He sits on my bookcase/nightstand, prepared to take on whatever evil comes my way. Except for snakes. He hates snakes.
Last night, though, Indy met a foe for which he was not prepared—a restless cat. I heard Gracie as she investigated the objects on the nightstand. Apparently she didn’t think it was time to go to bed, so first she knocked around an ink pen until it tumbled to the floor, then she tried to squeeze behind the books, causing them to tumble like dominoes.
After I straightened and reinforced the books, I noticed that Indy was in a perilous predicament—heels over head above a cavernous chasm!
Our new kitty, Gracie, is a grunter. When she jumps from pillar to post (which she does regularly) she emits a guttural grunt that sounds very much like a dog’s bark.
I’ve tried catching the sound on my phone, but she won’t grunt on cue. The closest approximation I can find is of Monica Seles at the height of her career.
Our new cat, Gracie, all but ignores her name. When I call her she flicks those outsized ears then turns her head away, determined not to answer to this construct of human language.
Studly Doright calls her Pretty Girl. She doesn’t answer to that either. After watching her make thirty-nine non-stop trips around the island in our kitchen, I began referring to her as Crazy Gracie. Still no reaction.
Crazy Gracie fits, doesn’t it?
I wonder if she has a name she likes better? She meows conversationally all the time. Maybe she’s trying to tell me her real name.
Oh, occasionally she makes a sound that sounds very much like a bark. Studly thought I was imagining things until he heard it, too. Maybe she’s a German Shepherd trapped in a cat’s body. I could try calling her Heidi or perhaps Gretchen.
Until she provides additional information, she’ll just be Gracie. I know she calls me “Meow, meow?” I answer to it every time.
Gracie, our new kitty, is a hoot. It’s been many years since we’ve had such an active cat, and both Studly Doright and I are having to relearn the dangers of extra sharp claws and crazy cat antics.
Today, I watched Gracie launch herself halfway across the den, where she knocked over a couch cushion before hurtling herself underneath the television. She bonked her head on the wall, turned around and did the whole thing in reverse. Afterwards she flopped down in the middle of the room and fell asleep almost instantly.
We’re working on the appropriate use of claws. She gets a stern “no!” any time she scratches the couch. Treats are given when she uses the scratching post instead. Savvy readers should invest in companies that make cat treats. you’ll be rich. Rich, I tell you!
I’ve had to resort to drinking copious amounts of wine just to maintain my equilibrium. Fortunately, I really like wine. And cats.
My 64th birthday was wonderful! Studly Doright surprised me by taking a day off of work, and we enjoyed a late breakfast at a local restaurant. Afterwards we dressed in our riding gear and took a motorcycle ride to Seminole State Park.
It was supposed to be a short ride—no more than sixty miles round trip, but a section of the road was closed due to a bridge being under repair. Did we give up? Hell, no. Studly programmed a different route into his gps and off we went.
Many, many miles later we reached the state park. There, we found a shady spot to park our bikes and hiked for a bit. The weather was perfect—temperatures in the mid-70’s and an almost cloudless blue sky. Studly posed for me in the “chapel.” See the steeple?
Afterwards we stopped at Spring Creek Resort somewhere near Donalson, Georgia, for a terrific lunch. I ate way too much, but hey, calories do not count on one’s birthday. That’s a fact.
The ride home was easy and uneventful. That is, until we turned into our housing development. The road to Doright Manor is filled with curves and hills, and for some reason, going around one curve I rolled on the throttle and came mere inches from becoming an off-road rider. Fortunately, I corrected my path and stayed on the pavement. The alternative wouldn’t have been pretty, and I likely wouldn’t be writing this blog post right now. 😳
Still congratulating myself for avoiding a major disaster I rolled into the driveway and up to the ramp into Studly’s garage. The bike was at an awkward angle, so I killed the engine and asked Studly if he’d ride the bike into the garage for me. Of course he said he would. That’s why I call him Studly Doright!
But guess who tried to get off the bike without putting her kickstand down? Yes, that would be me. In the blink of an eye I was hitting the driveway, my helmet bouncing off the asphalt and the bike laying on top of me.
