#ThursdayDoors — Florida Home

Always I saw great doors. Sometimes when The Mister drove, I’d snap shots. Rarely, they came out well.


Bit crooked. Best one I got, though.
Can we marvel over real shutters in use? I love that part. I really like the door and the windows, and the gate.
Of course, the flora is hideous because it’s all tropical and pokey-spiky-ick. Also, as we all know, Florida is inherently evil and full of fire ants.
But you know, this is still a pretty house and a good door.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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How to Go to Bed Like Joey

I have already provided a tutorial on How to Make a Sammich Like a Bitch, so I’ve decided not a how-to-cook post. In fact, given the defensive, combative comments some readers leave, it’s likely best I don’t tell you how to do things I do exceptionally well. I’m a big picture person. I care about results, not processes. It would be infinitely more joyful and much more fun to tell you how to do something I’m bad it, so you can either feel superior or commiserate.

First note that time after dinner is moving rapidly and your list of things to do and read and watch will keep you up til 3am, but you have to rise to work in the morning, and you’re not down for that kind of tired. At that point, you should pout about how being an adult who is not independently wealthy is a tale of woe. Pout only to yourself, because everyone feels the same way. Momentarily dream of a life where you can rise at will and do all of your best work before dinner. Then note the increasing frequency of your husband’s yawns. Type faster. When he turns off the tv, type rapidly and tell him you will join him shortly. Take your bottles/cans/glasses/mugs/plates/wrappers/silverware, kleenexes, and napkins to the kitchen. Go back for your phone. Stop to hug Moo. Walk into the bedroom, see your husband in bed. Undress/dress for bed. Wash your face. Forget you have glasses on your head, watch them fall into the sink. Pee. You’re very old now and every time you run water, you need to pee. Moisturize. Get some in your hair. Brush your teeth, floss. Sit on your bed and try to scroll your Instagram. Check your bedside for specs, because you can’t read a fucking thing. If you have readers in the there, you get one gold star. If not, go in search of one of the five pair you cannot find when you need them. You have already forgotten there’s a pair on the bathroom sink. Don’t look now, but there’s another pair on the dresser and another on the chest of drawers. Once you have your glasses, like and comment on your Instagram and plug your phone in. Remember you need to take your medicine. Get your medicine. Stop to hug Moo. Question whether you have water in the bottle at your bedside… From what you can recall it’s mostly just kleenex. Odds are not in your favor. Get water to take your medicine. Walk around holding pills in one hand, trying to make a glass of water with the other. Try to drink water and take pills while walking back to the bedroom. Choke. Trip on cats who are rushing to the laundry room to be fed. Feed the cats. Remember you have a load of towels in the wash. Rotate those. Turn around, hug Moo. Sit on the bed again. Balm your lips, cream your hands, and maybe lotion your legs and/or feet. Find clickie. It’s probably under the bed. Turn on shows. Cuddle husband, being sure to flip and flop to acquire the perfect position. It’s hot. Get up, walk to the other end of the house, and turn the air down. Moo wants another hug. Moo will follow you to the bedroom. She will want to talk to you about what hurts on her body now. Sassy will arrive, to lie between you and your husband, to demand petting and to talk about her feelings. Moo will be jealous, and will stick her leg in your face so you can tickle it. The cats, having eaten, want to be part of. While Catticus perches at the end of the bed and begins his nightly bathtime ritual, the other two cats climb over whatever body parts are bridges to where they can best situate their bottoms in your face. Meanwhile, the dog, beside herself with jealousy, licks the leg you just lotioned. As you do regularly, announce to the children that you must get some sleep. Hug and kiss the children at least three times. Repeatedly tell them you love them. You love them, too. No, you love them more. Lie upon husband. Flip and flop again, because that perfect position is long gone now. Yell about how your door is too open and there’s a light on in Tibet. Begin to relax. Realize you forgot to set your alarm. Do that, but yank it, so that it comes unplugged so you may spend considerable time trying to plug the damn thing back in. Lie on husband. Do you have to pee again? Go pee. As soon as you lie down and get comfy, the dryer buzzes. Do not get up and fold it. That can be the thing you remember before bed tomorrow night.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘instructions’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Pie Bookends

It is so cute how many people wished me a long, happy weekend. Thank you. However, we went to work Friday. (Four of us did. I saw no indication that Moo worked.)  Our boss gave us the choice of July 5 or December 23 and my mama ain’t raised no fool.

