Cold is Relative

Studly Doright is playing in a golf tournament today while I’m home taking care of the cats and doing laundry. Any thoughts I had of getting out and running around town for a bit were dashed by the weather.

It’s “Florida cold” outside, not to be confused with “Michigan cold” or “Wisconsin cold” but trust me, when you’re accustomed to 70° weather with sunshine, a cloudy 40° day is a real bummer, and our night time temps are going to dip below freezing this week. Brrr.

My daughter in Illinois has no sympathy, though, and I can’t blame her for that. Their weather forecast makes me want to cry for them. If they cry for themselves, their tears will freeze on their rosy cheeks.

Studly Doright and I are no strangers to bitterly cold weather. We did our time in the cold white north, four years in North Dakota and another eight in Illinois were plenty for me. Perhaps our little cold snap here in the Florida panhandle is just a reminder to count my blessings. Or maybe it’s just cruel and unusual punishment for some unknown offense. Whatever it is, may it be gone soon. I’m also wishing warmer weather for all those impacted by Winter Storm Harper.

Here’s our own force of nature, also named Harper.

peace and warmth, people.

Hey Toto, This Isn’t Florida

This is what I awakened to this morning:

Maybe I needed a reminder that I wasn’t snuggled into my bed in Doright Manor near Quincy, FL, on this Friday morning. Or maybe it was time for my “Driving on Snowy Roads” refresher course.

Brrrrr! And peace, people.

Rainy Saturdays, Nudity, and Ukeleles

The best way to deal with an early Saturday morning thunderstorm is to pour a second cup of coffee, add a generous helping of Irish cream, and let the lightning and thunder rage on outside.

I need to take a shower, and I should be doing chores, but the rain is telling me to wait.

One should always listen to the rain. Unless, that is, the rain is telling you to strip naked and run through the neighborhood playing a ukulele. I won’t make THAT mistake again.

Albert Arthur Allen’s “Nude with Ukelele”

Albert Arthur Allen’s “Nude with Ukelele”

Peace, people!

No Epcot for Me

Well, dang. I’d planned on accompanying Studly Doright to Orlando this week where I’d explore Epcot while he worked. Then Mother Nature decided to play havoc with the weather all along the east coast and I, being a very wise woman, decided to save Epcot for a warmer day.

I’m fully aware that folks in the northern states would love to have 49° weather this week, and I’m sure those temps listed above wouldn’t deter anyone who is snowbound in Minnesota from spending a day at Disney, but when your body is used to 70° weather at this time of year, 49° might as well be 19°.

I was pretty bummed out when I made the decision to wait until later in the year, but then I had the bright idea to schedule a spa treatment on Thursday. That should cheer me right up. And the best part, it’ll take place indoors.

Meteorologists are calling the upcoming storm a bomb cyclone!:


Studly Doright and I have been in the Tallahassee area for four years now, having moved from central Illinois where we resided for eight years. This morning I realized I’d finally acclimated to the weather here when upon hearing that the high in our area would be in the mid-60’s today, I said to myself, “Better wear a sweater!”

I’m not complaining. I’ll wear that sweater all winter thanking my lucky stars I don’t need a heavy jacket and snow boots.

Truly everything is relative. We lived in North Dakota for four years where an ambient temperature of 34° on a winter day had folks digging out their bikinis and sunscreen.

Even in the mid-west the definition of cold is a matter of season. Forty degrees in November feels cool, while the same temperature in February is positively balmy.

The most difficult part for me when the weather turns cool is having to put away my flip flops. Although, I have been known to pull this stunt:

But only to take out the garbage. If I go downtown, I’ll put my pants on….

No matter where you are, I hope you have a great day. Pants optional.

Peace, people.

Not that Desperate

Doright Manor where I reside with my husband of forty one years, is in a rural neighborhood about ten miles west of Tallahassee, Florida. We have a Havana, FL, address, but we are only slightly farther from Tallahassee than we are from the little town of Havana. On most days I drive into Tallahassee at least once to walk, shop, or sometimes to take in a movie.

The knowledge that Hurricane Irma will hit near us early next week has me feeling antsy, and even though I’ve already shopped for supplies I began to worry that I might have forgotten something. So yesterday I drove over to see the movie “It!” and followed up with a trip to a Publix grocery store.

My hope was that I could purchase some canned meat meals, such as tuna or chicken with crackers and mayonnaise, that require no refrigeration. I’d looked a couple of days ago, but the store was completely out of those items. The clerks thought they’d get some more in before the storm, so I deemed it worth a trip.