Miraculously, only the windshield was damaged in the fall, and we’d already decided the aftermarket shield was too tall for my liking, so we will just replace it sooner rather than later.
My helmet saved my noggin from serious injury. My head literally bounced when I landed. And I landed on my right side. That’s the same side I injured when I fell into/out of bed a few weeks ago, so at least I still have one operational side.
So maybe it’s time I got a stunt double. Contact me if you’re interested. I can’t pay much, but you’ll never be bored.
Does anyone other than me go off the deep end when it comes to adapting to new technology?
For my birthday Studly Doright bought me a lovely new Mac Book Air. Within ten minutes of opening it I was ready to throw it out the window.
My password didn’t work. I called Apple Support and got a guy who was brusque and not at all helpful. A Google search proved to be much more productive.
The new laptop doesn’t have Microsoft Word installed, so I’ll need to figure all that out if I’m to transfer my documents from my HP. And, how does one transfer files when the Mac Book doesn’t have a slot to insert a thumb drive? My manuscripts are all on the HP. Argh!
As of today, I’m 64 years old. I want things to be easy. New tech is never easy. Will there be a point when I say, “Enough!”? How will I know?
Pardon me now. I need to retrieve my new Mac Book from the trash heap.
When I was in my teens, Ringo Starr’s song, “You’re 16,” was a big hit. I even created a goofy dance number to the tune and performed it for my mom and the guy I was dating at the time. Now, I feel compelled to create a special dance for “When I’m Sixty-four.” It could be epic.
Yesterday I had my annual physical. It was supposed to have taken place in July, but COVID got in the way. COVID still played a big part in the visit. When I arrived I had to call the office to let them know I was there. The receptionist put a nurse on the phone who proceeded to ask me approximately 9,375,069 questions as I stood on the porch in front of their building.
One of the questions was, “Do you feel safe at home?” I thought she’d asked, “Do you have a new phone?” to which I answered “no.” Well that set off a whole flurry of additional questions. Finally it dawned on me what she’d asked and I set the record straight. I think I need closed captioning for phone calls.
Then, once I’d been cleared to see the doctor they allowed me to enter the building and showed me to an exam room. Again I was asked an avalanche of questions. One was, “Have you noticed a change in your hearing?” to which I replied “Huh?”
For some reason I’ve been getting ads for internet dating sites. I’ve wondered if some of the google searches I embarked on while writing my little romance novel triggered the algorithm for “MatureLove.Com” or something similarly inappropriate for a married woman to be perusing. Whatever the reason, the ads have been interesting.
This first guy hardly looks to be in his senior years, but I sure wouldn’t ask him for his birth certificate. If Studly weren’t my one true love I might’ve had to look him up.
Then there’s this guy:
He’s awfully cute, but still a bit young for me.
In this third photo, we finally get a bit closer to my decade.
Still, he looks like he’s just finished listing all the side effects I might expect from a new medication: diarrhea, weight gain, risk of stroke, diabetes, and anemia. I believe I’ll pass.
I always wonder with these ads what the actual guys might look like.
Captain America? Be still, my heart. Heh.Enjoys long walks on a Florida beach. At high noon, in the middle of summer.Winner!
I had big plans for yesterday. Before I settled down to continue working on writing the sequel to Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, I was going to tidy up the most recent edits for chapters 21-30 in that original manuscript.
It had taken me two painstaking days to get the chapters fleshed out and whittled down and, in some cases, exorcised, and I planned to spend some time looking at spacing between paragraphs and sentences. Making sure there were no orphans or widows lurking about—even though those really won’t be a concern until it’s time to publish.
It wouldn’t take me long, I thought, and soon I could be delving into the continued stories of my characters in and around Happy Valley.
But, if you read the title you’ll understand that instead of tidying up, I was redoing all the editing I’d already done because I didn’t save any of it! Grrr. Thankfully, it went faster this time. I remembered most of the changes I’d made using my editor’s guidelines. And now it’s triple saved, just in case.
Some days I think I’ve wasted too much time on this novel writing enterprise. What if my debut novel is awful and nobody wants to read it? That’s a looming possibility. But then I think, “Goofball, what else would you have done with your life these past few months?” and I shrug and keep working,
Praying for Eyebrowz 