Sunday, Lazy Sunday

Studly Doright played in a two-day golf tournament this past weekend, so I was pretty much on my own both Saturday and Sunday. I didn’t do much other than running errands and doing laundry.

On Sunday I took myself to lunch at my favorite little vegan spot, the Sweet Pea Cafe, where I enjoyed French toast with slices of bananas and strawberries, home fries, and grits. Normally I don’t care for grits, but these were primo.

Someone in the cafe was enjoying a mimosa, so after I finished my meal I decided to stay and sip on one while reading a book. Mmmm. So good. I took my time with the drink then drove home to Doright Manor where I promptly planted my butt on the sofa and proceeded to nap for the rest of the afternoon. I’m blaming the mimosa. I’m also thanking it.

Peace, people.

She Said She Shed

I was investigating an estate sale in mid-town Tallahassee, on Friday morning, and while I didn’t purchase anything, I fell in love with this backyard potting shed. As soon as Studly Doright returned home I showed him this photo and told him I thought I needed a she shed of my own.

“But you don’t garden!” he said.

“Well, I might if I had a nifty she shed,” I replied. “Or maybe I’d use it as my writing nook. Who knows, maybe the next great American novel could be written in such a shed.”

“Oh, you’re planning on letting someone else use it then,” he said.

I’d have hit him with my gardening shears if I’d had any.

But, can we agree it’s a lovely she shed?

Peace, people!

Well, That’s Odd

Some days this semi-retirement gig is a drag. Most days I have more than enough to keep me busy, but some days, like yesterday, I find myself suffering from the worst kind of ennui. At ten a.m. I was still in my pajamas, wondering what to do with my day.

Since I know in my heart I have a really good thing going, I shoved that boredom to the side, then showered and dressed while deciding to head to a place that’s always good for a bit of fun, a place called The Other Side of Vintage in Railroad Square.

As I walked around the huge thrift shop I kept saying to myself variations of the phrase, “Well, that’s odd….” After the fifth or sixth time I realized I had a blog post in the making and began snapping pictures.

Repeat after me: “Well, that’s odd….”

As is this kimono wearing piggy faced unicorn.

And how about this Rastafarian banana sharing space with a Dia de los Muertos plaque? Olé, mon, have a nice day!

And the Elvis Bears weren’t as odd as they were cute. Obviously from Elvis’s chubby period.

These pelvic themed leggings certainly qualify as odd. I came so close to buying them.

Not odd at all, but gorgeous. I think she might be modeled on actress Gene Tierney, even though the actress was a brunette. Does anyone know?

This is definitely on the odd side. It’s some kind of short jumpsuit with a long kimono type garment attached. Can you see me wearing it to the local Publix? Très chic, baby!

The tableau below needs very little commentary, but I’ll provide some anyway. We have Erkel, keeping company with a pair of nuns, next to a display of Pinocchio and sunglasses, with a Pikachu hat-wearing mannequin dressed in an OutKast T-shirt as background. Absolutely normal, right?

Then there’s the Last Supper fan with a couple of flasks. Water into wine, anyone?

Last, but not least, I was drawn to the delicious weirdness of Jesus holding court over Camel, the Game, on the same platform as a salt lamp.

I made one purchase; although, it’s not pictured in any of the photos above.

Years ago I donated all of my Harry Potter books to a school library. Now, after finding the first book in the series, I’ve decided I’m going to track down every book, in order of publication, and add them to my book collection. That’s not too odd, is it?

Peace, people!

A Feast for the Eyes

On Saturday after I’d finished shopping at estate sales I found myself way out on the east side of Tallahassee and decided to stop for lunch at a farm to table restaurant called Backwoods Crossing.

The food at the Crossing is wonderful; although, dairy free choices are limited. Still I was able to find something on the menu to suit my needs and had an enjoyable meal, after which I wandered through the gardens.

The little guy above offered to give me a tour, but his prices were a bit steep.

Bananas!

I’d love to come out here on a fall day and dine outside.

Heed this warning or you’ll be toast, among other things.

This is such a lovely place. Almost heaven.

Peace, people.

Interesting People

A couple of nights ago Studly Doright and I enjoyed dinner in a slightly upscale (for Tallahassee) restaurant. We’d ordered our meal, and Studly excused himself to go to the men’s room. In his absence I looked around the room and listened to the buzz of conversation going on around us.

I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, I promise; nevertheless, my ears couldn’t help but pick up the tale being told at the table just on the other side of an artfully arranged barrier between our table and one a few feet away.

At that unseen, but nearby table, one man was holding court, detailing an encounter he’d had with someone of note. I never quite heard who he’d met, but the oohs and ahhs from his fellow diners indicated he/she was pretty impressive.

The longer I eavesdropped, I mean, listened, though, the more I realized that regardless of who this man had met he’d have made them seem amazing. Maybe it was his daughter’s pre-K teacher. Perhaps he was talking about the cashier at his local grocery store. It appeared to my ears that it was the storyteller who was the fascinating person.

I don’t mean that in a negative way. He wasn’t a boor. He just had a way of holding everyone’s attention and making a story about something mundane come alive. My husband has that ability. When he gets into storytelling mode, people listen.

