Farm to Table

Yesterday I felt like getting out of the house. Having been sick since May 2, I’d only made short trips for necessities, including two visits to convenient care medical facilities. I’m still not 100%, but if I ever want to get stronger I have to venture forth.

A Tallahassee neighborhood was having its community garage sale, so I drove to the east side of town and enjoyed the beautiful Florida weather while buying only a couple of items. Most of the merchandise on sale was baby related, and I have no need for strollers or play pens. Thank goodness.

I still had money in my pocket when I left the neighborhood, so I took myself to lunch at Backwoods Crossing, a farm to table restaurant. I’d driven past the place a couple of times before, but never at a meal time.

The interior of the restaurant is pleasant.

I was there early, so I had my pick of tables. The menu had lots of appetizing choices. Unfortunately, I’m limited in what I can eat right now. I settled on a grilled chicken breast with an apple glaze. It was tasty. I’d have loved to have the side of mashed sweet potatoes, but was afraid they’d have too much fiber for my delicate system. Never thought this hot salsa guzzling girl would have to settle for the bland side of things. Hopefully, this, too shall pass. No pun intended.

After my lunch I strolled into their outdoor seating area and garden. Much of the food they serve comes straight from this beautiful garden.

Items they don’t grow or raise directly on property are purchased from local farms. It’s a sweet setup.

I look forward to returning when my digestive issues are straightened out. Fingers crossed that happens soon! As for Studly Doright, he’s recovering from back surgery like a champ. He drove over and had lunch with his golf buddies today. It’ll be another three months before he can take the game up again, but he enjoyed swapping tales with his friends. Life is slowly getting back to normal.

Peace, people.

I Feel Almost Human

I would personally like to thank the makers of Excedrin Migraine for helping me feel somewhat human today. The diverticulitis has been a real b*tch, but the accompanying headaches have compounded my intestinal distress. You, dear readers, should be counting your lucky stars that you are nowhere near Doright Manor. I have been a whiny, icky mess.

Studly Doright, fresh off of back surgery, has had to take care of me even as have I tried to care for him. We’re like a pair of topsy turvy turtles trying to right each other.

https://youtu.be/HETr3Y9s3to

Neither of us is old. Yet. But this experience has begun to make me think about the days to come when we will surely need assistance. Our kids assure us they will find us a quality assisted living home when the time is right. I just want a place that will feed me three square meals a day and bring me Excedrin when I ring a little bell. I can’t get Studly to do that.

Peace, people!

When You’re Still Sick, but You Know Everyone is Tired of Hearing About It.

There is a black cat reposing on my chest. Occasionally she head butts me, a sure sign of affection. Or maybe just an attempt at getting my attention. Either way, her ministrations are comforting.

I was supposed to get a haircut today. It’s desperately needed, but there’s no way I can drive to the town my salon is located in. There are miles between bathrooms.

Our bedsheets need washing. I’m fairly sure I have the energy to strip the sheets from the bed, but will I be able to put them back on after they’ve been washed and dried?

The television is driving me crazy, but my mind won’t let me read a book. Silence is fine for awhile, but I dwell on the wrong stuff: I hate Donald Trump, God help me, but it’s true.

I keep reminding myself that I love my husband. We haven’t gotten to sleep in the same room for awhile due to his sciatica, then his upper respiratory infection, and my “whatever fresh hell this is today.” Have I mentioned he’s supposed to have a surgical procedure later this week? Fudge.

I want my mommy. God, I want my mommy. I dreamt of her last night. She had a fancy new car and a coffee mug with an inspirational verse written in blue script. We sat in the car and talked. I cried.

I Need a Hug

The awful illnesses that have infected Studly Doright and I seem to be slowly drawing to an end. I watched a hamburger chain’s advertisement for a double thick steak burger last night without feeling the need to run to the bathroom to puke up the chicken broth I’d just sipped on for an hour. It’s a harbinger of better days to come, just as the first robin signifies Spring’s beginning. Less poetic, but the same.

