I took my Mazda into Tallahassee to wash several months’ worth of road grime away. The swirls and colors of the detergents were mesmerizing, so I began snapping photos as the car was pulled through the wash bay. I wonder if Jackson Pollack was inspired by a car wash?
Rain is our friend, right? Along with sunshine and good soil rain helps our gardens grow. But this forecast is bringing me down, man.
I’m especially bummed about the forecast for the Tampa area. Studly Doright and I have booked a beachfront suite at a resort in Clearwater, FL, for next week in celebration of our 40th anniversary. Their ten day forecast is as depressing as ours.
Hopefully this whole mess will clear out by next Thursday. If not, Studly and I have to figure out how to have fun in a hotel room for five days. I should probably bring a deck of cards. And wine. Lots of wine.
Maybe Karen Carpenter can sing me out of my funk:
http://youtu.be/PjFoQxjgbrs
Peace, people!
This one’s called, “You Talking to Me?” Or “Lizard of My Dreams.”
This one’s titled, “I found Nemo and Nemo and Nemo!”
I call this work of haphazard art “Classy Lady on Funky Sofa at Home Goods.”
I dig quirky places. If Studly Doright ever gets to retire I’m going to insist on a leisurely tour of offbeat destinations.
On our way home from Texas early this month we stopped at a gem of a place just this side of Pensacola. It wasn’t my first stop there, but Studly had never experienced the Oasis Travel Center before. It’s part convenience store, part gift shop, part fast food kiosks, and part diner.
The VW bus pictured above serves as the establishment’s front entryway. Then once inside one’s senses are assailed by all manner of funky fun: yard art, a pirate ship, unique tshirts, and college fan gear.
The diner, though, is the grooviest. 
Dubbed the “Derailed Diner,” it’s designed to look as if a train has come barreling through the side of the building, complete with the resulting rubble.
This entrance opens directly into the diner, and every now and again the signal crossing activates with light and sound.
The inside of the diner is an eclectic mix of kooky memorabilia.
One can dine at the Derailed Diner lunch counter:
Some of the stools are a bit on the wild side. There’s a John Deere tractor seat and a saddle,
a pair of airplane seats,
and a motorcycle passenger’s seat, complete with fender and saddlebags.
Away from the counter are regular tables, but there were also tailgates with small TV sets in the spirit of drive-in movies. 
The train motif continued inside, as well,
Many tables are decorated to represent various states. We sat at the Kansas table where Dorothy’s ruby red slippers served as salt and pepper shakers, while a Wizard of Oz game under glass added to the theme.
Everywhere one looked there was something to spark the imagination.
I was curious about the origin of this certifiably quirky place, and one of the waitresses directed me to this sign:
If you ever find yourself on Interstate 10 between Pensacola and Tallahassee, look for the Oasis Travel Center. The restrooms are clean, the food is good, and the people are friendly.
Peace, people!
Impervious to curious stares and half-hidden giggles, I waded into the flowers in front of Chuy’s Tex-Mex restaurant in Tallahassee to snap photos after lunch today.
I had to crawl over a barrier to get to these pretty blossoms. Yes, I’m a rule breaker.
Sheepishly I shrugged my shoulders at a watchful employee, “They’re so pretty,” I explained.
He just grinned. Thankfully no one called the petal patrol to take me into custody.
Peace, people!
Doright Manor is nestled on a small lake in a wooded area just outside of Tallahassee, Florida. Our nights are filled with the sounds of frogs exerting dominance over their domain and the occasional hoot of an owl.
Occasionally, though, the sounds of lake life are accompanied by the sounds of muffled gunfire from a nearby gun range. Tonight the gun reports are seemingly non-stop, and even though they’re far enough away as to be non-threatening, I cannot help but imagine what the victims of gun violence in Orlando experienced upon hearing that pop pop pop up close.
Was that one meant for me?
Dear God, my friend’s been killed.
Oh Mother, I loved you so!