I walked out the door at 5:00 Friday though. And no one was in the city, let alone at work, so I pulled out of the lot and drove right over to the left lane and went through every light the first time and I got Sassy from work and was home by 5:27 and that is one for the record books.

Then I went to see Marian! Marian Allen, Author Lady! For the third year in a row!

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We are blurry and happy!

Every year, I say I will go to the ATM, but there are no ATMS on the right side of the road on the way there so I don’t go to the ATM. Every year, I get into the left straight lane and then Sassy asks me if I should be over and every year, I start to tell her it’s up ahead on the left and then say, “Oh No! You’re right!” and move over a lane and then hustle to turn in and realize I’ve driven into the first entrance when I should go directly to the second entrance. Every year. I love traditions.

Marian was there to people (gross) and to sell books (sweet). Unfortunately I am a bad friend, having bought soap from The Soap Goddess, and not books from Marian. In my defense, I have several (tens of several) unread books, however, our last beloved honey soap is matchbook-sized.  (And soap does not come in a Kindle version as many of Marian’s books do.)


marian’s latest book

Click this link to go to Marian’s author page on Amazon

In truth, I would love to buy out all of Marian’s books, then announce, “No more books must be sold today!” I’d kidnap her and take her someplace quiet where we can make the nice uninterrupted chitchat. I suspect even if all of you purchase all her books, she’ll just write more books, because that’s what writers do.

At Marian’s event, Moo got a new rock, which is shaped like a rawrosaur. On the way home, I heard Sassy tell her daddy about the dino. Initially he was upset that we had rescued another animal and then he grew concerned about how we would care for a dinosaur.
“It came with its own box.”
“Moo says it’s a herbivore. It can feed on the back 40.”

Much to The Mister’s dismay, the man who sold Moo the rawrosaur accidentally charged me $107.60 instead of $10.60.
I knew something was wrong when The Mister sent Moo from the room, saying, “Mama and Daddy need to talk about grown-up things.”
“What in God’s name did you spend one hundred dollars on?”
“I didn’t.”
A little more scrolling revealed the vendor had credited it back, but Oh.My.Word.

Me: I’m going to go see Marian at the con. I won’t be gone too long or spend too much.
The Mister: Good.

So not a long weekend, but so far, a happy one. Today’s the kind of day one can bookend with bowls of cherry pie a la mode. And I shall.

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Tomorrow I have big plans with laundry and Agatha Christie, and well, more pie. I hope your weekends are going splendidly as well.

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#ThursdayDoors — Blind Owl Brewery

Happy Independence Day! Woot! This is my very favorite holiday. We’re doin it weird. I’ve noticed we do it weird when it’s not connected to a weekend or vacation. I’ve been cookin all mornin and the fellas are smokin pork out back and soon I’ll bake pies. Bubba bought hellarums (rums, plural). We may just stay home and eat a lot and get lit. Maybe walk to the park and see the fireworks. I love fireworks. Or, maybe we’ll just climb up on our roof…

Anyway, it’s quite nice to be home on a Thursday, sleep til 8:30 and do the door post. I’m wearing pajamas and an apron which I NEVER do at work.

Blind Owl Brewery is great! Its selling points include being HUGE, offering a FABULOUS menu, and best of all, being NEARBY with GENEROUS parking.
Truth: I will park ten blocks away to dine in a crowded phone booth if the food is good. My husband might would drop me off at said phone booth, if the traffic’s not too bad and there’s takeout, but he needs space.

So we five arrived at Blind Owl starved out of our minds because we sat around doing the, “I dunno, what sounds good to you?” song and dance. Bubba was the only one who specified he would like to eat meat, as he may or may not have a hard time readjusting to living here and not eating meat every goddamned day like the carnivorous beast he is. The carnivores outnumber Moo and me, but whatever, I’m the mama. I finally suggested this place and said people should look at the menu, so they did and they were down and we goed.