Studly seems to be coughing less and he doesn’t fade in and out when walking through a room with white painted walls. He’d make a great spy if all the walls in a given location were bone white. Walk right in, seize the classified documents, walk right out.

One of the worst things about being ill at the same time with one’s partner, only with two different types of viruses or infections is that we can’t hug lest we give each other what we’ve got.

“Here, Studly, my love, have a week of puking up everything you even think about wanting to eat.”

“Sure Nana, my goddess, why don’t you enjoy hacking your head off for a change of pace.”

I really need a hug. Studly might need one, too. We’ve patted each other on our respective heads and arms, and then quickly moved to sanitize our hands lest germs be transferred in this manner.

Maybe that’s why last night (in my dreams, of course) I had an intense make out session with Gerard Butler. I woke up feeling immensely more cheerful.

Peace, people.

The Flu or Something Even More Hideous

Readers, I’m sick. Studly Doright is also sick. We both have different symptoms. His are upper respiratory in nature, mine have kept me tethered to the toilet. Fun, fun, fun.

We’ve had to take turns caring for one another over the past four days. Neither of us are good nurses under the best conditions, and certainly these conditions aren’t good.

I hope we’re both headed towards our own warped versions of normal. In the meantime, this little girl has been my constant companion.

Patches would’ve made a fine nurse.

A No-Spoilers, Non-Review of Avengers Infinity War

A list of ten reasons to see Avengers Infinity War:

1) Lots of amazing storylines that even I could keep straight.

2) Chris Hemsworth-This man. Whoa!

3) Chadwick Bozeman-Yum.

4) Chris Pratt–adopt him or make out with him? Decisions, decisions.

5) Danai Gurira–I love her in The Walking Dead, and even more so in the Black Panther films. She’s not even a superhero, just a badass gorgeous woman.

6) Letitia Wright–she stole the Black Panther film with her adorable brilliance. Her character doesn’t get to show her quirky side in this film, but you know it’s hiding just beneath the surface.

7) Peter Dinklage–Tyrion Lannister supersized!

8) Everyone else–what a cast.

9) Not a single dull moment.

10) Special effects–amazing. It takes a lot to thrill me with special effects nowadays, but this film did just that. Dr. Strange alone is a marvel (see what I did there?)

I didn’t mention to Studly Doright that I was going to see this film yesterday. His sciatica won’t let him sit through a movie at the theatre, so let’s just keep this secret between ourselves, shall we?

Peace, people!

Carabelle

At this time of year in the Florida panhandle there seems to be something fun going on every weekend. On Saturday morning I had a tough time choosing between events, but decided I needed a bit of the coast, which led me to Carabelle, Florida’s Riverfront Festival.

Usually Carabelle is just a place I pass through on my way to St. George Island or Apalachicola. Maybe I’ve purchased gas there, but that’s about it. Today I walked around and sampled some of the foods and did a bit of shopping before returning home to Doright Manor.

The engineer discouraged me from riding the train.

I intended to bring Studly some kettle corn, but forgot. Maybe a photo will suffice.

Fried foods and more fried foods:

A beer bottle cap lobster:

Nothing exciting happened, but it was a pleasant way to spend my day.

Peace, people!

O Canada!

On Thursday night I was bedeviled by a bout of insomnia. I’d broken a cardinal rule and continued reading well past what I’ve come to think of as the “sleep tipping point.” It’s that point when I can feel my eyelids drooping and my breaths relaxing into the rhythms of sleep.

If I’d put the kindle down in that moment I’d have been fine, but no. I was reading James Comey’s book, A Higher Loyalty, and had just gotten to the period of time following trump’s inauguration. There was no way I could stop. Soon I was wide awake and had swung in the opposite direction of the sleep tipping point.

Studly Doright’s sciatic pain awakened him around 11 p.m., so he went to the den to try resting on the couch for awhile. I finished the book just before midnight, and my brain was churning furiously. I checked my phone–another bad decision, but what the heck? I wouldn’t be sleeping for awhile anyway.

WordPress had a message for me. It said my stats were booming. “Well, well, well,” I thought. “Finally hit the big time.”

