Upon Further Reflection

Studly Doright is a capable kind of man. He’s a combination of Mr. Fix-It and MacGyver wrapped up in one nice looking package. Seldom do I find something he doesn’t comprehend how to do. During our nearly 44 years of marriage I’ve only encountered a handful of things that stump my guy, but recently a new one popped up.

Since the pandemic, we’ve been performing personal maintenance tasks that we’ve paid others to do in the past. I’ve been giving myself (awful) pedicures and (even worse) manicures, and I’ve been keeping Studly’s hair trimmed. Studly doesn’t have much hair to trim these days, and by the time I finish shearing him, he has barely enough to notice.

After the last trim I discovered Studly in the bathroom, looking in the big mirror above our sinks and holding my hand mirror behind his head. He was trying to see if I’d cut his hair evenly.

“How do you do this? I can’t see anything,” he said.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you turned around and used the small mirror to reflect the back of your head into the big mirror?

After several tries he made the magic happen, and I had the satisfaction of briefly knowing how to do something he did not. It’s not as rare an occurrence as a Halley’s Comet’s sighting, but it likely won’t happen again in my lifetime.

Peace, people!

Trying to Think

I sat down at the computer today intent on adding a few words to my new work in progress. My morning tea was steaming in a favorite cup beside me on the table where I work. My yummy Metamucil cinnamon flavored fiber crackers (I’m 63, you know) were arranged tastefully on a colorful plate. Let the words flow!

Instead, they trickled. Oh, there were a few bon mots exchanged between my main characters, but nothing that really drives the story. After a couple of frustrating hours I called it a day and tackled the laundry instead.

Perhaps I’ll have a glass of wine this evening and write something. Anything! But so far today I feel like the Three Stooges’ Curly who famously said, “I’m trying to think, but nothing happens!”

https://youtu.be/mlejsgxOxrU

Peace, people!

And Now We Give You Brain-eating Amoeba!

If 2020 were a football player it would have been kicked out of the game for multiple unnecessary roughness penalties.

Pandemic, murder hornets, visiting dust from Africa, wide-spread social unrest, rampant unemployment, a new swine flu in the news, Tom Brady traded to Tampa Bay, and now we have a brain-eating amoeba. WTF?

To be fair, the brain-eating amoeba isn’t a completely new hazard, and can be avoided by following a few simple activities, according to the CDC: Avoid putting your head under the water in hot springs and other untreated thermal waters. Avoid water-related activities in warm freshwater during periods of high water temperature. Avoid digging in, or stirring up, the sediment while taking part in water-related activities in shallow, warm freshwater areas.

Oh, and if you use a Neti-pot to clear your sinuses use distilled water.

As for all the other stuff 2020 has brought us, keep wearing masks, avoid stirring up hornets, be kind to one another, don’t give up, and hope for a Tom Brady sighting. He is in Florida now, after all.

Peace, People!

.

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.

Fishing With the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

My experiences as a fisherman have all been lacking in excitement. And that’s fine with me. I have no desire to actually catch a fish; although, I do enjoy sitting in the shade by a peaceful lake with a fishing pole in one hand and a good beer in the other.

If any fish come to pay a call I just say, “No thanks, I’m a vegan.”

For those horrified that I might actually harm an innocent fish, please don’t fret. It seems one needs a hook and bait in order to land a fish. The pole alone isn’t sufficient to the task.

I do like songs about fishing, though. Well, one song anyway. I was out driving around this afternoon, listening to the Garth Brooks channel on SiriusXM, when my favorite Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song was played. The song, “Fishing in the Dark,” might not even be about fishing. Wink, wink. I have a feeling it’s a little tongue in cheek, and that makes me love it even more.

Peace, people!

A New Month; Oh Joy.

July 1st! Or as I like to call it, “another day in purgatory”; although, it’s been hotter than hell here in the Florida panhandle, so maybe I’ve skipped purgatory and just don’t know it yet.

Masks are mandatory here in Gadsden and Leon counties, yet the mandate doesn’t seem to be consistently enforced. I feel for business owners and mangers who are tasked with policing their own customers. Many can’t, or won’t, do it.

I’m certainly not going to confront a maskless person. That’s liable to get one shot in these parts. I do give great dirty looks—but I’m afraid the effect is lost since all the offenders can see are my eyes. I am good at squinting though.

Close approximation of my squinty eyed look.

Peace, people!