In the Middle of the Night

A couple of nights ago I was awakened by the sound of feet running down the hall and into our bathroom. I sat up, noted that Studly wasn’t in bed, and called his name. There was no answer.

I got out of bed and hurried into the bathroom worried that Studly, who’d been under the weather, had gotten sick. The bathroom, though, was empty. Hmmm. I checked the den and there he was, snoring away from the comfort of his recliner.

Returning to bed, I surmised that the cats had enjoyed one of their tumbling runs through the house, even though the sound of running feet had seemed much louder than two middling sized cats could’ve generated. Again I dozed off into dreamland.

Sometime before dawn, I was startled awake again by the same sound of running feet. This time I noted that one cat, Scout, was sleeping peacefully beside me and that her “sibling,” Patches, was firmly ensconced in her favorite chair. Studly, was still in his recliner snoring like a freight train. Obviously I had experienced an auditory dream. It was unnerving.

Have any of you experienced such a phenomenon? Often I hear music in my dreams that lingers over into my waking life, but the sound of running feet was a first. I don’t want to hear that ever again.

Instead, I’ll listen to Billy Joel.

https://youtu.be/yb9rvpTDIsg

Peace, people!

Oh, the Humanity!

It might not have been a good idea to watch Avengers: Endgame on Sunday morning and this season’s Episode 3 of Game of Thrones on Monday evening. I’m an emotional wreck.

No spoilers, but in both cases some favorite characters died. I know exactly which ones left us in Endgame, but thanks to the overly dark ambience in Game of Thrones, I’m not completely sure who was killed and who is still among the living. There may be tears shed after next week’s episode when we learn their fates.

On a slightly, but not really, related note, this floater in my right eye is bumming me out. My understanding is that it might be my new normal. I’m thinking of naming it “Splot” because it’s more than a “Spot,” but less than a “Blot.” Out, damned Splot!

I teared up as I told Studly Doright that there’s a possibility I’ll never get to ride a roller coaster again for fear of ending up with a detached retina. Roller coasters are my thing, and I’d hoped for a few more good years of riding with my grandkids. Studly, who doesn’t want anything to do with roller coasters had trouble empathizing with me.

“It’s like when you had to give up racquetball after your knee replacement surgeries,” I told him.

“Yep, and I did it,” he gloated. Studly isn’t exactly known for his willpower, so that carried some weight.

“As long as I can still read, I guess I’ll be okay,” I sighed.

“Look on the bright side,” Studly said. “Reading has never sent you to the chiropractor. Roller coaster riding always does.”

He’s right, dammit. Here’s to many more years of reading.

Peace, people.

Thanks, Thanos

If you’ve watched Avengers, Infinity War, chances are you’ve wondered if you were one of the lucky ones who survived the population culling brought on by Thanos. I know I’ve contemplated my fate.

Now, thanks to www.didthanoskill.me you can have certainty and plan accordingly. As for me:

Yes, I’ll be around. I’m anxious to have Studly Doright check his status, though. It could get lonely during the apocalypse. Captain America survived. He might be a good stand in for Studly, in a pinch.

Under the Bus

A couple of days ago I shared my hurt feelings with my readers about a comment my husband made in regard to my new haircut, and in the process kind of threw Studly Doright under the bus. After all, on my blog it’s only my side of a story that gets told.

Studly Doright is a really good guy. He’s not perfect by any means, but he’s a decent man in every sense of the word (there’s a reason I call him Studly Doright). When I told him how I’d been hurt by his negative comment he was genuinely surprised that it had sounded so harsh to my ears, and apologized profusely.

He’d made the comment by phone after several long days of travel/work and I received the comment after several days of little sleep. That wasn’t a great communication construct. Once we were face to face the vibe was much better. A good night’s sleep didn’t hurt either.

I need to learn to recognize when my emotions are taking over my brain’s functioning. And I definitely need to resist throwing Studly under the bus. Thanks for all the advice, though. I gained some great insights through this process.

Peace, people.

