Tag: travel

Anxiety Central

On Tuesday night I drifted off to sleep as gently as an innocent little lamb, only to awaken twenty minutes later with my mind raging like a caged lion. My trip to Illinois was still two days in the future, yet my brain paced restlessly inside my head as if my flight was imminent and I was woefully unprepared.

Truthfully, I was unprepared, but I still had ample time to do laundry and pack and straighten the house before I had to leave Doright Manor for the airport. So why was I all abuzz? Welcome to Anxiety Central.

Irrationally I began worrying that my car would break down on the way to the airport. What would I do should that happen? I worried that I’d forgotten to get cash from the bank, so I got out of bed and wrote myself a note that I then taped to the bathroom mirror where I’d be certain to see it first thing the next morning.

I became concerned that I’d finish the book I was reading on my kindle and wouldn’t have ample connectivity to download a new one. Most worrisome was the state of the liquids I NEEDED to pack for the trip. Liquids that might not be able to fit into a clear plastic quart baggie. Damned TSA requirements. How’s a girl supposed to cram all of her necessary liquids into such a small bag?

Zip, zip, zip went the thoughts in my brain. I was electric, and not in a good way. Poor Studly must’ve felt my frantic vibes causing him to adjourn to the sofa in the den at some point in the night.

When he left for work on Wednesday morning he planted a kiss on my cheek and told me he’d see me when I returned on Monday. I’d forgotten he had to be out of town on Wednesday and Thursday and wouldn’t return until after I’d departed on my trip. Sheesh. One more thing to worry about.

You know, I might not have many talents, but I excel at worrying over absolutely ridiculous stuff. Anxiety is my middle name, and that’s no joke.

I fly on Thursday. Just get me to the plane on time.

Peace, People!

What? Me Worry?

This morning I read a post from IM Fletcher on his blog The Jane Doe Byline, that started my mind down the Worry Path.

https://thejanedoebyline.wordpress.com/2019/08/07/pivotal-date-aug-12th/

I pretty much live just off of the Worry Path on the corner of Anxiety Avenue and Worst Case Scenario Lane in a two-story house made of faux adobe. The house itself is a cause for concern.

Last week I worried about my adult children and their children traveling by car and/or plane to our family reunion in Texas. I worried about Studly Doright riding the backroads on his motorcycle across multiple states to join us at the reunion. I worried about my cats who’d stayed behind under the care of a competent pet sitter.

Oddly enough, I never worried about my own safety as I hurtled across the skies inside machines that seem to defy gravity and logic. That kind of worry would just be stupid.

Thanks to my diligent worrying, every one of us made it safely to and from the reunion. Once again, my efforts paid off. I’m exhausted. Now, what should I worry about this week? Unfortunately, the possibilities are endless.

Here’s a poem I posted a while back, in case you think I’m a novice worrier:

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2017/10/31/the-queen-of-worry/

Peace, people!

Snapshot #258

I took this photo last year, but I’m not certain where I was. Let’s call it,”Probably in Florida.”

Studly and Siri

Last night I was on my third glass of wine when Studly Doright began planning his motorcycle trip from Doright Manor to his mom’s house in Hereford, Texas. I kept hearing him mumble into his phone.

“Siri, how far is it from Bainbridge, Georgia, to Dothan, Alabama? No, not Dowland, Dothan.

“How far from Dothan to Montgomery, Alabama?”

Some unintelligible mumbling.

This went on for at least twenty minutes. One town after another, one misunderstanding after another. Twice I thought he was talking to me. A couple of times I questioned his judgement.

“Little Rock, Arkansas? That’s way out of your way!” I said.

“Shhhh!” he shushed. “Siri and I have a thing going on.”

She helped him plot his route from Havana, Florida, to Bainbridge, Georgia, to Dothan, Alabama, to Montgomery, Alabama to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to Columbus, Mississippi, to Indianola, Mississippi, to Hot Springs, Arkansas, to McAlester, Oklahoma, to Wellington, Texas, to his final destination of Hereford, Texas.

Whew! My route is much easier: Drive to the Tallahassee airport, board a flight to Dallas, Texas, at 7:45, change planes and arrive in Amarillo by 1:44. Siri never got involved.

He’s taking the road less traveled; I’m taking the friendly skies. Hopefully our paths will converge in the Texas panhandle. If not, Siri’s got some ‘splainin’ to do.

Peace, people!

It’s Not Easy Eating Green

Following a plant based diet doesn’t exactly make one mean, but it does make one a bit difficult at meal times. I try so hard not to be all vegan-ish, but my brain now knows that my stomach is going to rebel if I don’t carefully monitor what goes into my mouth.

Our recent vacation to Tennessee was tough in terms of diet. The first two days we were in Bristol I tried to go with the flow and eat like an omnivore. My body did not like me very much; though, and reacted in ways I won’t detail here. I got everything under control by eating strictly vegan for the remainder of the trip. Yes, I might’ve been a tad difficult, but my digestive tract thanked me.

It’s time for me to accept that I operate much better on a plant-based diet. I’m going to stop fighting it and embrace the change.

Peace, people.

On the Map

This morning at approximately 11:30 Central Daylight Saving Time, Studly Doright and I were just outside of Ft. Oglethorpe heading to points south. Doright Manor is our ultimate destination, and we should be there by 5 p.m. Only the length of Georgia is between us and home.

We had a grand week of motorcycling with friends in and around Bristol, Tennessee. It was hard to leave all of them behind, but we’re looking forward to sleeping in our own bed and petting the cats.

Peace, people!

I Sing; Therefore, I Am…

I might not have the voice of an angel, but by golly, I put my heart into every song. Studly Doright is never sure whether to be proud of me or to hide under the table. This performance earned me a kiss.

Peace, people!

Derby Day

The eldest of my two younger brothers attended a Kentucky Derby several years ago and never once saw a horse at the event. That was his goal, in fact. He stood in the infield, sipping some fine Kentucky bourbon, and enjoyed all the festivities except for the actual race.

I really thought I’d set a better example for him during his formative years. Shouldn’t he at least have had a mint julep or two whilst watching the three-year-old thoroughbreds pound the track? Maybe I’m just jealous. He’s been to a great many more big events in his life than I have.

This year, I’m going to a derby! Not the derby, mind you, but my eldest sister-in-law is the director of the Senior Citizens Center in Hereford, Texas, and this year she and her staff are putting on a Kentucky Derby Gala to raise funds for the center. It’s such a big deal that I flew in for the event.

We’ll watch the Derby on big screens while coyly sipping mint juleps beneath festively decorated hats. Afterwards we’ll have a gourmet meal followed by an auction and our own horse race with pint sized mechanized ponies:

Those pictured above are just a sampling of the horses that will grace our paddocks.

I’m so excited! I purchased two hats for the evening, but accidentally left the smaller one, a fascinator, at home. Since I only have one head, it won’t be a problem.

Yesterday afternoon I got a sneak peek at the decorations, and the place looks fabulous. We’re in for a fun evening.

And I’ll at least see a horse or two.

Peace, people!

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.

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.