What’s Up With January?

Does anyone besides me feel like this January has been the longest on record? I honestly thought we’d already crossed into February territory last week.

I had driven across Tallahassee to treat my bracelet to its biannual checkup and cleaning only to be told by the nice man at the jewelry counter that the checkup wasn’t due for another two and a half weeks.

“But, I thought I could bring it anytime in February,” I stammered.

“You certainly can, ma’am,” he said. “But today is January 15.”

“Honest?” I asked.

“Cross my heart,” he replied.

Feeling thoroughly confused and slightly suspicious, I looked at the calendar on my watch. Sure enough, it indicated that we were just then experiencing mid-January.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks,” I said, adding,”But as God is my witness I thought we were already in February.”

He just smiled kindly. I hope he isn’t there when I bring my bracelet in for its checkup. I’ve got my disguise ready just in case.

Peace. People.

Participation Time

I came upon this graphic online and shared it on my Facebook page. So far, it’s generated a good many responses. My answer was easy: jeans, books, and wine.

However, I don’t drink much wine, or any alcohol, since my stomach decided to revolt back in May, so I’ve need to make a different choice for the third spot.

Since I’m losing something consumable let’s examine similar choices. I don’t drink coffee anymore, and I can live without chocolate. Tea is lovely, but not a must have. Tacos are the part of my Mexican meal that I leave for last in case I become too full to eat everything on my plate, so they can be dispensed with.

We don’t do Netflix at Doright Manor, so that’s something I can easily do without. The same goes for dry shampoo. As short as my hair is I can’t see any advantage to dry shampooing over wet shampooing. And along the same lines, there’s no way I can form a messy bun. I have a messy strand or two, but nothing “bunnable.”

By my reckoning that leaves jewelry, pajamas, lipstick, and leggings. I own a few pairs of leggings, but apparently they’re only in my closet for decorative and dust-catching purposes. They are super comfy on rainy, stay at home days, but then so are pajamas. Out with leggings, then.

Lipstick, they say, is critical for aging women. However, since I don’t know who “they” are, I’m going to ignore their advice. My lipstick never stays for more than an hour at a time, anyway, so buh-bye. I can always use crushed berries gathered from the forest if I need to color my lips.

Down to two choices now, jewelry and pajamas.

I love my pajamas. They’re soft and they keep my thighs from touching each other at night. I own three nearly identical pairs of pajamas, and they give me comfort.

As for the jewelry, I don’t own many expensive pieces. My wedding set isn’t worth much, but it has significant emotional and sentimental value. Studly Doright has bought me a couple of lovely items these past few years that in a pinch I suppose I could sell. Then there are the Celtic earrings I picked up in Scotland and the necklace I purchased from a craftsman at the Poulnabrone Dolmen in Ireland. I wear those pieces nearly every day.

Pajamas or jewelry? Oh man. I’m going with jewelry. No, pajamas. No. It’s jewelry. Final answer. My thighs are going to have to find a way to get along. I’ll just invest in anti-chafing cream and hope the stock market makes us rich.

Give it a go–which three items would you choose to keep and why? I’m curious.

Peace, people.

Chain of Parks 2017

Saturday morning I drove into Tallahassee to savor the eclectic vibe of the annual LeMoyne Chain of Parks Art Festival. This isn’t an arts and crafts (or as Studly Doright calls them “arts and crap”) show, but a gathering of some of the finest artists and artisans from all across the country. 

Name your poison–jewelry, pottery, textiles, sculpture, carvings, paintings, stained glass, and/or mixed-media. It was all there. I couldn’t afford 99.99% of the art displayed, but I so enjoyed looking. 

Here are just a few of the sights:

My favorite, and the most affordable, part of the day was dog watching.

One end of the park is set aside for children to create their own art. I didn’t venture very far into this section, as my stomach had begun nagging me to find the food trucks, but I took this photo of the chalk art area. Note the little girl on the right. As I passed by she remarked, “Look! I’m walking on the wall!”

And I don’t know who Terrika is, but she made me smile.

At one point I was mobbed by a group of posh ladies who insisted on sharing their kooky style with me. I always needed a boa to make me feel complete; I just didn’t know it. 

Unfortunately the Divas, as they called themselves, got away before I could snap a picture. It was a wrap and run incident. No one was harmed in the process. 