Every National Rifle Association member should be required to visit with the family of someone murdered by a gun. Wayne LaPierre, president of the NRA, should be required to walk through a site devastated by gun violence. He should have to face the families affected and explain to them why the AK 47 is necessary to their security and health.
But cowardice is the hallmark of the NRA. They hide behind their beloved guns and talk the big talk. Only a good guy with a gun…show me those good guys for I have yet to see a single one.
Peace, people.
I’d just left Chicken Salad Chick where I’d enjoyed the Cranberry Kelly and a side of grape salad. The day, sunshiny and Forida-perfect, insisted that I take a stroll and pop into the shops in a strip mall on Market Street in Tallahassee.
With no agenda, no cash, and all my credit cards gone to live with a bunch of nasty thieves, I truly was merely window shopping.
I was dressed casually–cropped jeans and a soft white tshirt, flip flops. As I headed back to my car I saw a well-dressed woman walking toward me on the sidewalk. I smiled. I always smile, I can’t help it.
She began laughing. Not a happy laugh, an insulting laugh, like, “Lady, who do you think you are?”
As she passed, close enough to touch, she looked me up and down. Now I’m wondering if I have food on my face (it wouldn’t be the first time) or a breast exposed (it could happen) or perhaps I’ve developed a unicorn type appendage between my eyes (not likely, but might be worth a snicker).
As soon as I got to my car I flipped the visor down to check my image in the mirror. Ok, I’m no beauty, but I couldn’t see a thing to laugh about. Well, my hair was a bit Dumb and Dumber-ish, but still….
I needed to stop at a grocery store for a couple of items on my way home, so once I entered the store I made a beeline for the ladies room. Again, America’s Next Top Model isn’t going to be calling any time soon, but I looked like an average 59-year-old grandmother with a touch of hippie grunge.
So why did this stranger feel the need to laugh at me? I want to track her down and ask. Why does it bother me that she laughed? Insecurity? Curiosity?
Regardless, it was unnerving. Like that Denzel Washington movie, “Fallen,” where the devil keeps possessing different people, jumping from one host to another, singing The Rolling Stones’ Time is on My Side.
https://g.co/kgs/OnH8N
Hope she wasn’t possessed! That seems a good spot to end this.
Peace, people!
Lately it seems I have a big old target painted on my back, and the bullseye says GULLIBLE in great block letters.
Last weekend as I left an arts festival in Tallahassee a young woman tried to solicit a ride from me saying she lived only a short distance from the park and her cell phone had died. She was well-dressed and in seemingly good health. The weather was absolutely unimpeachable.
I began thinking, if it’s so close why can’t she just walk? Before I could even respond to her request, she began striding to the passenger side of my car. I said, “Whoa there, little missy. Not this time.”
Her anger was immediate. I might’ve been called a terrible name or two. It appears I made the right decision. The more I thought on this the more I wondered what she’d been planning. Was she going to give me a sob story and ask for money? Did she plan on making a claim that I’d tried to harm her?
Then this week I fielded a couple of email spam letters.
The first was supposedly from iTunes. On the surface, it appeared almost legitimate, but on closer inspection I found more than one error. 
Today, I found this in my inbox:
Not nearly as well executed as the first email, this one doesn’t even have an attempt at a name in the greeting. “Dear,” seems awfully chummy. Next they’ll say, “Honey,” or “Darling.”
The grammar is less than perfect, and there are errors in typing. The best part is, this was supposedly sent out by PayPal. I don’t even have an account with PayPal.
Now I’m no spring chicken, but I am fairly savvy about Internet hoaxes and obnoxious spam mail. My worries are for the little elderly folks who will fall for these scams.
And what about my would-be passenger? She looked like the all-American kid, but certainly was up to mischief of some sort. A more vulnerable person might have taken her at face value.
Whatever’s up with my bullseye, it’s certainly given me an enhanced awareness of my surroundings.
Be kind, be informed, be aware. This is a public service message from Nana Noyz. Please send your charitable donations to me so I can continue providing this valuable service.
What? It was worth a try!
Addendum: I just got another email! They’re getting progressively worse.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 