Here is what the canned meat aisle looked like:

I wasn’t even a little bit tempted by these delicacies:

Canned squid! Who knew? I just know I’m not that desperate.

The store was busy, but the mood was generally buoyant, even though now it looks as if Tallahassee will get a bigger piece of the storm than was previously predicted.

Studly Doright and I still aren’t sure if we’ll evacuate ahead of Irma. I’m leaving the decision up to him. I call him Studly Doright for a reason, so I’m in his capable hands.

Please send good vibes out to all those in the direct path of the storm, especially to one of my British blogging friends and her husband who are vacationing in Florida. They had to evacuate the Keys and may have to go to a shelter in Miami if their hotel has to be vacated.

Thanks for reading. I have absolutely the best followers. Peace, people.

Hurricane Watch, September 2017

Irma is coming, and she’s nobody’s favorite aunt. We’re watching her closely here at Doright Manor in Havana, Florida, and contemplating our options.

A Facebook friend from Melbourne, FL, sent me a link to a weather website that allows one to view a storm’s projected path and wind speeds in three hour increments.

Just type in a location and the animated map will indicate when that area might be impacted and how long residents might be dealing with the brunt of the storm.

Below is the projection for Havana from late Sunday to early on Monday:

Pretty cool, huh? Of course these are all still projections.

If Irma had a heart she’d just dissipate and go frolic as some lighthearted waves in the Atlantic. Go away Irma! We have nothing you need!

Be prepared and stay safe!

Peace, people.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like…

It’s beginning to look a lot like…

…the end of November.

As winter approaches in the Florida panhandle, rain substitutes for snow, while galoshes and umbrellas sub for snow boots and mittens. As I dressed for work on this rainy, but warm morning (71 degrees at 7:30 a.m.) I didn’t complain. I’d much rather drive on wet roads than icy ones. After experiencing several winters in North Dakota and Illinois, I’m no longer nostalgic for pretty snowfalls and roaring fires. 

Doright Manor is still decorated for Thanksgiving, and will remain thus until the first weekend in December. I have nothing against those who put up their Christmas trees the day after Thanksgiving, but my heart clings to November like the last leaf on an oak tree. 

Meanwhile all around me folks are humming Christmas carols and buying wrapping paper. The Hallmark Channel is running sappy made-for-tv holiday movies 24/7. Santa Claus is already holding court at the mall. 

Enough already! I say, let November have its special place in the American psyche. Savor November. And while you’re at it, listen to Guns N’ Roses, November Rain.
Peace, people!

By the Numbers

Note: No joking in this note, the number 651008 represents the number of brave U.S. men and women killed in combat. God, I’m sick of wars started by old men and fought by young people. I didn’t know the meaning of the number until after the post was written. A sobering thought. Carry on. 

A friend from childhood posted a number on Facebook several days ago and asked what we thought it represented: 


My first guess was the mileage on a vintage truck. No, it wasn’t that. My next guess was that it is the number assigned to an automotive part. So far, my friend hasn’t provided the answer. I’m waiting impatiently for a response.

In the meantime I’ve been contemplating numbers. Did you know you can google your exact age and a calculator will determine the number of days and months you’ve been on this earth?

On Wednesday, August 31, I was this old:

I feel like I should have more days than that to my credit. Surely nights spent pacing the floor with a cranky baby count for more. And if I’ve been alive for 3,125.7 weeks, that means I’ve survived over 3,000 Mondays. Doesn’t that alone deserve a medal of some sort?

Logically, my brain skipped to wondering how far we are from the planet Neptune. Thanks again to Google, I found this information:

Too far for a weekend destination, and I hear the weather is terrible there this time of millennium. The average surface temperature is a balmy -218° C. Still, that’s a lovely group of numbers.

Much closer to home, did you realize that humans have an estimated 32.7 trillion cells in their bodies give or take a few trillion depending on the metrics used?

I still have no idea what 651008 signifies, but if I google its properties, I get a page chock full of information:

And the above showed only a part of the page. Well, this made me wonder what properties the number 1 has.

Kind of fascinating that the lowly number 1 has so much going for it.

Life is good here at Doright Manor. Good enough that I can spend my morning fiddling with Google and contemplating numbers as a possible hurricane approaches from the Gulf of Mexico, a distance of approximately 504 miles. 

Maybe this would be a good time to visit Neptune.

Peace, people.