I turned to Studly Doright a few minutes ago and said, “I’ve got nothing. No blog ideas. No inspiration.”
He grunted. So here’s a post about grunts.
“Grunting Muse”
Honey can you help me?
Ungh?
I need an idea now.
Mmmph.
Anything on your mind?
Hunh?
Something with some zow?
Ergh!
You’ve been so very helpful!
Whuh?
With all your clever sounds.
Hmmm!
My muse you’ve been, as usual.
Shhsh!
Your wisdom knows no bounds.
Harrumph
Peace, people!
For almost two weeks we entertained two of our five grandchildren here at Doright Manor. It was the first time Dominique and Jackson have been alone with us for that length of time, and heading into the first week I felt some trepidation.
Would they get bored? Would I be patient with them? Could I train them to cook and clean like small indentured servants?
As they prepared to leave on Saturday morning I asked them each if they’d had fun, and the answer was a resounding “Yes!”
They rode motorcycles.
Fished:
Helped Poppa with yard work:
Visited Poppa at the office:
Chopped down saplings:
Created bird feeders:
Rode crazy rides at Wild Adventures:
Rode motorcycles again:
Enjoyed Japanese stir fry:
Helped Poppa and me build a fairy house:
Created paracord bracelets for every member of the family:
And climbed trees.
They also rode go karts at a local arcade, but the resident documentarian (me) came down with a nasty head cold and stayed at home for that adventure.
Apparently there was no boredom involved. I never even came close to losing my patience–a true miracle. However, the plan to have the kids take over the cooking and cleaning was for naught. Two out of three works for me.
Now to enjoy the sound of silence.
Peace, people!
My precious!
I must have been a much better wife than I imagined! Thank you Studly Doright!
Married young
my high school love
nearly forty years ago
Romantic novels
formed expectations
of how our lives should go:
Every day a poem
written in honor of
my beauty and my style,
Long conversations
about my attributes
all to make me smile.
Instead I got
this grounded man
no poetry in his soul
Who works so hard
to care for me, my
well-being is his goal
And if that isn’t
poetry of a sort, I reckon
it should be
The poetry of keeping
one’s hands on the wheel for
his woman’s sake
The verse of tending
to her every physical need in
sickness and in health
Maybe this man is the
poet I longed for in days
long past
Or perhaps he’s the muse
who fills my pages with tales
enough to last.
Happy anniversary Studly!
After a rigorous and righteous game of golf (he shot four over par), Studly Doright led the grandchildren and me in completing the building of a faerie home.
Dominique and I placed pebbles strategically.
We added a door and a mossy door mat.
Then we headed out back to place the house on the stump of a tree that Jackson had chopped down earlier this week.
After much trimming, the house was secured to its stump. 
Tomorrow, we’ll add decorative items to welcome our wee friends.
Peace, people!
Doright Manor is set in the midst of a delightful forest in the Florida panhandle. From our screened in porch we enjoy the shade of oak trees, the majesty of pines, and the splendor of magnolias, along with all of the critters that call the forest home.
I’ve always thought it the ideal place to offer sanctuary to fairies if we provided a proper home for the wee folk. Studly Doright wasn’t convinced that we needed a fairy home, though, until he saw the one at Saint Helen’s home in Hereford, Texas, on our visit in May.
When we knew we’d be entertaining our Dallas grandkids for two weeks, Studly decided that constructing a fairy home would be the perfect activity.
And so it begins:
Mine consisted of documenting the process and staying well out of the way.
We didn’t quite complete the project yesterday afternoon. Studly and I ran out of energy before reaching the finish line. But we made a good bit of headway.
Tomorrow is another day.
Peace, people!
“Trial Separation”
Relax, Studly Doright and I aren’t splitting the sheets. Heck, after 40 years of marriage it would be a little ridiculous to call the whole thing off just when life is getting good. Of course, that’s not to say there aren’t days when I have to restrain myself from throwing him out a window.
Studly outweighs me by about a hundred pounds, though, so he’s probably safe. Plus we live in a single story home, but don’t think I haven’t occasionally wondered what a good surprise shove might accomplish. (Note to self: delete this post in case of police inquiry.)
No, I’ve decided for the sake of my sanity to take a break from Facebook. This might not sound like a huge issue for most folks who check in once or twice a day to see what’s going on with their friends, but I have an addiction to this social network, spending as much as two hours a day scrolling through FB statuses on my phone.
I know that’s sad, but in my defense after so many cross country moves Facebook has become my best means of keeping in touch with family and friends. Lately, though, I feel such anger and disappointment that I’m not sure I want to keep in touch with anyone via Facebook.
Of course my own sense of right and wrong is to blame here. Increasingly I have found it more difficult to ignore the racist comments and the outright lies being peddled as truths. Rather than call someone out as being a lying sack of shit, I’ve chosen to separate from them for a bit. How’s that for diplomacy?
Peace, people!
I’m having such a wonderful time with my grandchildren, Dominique and Jackson, this week.
We stopped by Studly Doright’s (Poppa’s) office.
Later in the day Jackson and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. He’s all about asking me to challenge him to do physical stunts, such as climbing trees and jumping over obstacles. I’m such a wimp, though, that I can never come up with a suitable activity.
I loved his question, “Nana, do you have any trees that need climbing?”
Dominique and I spent an hour making bird feeders out of pine cones, peanut butter, twine, and seeds.
Here are the final products:
Now we need to hang them.
The kids chopped down a couple of saplings.
I succesfully rendezvoused with our son Jason in Jackson, Mississippi, and brought our grandkids, Dominique (13), and Jackson (10), home with me to Havana, Florida. No sooner had we gotten unpacked than Dominique headed to the lake with her fishing pole, and Jackson suited up to ride his minibike.
I had a glass of wine and handed over supervisory duties to Studly Doright, aka Poppa.
Dominque caught a fish right off the bat.
Prompting Jackson to come join in the fun:
And then our resident gator made an appearance:
Peace, people.
Here’s a riddle: If a domestic goddess has spent the morning doing laundry and ends up with a load of towels, washcloths, undies, and socks to be folded and subsequently put away, how many trips will it take her to complete the job?
Answer: (choose one)
A) 4 (one to load the washer, one to transfer load to the dryer, one to carry the items to a place for folding, one to carry the items to their storage place)
B) 25+ (one to load the washer, one to transfer the load, one to carry the items to a place of folding, 21+ roundtrips to put away items by category and/ or purpose.)
If you picked A, you don’t know this domestic goddess very well. B is the proper response. Why, you might ask, would anyone be dumb enough to operate with B as the template?
My Fitbit made me do it. 
July in Tallahassee, Florida, is hot as blue blazes and humid, to boot. Exercising outside is best done early in the morning or late in the evening. Since I slept until 8 a.m., I missed out on the prime walking time.
Studly Doright feels slighted if I go walking during the evening (besides, that’s when the creepy crawlies are about), so I had to find a way to get my steps in without leaving Doright Manor. Thus, I’ve become an inefficiency expert.
As the day progresses, I’ll make multiple trips from the laundry room to the master bedroom to hang clothes one at a time. If I leave the house I’ll gather shopping bags separately for individual trips to and from the car. At the grocery store I’ll determine the route that is least efficient, often crisscrossing the store a dozen times.
For me, this exercise routine is second nature. I’ve always done every task possible in the most illogical way, so capitalizing on this tendency is a win-win. Now, with my Fitbit I have a witness. And it has yet to scoff at my methods. I can’t say the same for Studly Doright.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 