I only wish I could pull that off. When I launch into a tale chances are 99% of those at the table tune out by the fourth sentence. And that poor sucker who represents the 1% is either too kind or maybe too inebriated to lose interest.

When Studly returned to the table I shifted my attention to him.

“So,” I asked. “How was your day?”

As he began to regale me with his tales of a fascinatingly ordinary day, I pictured someone at another table listening to him with a smile. Knowing an interesting person is infinitely better than being one.

Peace, people.

Finnegan Gets Around

Sitting outside on this beautiful May morning in Tallahassee, Florida, as I waited for my scheduled appointment with my esthetician, I realized I was at a table reserved for patrons of a local pub.

The pub, Finnegan’s Wake, won’t open for a few hours yet, so no one seemed to mind my presence. If they were serving, I’d order a Guinness and be certain to take a nap during my upcoming facial.

I’ve never been inside this bar, but it looks pleasant enough. As I sat here with my phone I wondered if Finnegan’s Wake might be a common name for such an establishment in the United States. Thanks to google, I now have a fairly good idea. While I didn’t get a chart showing the number of bars named after the James Joyce novel, I did get a good many search results:

There’s one in Springfield, Missouri

Another in Pickerington, Ohio, tucked between a Drug Mart and a pizzeria.

The one on the Upper East of NYC didn’t offer a photo of the establishment, but it earned 4 stars and is affordable.

Philly had one, but it closed.

Here’s one in Winston Salem, NC:

Rockville, MD

And many, many more.

I’ve never read Joyce’s book, but if it inspired so many drinking establishments it must be worth exploring. Right?

peace, people!

Snapshot #232

On Wednesday morning I had a follow up visit with my eye doctor concerning the floater in my right eye. Of course she dilated my eyes, necessitating the wearing of a dark plastic shade insert for my glasses.

Since I had a dental appointment later that same day, I just stayed in Tallahassee and ran a few errands in preparation for a trip to Texas. I needed quart storage baggies, so I ran into Winn Dixie where I ended up standing in the checkout line long enough to make friends with the 20-something man/boy in front of me.

We passed our time making snarky comments and contemplating the differences between Tampa (where he lived) and Tallahassee (where he’s moving).

After several minutes he asks, sincerely, “Where did you get those cool glasses?”

I looked carefully at him to see if he was being sarcastic, but couldn’t find a trace of that in his demeanor. With a grin, I pulled the plastic insert out from behind my glasses.

“You mean these?”

“Oh, I thought you just had some seriously cool glasses.”

I explained that I’d had my eyes dilated and that without the plastic shades everything would be too bright.

“Well, it’s a good look.”

You know what? I’m calling this one: “I’m Gonna Own This Fashion Statement.”

A Little Light Reading

Digestive problems are sapping my energy and creativity, not that I had immense reserves of either prior to becoming ill. And, yes, I’m a bit of a wimp with tendencies towards hypochondria and hyperbole, but I’m also a curious wimp, so I ordered a book from Amazon to help me address the issues plaguing me.

Until I am able to go through diagnostic testing I’m supposed to follow a Low-FODMAP diet. When I looked that term up on the internet I just got lists of foods that were either low or high FODMAP. The acronym stands for Fermentable Oligo-Di, Mono-saccharides And Polyols. Simply put, FODMAPs are a type of carbohydrates not easily processed by some people.

The book suggests eating only low-FODMAP foods for a full seven days before slowly introducing foods on the high-FODMAP list back into one’s diet. Fortunately I’ve never been a picky eater, so I should be able to follow the prescribed diet fairly easily. The biggest bummer is that I can’t have yogurt for 7 days.

I felt really good today (Saturday). I even ventured out to some garage sales in Tallahassee while Studly Doright played golf. I bought a book on writing to replace the copy I lost several moves ago and a pretty glass dish because I liked the way the sun shone through it.

It’s been a good day at Doright Manor.

Peace, people.

Seeing Red

I might’ve been in danger of being the star of one of those viral videos last week. You know the ones I’m talking about–where an older person is caught angrily shaking his or her fist at a young whippersnapper. Oh, I was the older person in this scenario, by the way.

The morning didn’t start with me being cranky. In search of something, anything, to knock out my allergy symptoms, I’d gone to Lucky’s Market in Tallahassee to see what interesting natural remedies I might find. While I didn’t locate any products that claimed to make me well, I did buy some really great organic cookies. Surely they had some medicinal value.

After paying for my cookies I decided to walk to Newk’s for lunch. Being careful to check for traffic, I set off across the parking lot, first making a quick stop at my car to drop off the cookies. As I stepped away from my car another vehicle came speeding through with no regard for pedestrian traffic. The driver narrowly missed hitting a sweet elderly woman, okay, it was me, when he made a sharp right turn into a parking space.

I was livid. I yelled, “Slow down, you bladder head. This is a freaking parking lot not a race track!” I might’ve literally shaken my fist at him.

That’s when the driver seemed to think better of parking in that spot and drove away. Although my heart was racing, I realized I probably looked a little crazy standing there. I also realized that perhaps I’d overreacted and might’ve even put myself in danger. After all, I do live in Florida. I have no excuse for my behavior, but hopefully I’ll think twice before erupting again in a state where every Tom, Dick, and Harriet seems to own a gun.

Perhaps I’ll take up meditation.

Peace(!), people!

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.