Underwhelming Response

This is a post I won’t share on Facebook. It’s just between you and me. My feelings are hurt, and I feel unreasonably angry, so help me know how to handle this situation.

Studly Doright has been working in Orlando all this week and is set to return home tonight. He called last evening to give me an update, and we chatted for a few minutes before he had to meet his coworkers for dinner.

I told him I’d gotten my haircut and jokingly said, “You might mistake me for a Bob or a Tom when you get home.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m probably not going to like it.”

Just like that, my night felt ruined. I stammered something, trying to laugh it off, but it hurt and now I’m dreading seeing him when he arrives home tonight.

So, how would you have reacted? How do I handle his homecoming?

Just Okay

Yesterday I got my hair cut really short. It’s so short that even my meager styling skills are sufficient to keep my hair looking okay.

I’m good with just okay. If I had any thoughts of entering a beauty pageant in the future I’d need to have higher personal beauty standards, but that boat sailed, and sank, many years ago.

Studly Doright dated a beauty pageant winner before he started dating me. She dumped him, and for a long time I agonized about being just okay knowing his previous girlfriend was a beauty. I wore my inferiority complex like a consolation prize badge.

Studly and I even double dated with the beauty queen and her boyfriend, further complicating and elevating my complex. I was a mess.

I used to fantasize about being a great beauty, or failing that, that my sparkling personality might at least earn me a Miss Congeniality nod in a pageant. Sadly, my personality is just okay, as well.

Maybe I could’ve won the Miss Magic Marker pageant. My fine motor skills are decent, and I’d be fine with someone printing large M’s on my tatas. Alas, I was born too late.

Now, if there was a Miss Procrastination pageant, I’d be all over that.

I’ve excelled at procrastinating long enough to write this blog post. Time to go back to being just okay.

Peace, people!

Odd Injury

What’s the oddest injury you’ve ever had? I’m a lightning rod for odd injuries. Just today I noticed a small cut on the tip of my middle finger. It’s similar to a paper cut, but I’m positive I’d recall having gotten one of those.

After discussing the injury with Studly Doright I’ve decided it’s probably a flossing related injury. Yes, my desire for good dental hygiene is injurious to my health. Go figure.

I might live longer, but at what cost?

Peace, people.

Not My Guinness!

We’re having some work done on our driveway at Doright Manor. Tree roots had mangled the drive causing it to crack and heave as if an earthquake had struck. The guys began work early this morning and are just now getting ready to add texture to the new concrete so it’ll match the concrete around it.

Studly Doright came in from supervising the workers, peered into the refrigerator, and interrupted my reading to ask, “Which beer should I give the guys?”

“Not my Guinness!” I squeaked, even though I can’t enjoy a Guinness for a few weeks. “There’s Michelob Ultra and Corona in the shop fridge.”

Studly just laughed, saying, “Touchy, aren’t you?” But he did leave my beer alone, thank you very much!

Can’t believe he considered giving my beer away.

He called me out to look at the new section of driveway, and this is what I saw:

Poor little guy’s living quarters have been disrupted! Apparently he’d patrolled the worksite off and on all morning, much to the chagrin of a couple of workers.

I might let the snake have a sip of Guinness to compensate him for his loss. Cheers!

Peace, people!

Rest and Recuperation

Since the Illinois grandkids left on Thursday I’ve been slowly getting back into my normal routine, but mainly I’ve been catching up on sleep. While the two teenagers weren’t early risers during their visit, the six-year-old came creeping into our room every morning around five.

On the days Studly was working in Orlando I’d just tuck Harper in on her Poppa’s side of the bed, and we’d doze off to the sleep stories featured on my Calm app, but every other morning last week she was ready to eat breakfast way before my eyes were ready to be open. The two of us had some pretty comical conversations about fairies, cities versus states, and family relationships while eating early morning Pop Tarts, so I’m not complaining.

On the Wednesday night before the kids’ 6:25 a.m. flight home we stayed at a hotel that was about a 15 minute drive from the Sanford/Orlando airport. Studly had to work clear across town on Thursday, so it was up to me to get the kids on their way. I set my alarm for three a.m., but Harper’s feet in my face woke me up around two. Gently I moved her back into a position parallel to mine, rather than the perpendicular one she’d assumed.

