood covenant with strict building guidelines, though. For example, the brick, roof, and windows on the shop had to precisely match our home, and we (meaning Studly) had to pore over tons of paperwork until he had the request for building approval worded just right. 

And if the yards aren’t kept in a reasonably acceptable manner residents receive a nasty gram from the powers that be. So far we’ve managed to live up to our end of the bargain. So as I walked up our tree-shaded lane I noted one home in serious need of attention:

   
   
Several months back I stopped and spoke with the elderly woman who lived here. Her husband was in poor health and she was lonely. We visited for awhile and I gave her my address. I encouraged her to call if she needed me.

Well, not long after her husband passed away and her family placed her in a nursing home. My heart goes out to her. I can easily imagine Studly and me going through the same trials someday in the future.

I’m not so worried  about neighborhood aesthetics, except our next door neighbor is trying to sell her home, and the neglected one down the street probably doesn’t help her efforts.

Not much I can do, but I have offered my services to help spruce the place up if we get the go ahead. It’s a tough thing–no one wants to step on anyone else’s toes.

I snapped a few more photos of our quiet neighborhood as I walked and perspired under the Florida sun. Now I need a shower!

   
    
    
 
Peace, people!

Gator in the House

I succesfully rendezvoused with our son Jason in Jackson, Mississippi, and brought our grandkids, Dominique (13), and Jackson (10), home with me to Havana, Florida. No sooner had we gotten unpacked than Dominique headed to the lake with her fishing pole, and Jackson suited up to ride his minibike.

   
 

I had a glass of wine and handed over supervisory duties to Studly Doright, aka Poppa.

Dominque caught a fish right off the bat.

 
Prompting Jackson to come join in the fun:

  
And then our resident gator made an appearance:

 

 
I believe I’ll go have another glass of wine within the safe confines of Doright Manor and pray that no one falls prey to our reptile friend. 

Peace, people.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

This sweet home in my neighborhood has been on the market for several months.   
 I’ve never been inside the home, but the woman who lived here was lovely. She moved into Tallahassee to care for her three grandchildren after their mother, her daughter, passed away. 

Wouldn’t this gazebo be a cozy spot to sit with a good book on a fall afternoon?  
 
The large, well-tended yard has a variety of beautiful mature trees.  
  
There’s even a small garden plot in back as well as a storage shed. The lake isn’t visible in this photo, but it’s beyond the trees on the left. 
 When Miss Sandy lived there the yard always boasted a profusion of flowers in hanging baskets.

  
Now there are just the flowers in the trees. I’m not sure what this one is. It’s pink. That’s the extent of my knowledge.

Sweet Weekend, Part I

If days were desserts this past weekend would have been a fresh slice of orange sponge cake, piled high with luscious red strawberries and topped with cream cheese icing. It was that good.

After a ridiculously pleasant night’s sleep Friday night (thank you Tempur-pedic!), a refreshing shower, and a hearty breakfast I dressed and headed into Tallahassee on Saturday for the Word of [South] Festival of Literature and Music.

This marks the festival’s second year. I was in La Antigua de Guatemala last April and missed out. Not that I’m complaining. My week in Antigua was the experience of a lifetime. And from what I hear the festival saw its share of rain in 2015.

There was not even a hint of precipitation this time around, though, as authors, musicians, and artists from all over the country shared their time and talents with those of us in Tallahassee. There was something for everyone, from gospel, folk, soul, rock, and jazz on the musical spectrum and every imaginable genre on the literary side.

Cascades Park hosted the event and one had only to walk from one venue to another within the park to experience a completely new vibe. And did I mention that with the exception of two concerts  the event was free of charge? Sweet!   

I wandered aimlessly for a bit before finding a schedule of events for one of the stages.

  
The Biergarten stage was just one of five venues featuring performers. Seeing Rita Coolidge’s name on the list I hurried over to grab a seat. I had no idea who Leslie Poole and Paul Garfinkel were, but I arrived as their set was in progress and fell in love with their words and message.