Actually, since this wasn’t my first rodeo that thought never crossed my mind at all. I reckoned, and rightly so, that someone had found my blog and had taken the time to read more than one post. I love it when that happens. I always picture someone very much like me sitting somewhere in the world making connections through our shared experiences.

When I looked on my stats page I saw this graphic:

Clearly someone from Canada liked my blog well enough to read 75 different posts. Whoever you are, thank you. This is for you.

https://youtu.be/-98Jg_4p_O8

Game Show Ponderings

Recently I submitted an online application to Ellen DeGeneres’s Game of Games television show. I answered a few simple questions, hit send, and promptly forgot about it. Then last week I received an email from someone on Ellen’s staff asking me to submit a brief video audition.

I hadn’t checked my email until late in the day and had only a few minutes to shoot something before their deadline. My audition was a very bland production, and I am sure it will get no farther than the first level of examination, but it was fun to briefly consider how I might fare on the show. I already had the grand prize of $100,000 spent several different ways.

If you’ve never seen the show, Ellen’s Game of Games is a hoot. Contestants compete in physical and/or mental challenges with the winner of each game advancing to a general knowledge round. The winner of that round goes on to play Hot Hands in which they must quickly identify people or objects that appear briefly on a screen. I’ve been practicing Hot Hands using Ellen’s app on my iPhone. I’m absolutely awful at it, but that’s another story.

Years ago I auditioned for Jeopardy. I didn’t make it past the first rounds, but a friend did and made it on to the show. Likewise, I passed the preliminary round for Who Wants to be a Millionaire, but wasn’t selected to be on the show. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a game show contestant. Perhaps I lack charisma. Naw, that can’t be it.

Last night I was watching Family Feud and considering which family members I might choose to play with me. My kids and Studly? My sisters-in-law? Decisions, decisions. Given my record of not being selected I guess it’s all an exercise in futility.

What about you? Have you ever been chosen to be a contestant on a game show? What shows do you see yourself auditioning for? I’m going to go practice Hot Hands again just in case I get the call.

Peace, people.

Huey Lewis, I’d be a Fool for You (Again)

I once spent about half a minute conversing with myself in a mirror. Yes, I was rather inebriated, and yes, it was quite late, but I suppose neither of those are good excuses.

Studly Doright had taken me to see Huey Lewis and the News in concert at the Amarillo Civic Center. At that time in our lives we weren’t able to go out often. We had two small children and almost no disposable income, but we’d scrimped and saved enough for the concert because Studly knew that I needed to see Huey in person.

After the concert we met friends at a club in Amarillo where I had a drink, maybe two. In those days, I was literally and figuratively a lightweight when it came to drinking and it didn’t take much to get my skinny self drunk.

The DJ, ensconced in his booth high above the crowd, wasn’t playing anything I liked, so I wrote a request for a Huey Lewis song on a slip of paper and then navigated around and through an energetic knot of dancers on the floor to offer up my request. But I couldn’t figure out how to deliver my piece of paper to the guy in the booth.

Looking around I spied a friendly, albeit concerned looking woman and asked, “Where do I put this?” indicating my request.

Oddly enough, she asked me something at the same time, and when I bent forward to try to hear her better I bonked my forehead on a mirror and only then realized I’d been talking to myself. I compounded my error by apologizing.

“Ha! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were me!”

“No problem,” I replied, giggling.

Of course a couple dancing by caught the gist of this whole exchange and gave me a wide berth as they navigated around the dance floor. I can’t say that I blame them. I finally located the proper request slot and enjoyed the rest of my evening, basking in the memory of Huey.

Huey Lewis is still one of my favorites, and I’ve gotten to see him and the News in concert a few times through the years. Huey has recently contracted an illness that’s caused partial deafness and resulted in a cancellation of his tour for the foreseeable future. For a musician this has to be devastating. I’d go talk to myself in a mirror again in front of a crowded dance floor if I thought it would help. Maybe he just needs a new drug.

https://youtu.be/N6uEMOeDZsA

Peace, people.