Then what sounded like four quick gunshots caused grandson Garrett to sit straight up in bed. He never awakened, just quietly laid back down, but I was then on high alert. I tossed and turned until my alarm went off, then stubbed my toe on McKayla’s sofa bed on my way to the bathroom in the dark. I’m really glad the kids all slept through my colorful string of whispered curse words.

The teenagers were surprisingly easy to get going that morning. Oddly enough only Harper, the early riser, resisted. Soon, though, she was up and going full speed. I think the anticipation of seeing her Mommy and Daddy in a few short hours did the trick.

We took the 4:30 a.m. hotel shuttle to the airport and I’d thought that was absurdly early; however, an accident on the Interstate (remember those “gunshots”? Apparently we’d heard a crash) had traffic backed up, and by the time we checked in, went through security, and made it to our gate the flight was boarding.

I hugged my sweet grandkids and watched them board.

They looked so young and yet so capable as they left me.

I rode the shuttle back to the hotel where I’d planned to nap before taking a shower and driving the four and a half hours home to Doright Manor, but I was pretty keyed up after all the morning’s activity, so I packed and got on the road. Emergency crews were still cleaning up the interstate after the crash, so I set my gps to take backroads. About two hours into my trip I found myself unable to keep my eyes open, so I found a shady spot for a nap. After waking myself with a loud snore half an hour later, I continued on home.

Said home was sadly quiet. I busied myself with straightening up some of the mess we’d made over the past week. The Risk game went back into the game closet. The stuffed animals went back into their basket. Two remaining boxes of Pop Tarts went into a grocery bag to be offered to a friend’s children.

Studly arrived home later that evening, and we struggled to stay awake until finally giving up the battle around eight. I slept restlessly that first night without the kids. Part of me wished a sweet six-year-old could still sneak into my room for giggly snuggles before sunrise. Did I mention that it’s too quiet here?

Peace, people.

Postcards from the Hedge

The grandkids are safely home in Illinois after spending a week with Studly and me here in Florida. Our time together was much too short, and now Doright Manor is quiet again.

I’m kind of exhausted after spending a full day with grandson, Garrett, at Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure on Wednesday and then getting up at 2:30 a.m. on Thursday to get them to the airport on time. I’m taking the lazy way out and just posting photos of our week with the kids.

Harper liked wearing Poppa’s reading glasses while intoning the phrase, “I’m a little old lady.”

McKayla, above settles into the Texas bedroom.

We went to a showing of Captain Marvel:

And talked about upcoming movies

Garrett chopped down a tree so that we could relocate the fairy house displaced by Hurricane Michael.

McKayla and Harper made the fairy house a welcoming place once again.

We played several games of Risk. I didn’t win even once. It seems that I’m lousy at games involving strategic thinking.

McKayla piloted the riding lawn mower around the yard, collecting fallen limbs and other forest detritus, including her sister.

We enjoyed a beach day at St. George Island:

Well, some of us enjoyed it. Studly and Garrett just tolerated the beach.

The girls had our nails done:

On Wednesday we packed up and left Doright Manor for Orlando. While there we took a tour of Full Sail University so our tech minded grandson could satisfy his curiosity. He was impressed, and now has some work ahead of him in his last two and a quarter years of high school.

The kids swam at the hotel pool in Orlando while I acted as lifeguard.

On Wednesday the girls and Poppa Studly spent the day at Sea World, so I have no photos of that. I heard plenty of stories of fun and silliness, though. Harper even coerced her Poppa into riding a roller coaster. He says it was the last one he’ll ever ride. We’ll see about that.

The girls did get tattoos at Sea World, but I only got a photo of Harper’s when we were back in our hotel room. Garrett and I spent our day at Universal Studios, and I’ll share those pics tomorrow. I know, I know, you’re all on pins and needles to see them. 😂

Peace, people!