  
Ms. Poole, the author of several books about Florida, read from her most recent published work, Saving Florida. I’m not a native Floridian, so learning about the efforts of women on the front lines of environmental activism in the Sunshine State was an eye-opening experience. 

Mr. Garfinkel’s engaging folk songs woven around Florida’s delicate ecosystem bestowed even greater weight to Ms. Poole’s vignettes as the two traded places in the spotlight. Their performance was a lively, thought-provoking give and take.

Leslie Poole, left, Paul Garfinkel and his accompanist.

Then the beautiful Rita Coolidge took the stage.

   

Rita, a graduate of Florida State University, read from her memoir Delta Lady, and entertained the crowd with tales of her bohemian days as an art major here. 

Rita, like all of the artists and authors, signed books after her presentation.

 

My friend Julie and her lovely mom enjoyed Rita’s talk with me. We hadn’t arranged to meet at the event; it just happened. Sweet, right?

After Rita’s presentation I had lunch at the Edison and ran into yet another friend, Cathy, who made room for me next to her place at the bar. We then hustled over to another of the stages to hear Diane Roberts read excerpts from her book, Tribal: College Football and the Secret Heart of America.

  

Having grown up in Texas, I could completely relate to Diane’s college football obsession. This woman, a professor at FSU, is hysterically funny. If you have any love for the game you need this book. Even if you despise the game you need this book. 

I knew Studly would be getting restless, so I headed home shortly after having Ms. Roberts sign my newly purchased copy of her book. When I got home he was chomping at the bit to take the Goldwing out for an evening drive, so we suited up (“all the gear, all the time” is our motto) and rode over to Havana for a meal at a local Italian restaurant, providing the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Tomorrow I’ll share photos of Sunday at the festival. I’m still on an intellectual and emotional high after my experiences. 

Peace, people!

Snow Warning

On Saturday night a light snow fell near Havana, Florida. I looked out the window and told Studly Doright that I saw white flakes fluttering on the breeze, but he was too busy polishing his golf clubs to get up and look for himself. He didn’t see snow; ergo, it did not snow.

When he returned home from playing golf on Sunday afternoon his first words were, “Hey, did you know it snowed here last night?”

I swear, one of these days that man is going to wish he’d paid attention to me!

 

Someone must have given this guy a lift to our neck of the woods.

The best thing about Florida living is that cold snaps are invariably followed by warm, sunny days.

  
And that’s just the way we like it.

Peace, people!
 
  
 

 

All Hands on Deck

Studly Doright and I bought our home in Havana, Florida, more than a year ago. We love this house and its little neighborhood of Lake Yvette. Recently, Studly added a nice garage/shop where he stores our motorcycles and does repair work as needed. He’s very pleased with the finished product, and I’m pleased when Studly is pleased.

The only part of the home we weren’t crazy about was the back porch. At first look, it was perfect, with nice brickwork and ample space for a table, grill, and a couple of lounge chairs. But anytime it rains, and it rains often in north Florida, all of the rainwater pools at one end of the deck, rendering it unusable. Obviously, after the home was built it settled counter to the drain. 

So, while we were in a building/remodeling frame of mind we decided to have the deck converted into a covered/screened porch. The contractor has begun the job, and like all such jobs it’s a bit messy. And noisy. 

The cats stay hidden most of the day, emerging only for their beloved Temptations treats. They have no idea yet just how wonderful the new screened in porch will be for two confirmed lifelong house cats. 

Studly and I are making bets as to how long it takes our youngest cat, Patches, to make her first steps into the wild new world. In her whole three years of life she’s been out of the house only to go to the vet and of course during our car ride from Illinois to Florida.

Our elder cat, Scout, has occasionally escaped when the front door has been left open a fraction too long. But then she would sit quivering on the front lawn until we could herd her back into the house. Neither cat will ever receive a medal for bravery.

Here are photos of our work in progress:

   
    
 We’re hoping to have the deck finished in a couple of weeks, then we can find out how our cats react. It is all about the cats, after all.

Peace, people!