What a wonderful morning! I did buy a small item for my little courtyard area at Doright Manor. I’ll share that another day.

Peace, people!

Isn’t It Amazing?

Oh Pan, how could you do the unthinkable and grow up? You promised we’d happily inhabit 

Neverland forever, crowing the dawn into existence, sharing feasts with fantastic

Friends and fiends. You taught me to fly, but without you the gift is but another

Form of transportation–lonely, neck straining, wind-battering air travel.

The Lost Boys still sing your praises, I can only cry. My tears turn into streams, then into 

rivers. Come back Peter! We can pretend you never left. Pretending is what we do best.


I purchased this bracelet a couple of days ago at Magnolia Mercantile, a funky, fun little shop in Tallahassee, Florida. The saying on the bracelet forced me to write the poem. Honest. 

Notice the cute little Tinkerbell dangling from the chain. Is this perfect or what?

Peace, people!

With a Little Help from my Friends

Note: I had a great deal of help with this post. I left blanks in my story and asked friends on Facebook to come up with content. When I had more than one friend respond I drew names from a hat. The darned story went in a totally unforeseen direction. I like it. 

My helpful friends are listed at the bottom. Underlined phrases indicate where I received help. 

“Flirting with the Law”

Sitting astride her motorcycle in front of a small jewelry store in Panama City Beach, Beth smelled the stranger before she saw him. He smelled like sheets hanging on the line, dried by the summer sun, and she lifted her head to catch his scent on the breeze. 

The scent transported her back to her childhood when hanging laundry on the line out back was a chore, but the results well worth the work. There were few things in life better than sleeping on sun-dried sheets.

Lost in her reverie, Beth startled when she realized the police officer standing beside her motorcycle was attached to the nostalgic scent. He was tall, dark, and oh so handsome.

“Excuse me, miss,” This perfect vision of manhood began, “Did you know that your license plate is missing?”

“Huh?” Beth replied in her most articulate manner. “I mean of course it’s not missing. It was there when I left Tallahassee this morning.”

But even as she spoke Beth swung a leg over the back of her bike and walked back to check. Sure enough, the plate was missing.

“Well that’s just weird,” she said. “Now what?”

The nice smelling stranger said, “Could cost you a ticket, you know,” and without looking at her he ran his leather gloved hand along the curvy contour of her tank, stopping at the crest of her saddle seat.

Beth gulped audibly and felt a slow blush creep over her face. “Honest, Officer, ummm…”

“Greg. Just Greg,” he said. “And here’s your plate. I saw some kids messing around with your bike and caught them red handed with your tag.”

Beth exhaled. “Greg, you just saved me a huge headache.”

“Well, I’m not letting you off the hook just yet,” the officer said. “Did you realize that I just finished my shift and I’m starving?”

“I guess I should let you go then, though, I don’t suppose you have a screwdriver on you….” Beth said indicating her detached license plate.

Greg grinned from ear to ear. “Come, let me buy you some lunch, and I’ll find a screwdriver for you.”

For one brief moment Beth considered turning him down. After all, he was a cop, and she did have a bag of stolen diamonds in her saddlebag. 

“Why, I’ll take you up on that,”she smiled demurely, looping her arm through his. She was running well ahead of schedule.

Many thanks to

Steven Ramos
Bob Walsh
Flora Diehl
Janie Christie Heniford
along with everyone else who submitted suggestions.

Peace, people!

Diamonds and Cats


If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then
why do I prefer the presence of a cat?

Maybe because diamonds do not purr when scratched behind their ears. They don’t stretch when waking from a long nap in a sun-filled corner.

Diamonds do not pounce on one’s chest first thing on a Sunday morning, nor do they paw gently at one’s nose as a way of saying, “get up lazy human and feed me!”

If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then why haven’t they learned to keep me warm by crawling into my lap and slowly circling one, two, three times before settling into a cozy ball of fluff?

Diamonds cannot possibly be a girl’s best friend since they have yet to learn how best to chase a stuffed mouse or to bat around a ball of yarn.

Diamonds are amazingly incompetent at leaping on top of the refrigerator or at meowing for treats. Diamonds are totally unable to arch their backs or to leave cat hair on a favorite pair of black pants.

Diamonds have their place, I suppose, but I’d much rather have a cat.





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