How we goed was Bubba Google-mapped it and I suggested we take 71st to Binford and drive south, because I’d seen it, but I dunno where. Bubba said 62nd, so The Mister drove us through all the shortcuts he took when he usta drive to see his townhouse girl. *blushes*

They had a veritable encyclopedia of beers delighting Bubba. The Mister didn’t let me choose his beer, so he was just “okay” with his.


Then we ordered food, and Bubba was overjoyed then, because they brought him brisket. Goodness, he went on about the brisket. It had potatoes and sweet potatoes and an egg and I dunno what else, but I’m tellin you, Bubba did go on about it at length. So nom. Very moan.


The Mister had the gyro. He makes sheep sounds while he eats lamb. Ba-aaa-aa and whatnot.

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I ordered a burger. Made of meat, thank you very much. They have veggie and bison, but I went with the standard beef. I ordered The Early Riser, which is a laugh for me, but it had — a fried egg, Gouda, bacon jam, and garlic aioli. It was tasty and came with a slaw that hit the palate dully, but then brought the heat. Good stuff.


Moo had the blt


and Sassy ordered chicken tacos.


Everyone was giddy with grub and we spoke of how we will return to eat this and eat that, and try the other, la-la-la.

Can I just say I didn’t have to filter a single food photo? The lighting is surely intended for iPhone snaps of their plates.

Lemme show you around.


stuff all in front of doors, cause you know, restaurant, not door exhibit




modern jukebox, giant ipod, i dunno, plays tunes






prolly not gunpowder

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bocce ball and stuff outside



i was tryina get the beer vat on the roof. instead i got photobombed

In case you’re wondering, no, they haven’t paid me to tell you how great it is. No one ever pays me to blog. I blog for the love of blog.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To find other doors of interest or to share your own, click the link.

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SOCS – Three Fours, Fours are the Best

For my next post I will ponder for/fore/four.

For is for so much. Can’t hardly communicate without for. For instance, I love to shout, “For me?!?” Yes. for sure. When given something wonderful, often this is something yummy, hm? I light up and ask, “For me?!?” and this is followed by “Thank you!” and “How delightful!” for receiving yummies is fortunate business.

FORE! is an important word.

Four is my favorite. I dunno why. Always has been. Like yellow. Four is yellow, of course, and it smells like bananas and feels like pencils. I dunno. You’re either like that or you aren’t.

Four parts of plants and four moon phases. Four seasons are best. Four halves of toast with jam. Four kids are good for me. Two sets, two times. Big uns and wee ones but also two in the middle, because who should bear that middle child burden alone? Ours paired off in opposites, too — one older, one younger. Sassy worshiped Bubba and Moo belonged to Sissy. Plenty of photos of that. Most recently March, still paired up that way. Maybe birth order, maybe temperament, maybe resemblance. Dunno. Four is perfect. Four pets are good for me, too. Three cats and a dog. I thought it could be a hundred cats and a dog, and two goats, and six chickens, and a goldfish, but it turns out three cats and a dog are ideal.

For now, that is all I have to say about for, fore, and four.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘for/fore/four’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Friday Thyme Has Come Again

I hate thyme, remember? When I posted that, I found out a lot of my regular readers like thyme.  Sickos!  Right, we’re all deeply flawed and yet perfect as we are.

If you didn’t remember I hated thyme, now you know I still do, right?

Set that aside.

A few weeks ago, there was a panic at work when “a huge spider” was spotted in the basement. It was, I quote, “a huge spider”.

Our basement is creepy af. It is. I’m not particularly creeped out by basements. I spent three years sleeping in one. So dark. So cool. However, I understand that if one doesn’t care for basements, generally, overall, then our office’s basement is particularly creepy. When the property was first acquired, the basement housed old iron beds with blood-stained mattresses from prior questionable medical practices. It now stores files and things you’d expect to find in a basement, like the mop bucket, tools, and old window screens.

It’s also got a kitchenette. It’s not as fancy as the upstairs kitchenette, but it has one. That’s where we store the beverages. We are heavily dependent on soda. Mostly diet soda, I suppose because we eat candy like we are six and every day is Halloween. Some days I don’t eat candy. Because there’s pastry. Or ice cream. Or cookies. Or cake. Seriously.

Office Assistant generally buys the treats. She works 10+ hours and consumes only black coffee, water, and an apple. She tries to help us junkies by setting out naturally sweet items or lightly sweetened nuts and we eat those, too, BUT WE WANT THE CANDY!

She says things like, “I’m going to Rome for two weeks,” and my first thought is not oh how nice or bring me some door photos, it’s OMFG we’re going to run out of candy! We had some serious deadlines in the last two weeks. I thought we were running out of candy, but Receptionist found the other half of the two-ton bag, Phew!

Anyway, back to the basement — Receptionist has the task of collecting beverages from downstairs and stocking the upstairs, which is when she saw “a huge spider” and informed the boss, who said she’d have Office Assistant ring the bug guy. It was just the three of us during the spider conversation, and I was the only one who hadn’t experienced some sort of heinous spider attack. I certainly did not mention that I did not share their feelings about spiders. I’ll kill a spider in my house if it frightens the kids or looks like it’s sizin me up. If it’s a big’un and I can see its eyes and it’s all “This my bathmat, Bitch!” I’ll kill it. I carry the baby ones out of my house, like, “Here, live in the garden, be happy, do happy spider things! Wheeeeeee!” One huge spider in the basement won’t keep me from the soda unless the spider is some Aragog-lookin thing.

Yesterday, the bug guy came. And he sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and the entire office stunk of THYME OIL. Prolly still does, fml.

Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — Hotel Letters

So that hotel The Mister swept me off to a few weeks ago, it had some gorgeous doors. Seriously gorgeous — Federal, marble, stone pediment, lots of architectural interest. I didn’t photograph any of that, because Hilton made sure to obscure it with a bright blue sorta awning breezeway type thing. I dunno. On the way home, I checked the pamphlet for bulletin points marked

  • Inconveniences
    (but did not find it)

See the edges? Marble.

The lobby was stunning. Use your imagination. Can you tell what this hotel usta be?


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I feel like the stairway shot is a huge clue.

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If you guessed “bank” you may collect one gold star.

The Letterboxes Tho.



#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To find other doors of interest or to share your own, click the link.

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A Piece of Daydream

Wanna go to the beach?


Beaches are fantastic.
In my daydream world, I live in a small stone cottage on the edge of a dense forest and within walking distance to the sea. Daydream worlds are totally awesome for introverts because we can’t invite other people. We can put you there, like a living prop, but you can’t come. I take The Mister all the time. Look how he stretches out before me. See how the light falls on his shoulders? He smirks as I approach him. I can smell the sea.

In real life, I live in a bungalow on a wooded lot at the edge of the interstate and within walking distance of Walgreens. In real life, my husband looks just like that, and even better, looks at me like that, but I smell … is that wet dog?

Right. So real beach.
Let’s go!

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it’s pretty, and it’s got a crane for Dan

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breezy, beautiful blues

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bird blends in. hi, bird.

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no idea. took a pic, tho.

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i am hat. hat is me.

One morning at the beach, we swam near a family of dolphins while pelicans fished around us. That was majestic. Totally never happens at my house.

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Friday, 2:38am

Up reading blogs at 2am. Gah. Don’t get me wrong you guys, I love reading you, but I would rather be asleep. I’ve been so tired all week. I was cold and achy and took to my bed early and I was sleeping and then I woke up all hot. Well it wasn’t me. One of these people, whoever hates me the most, put the thermostat on 72. 72! Ugh. So hot. With a hotter cat nuzzling my feet.

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Not that cat. It was the white one, actually.

Not wanting to wake The Mister with the shining light and clickety-clack of my laptop, I came to my living room to write this and there is some loud and obnoxious thing Bubba watches on my tv. We all have our own thing. His is where the people watch other people play video games. Young people love that stuff. It makes me feel a little violent. I won’t be able to type long. I keep fighting the urge to scream SHUT THE FUCK UP! at the people who cannot hear me. Bubba, like his daddy, sleeps heavy, but I dunno that he could sleep through my yelling that six feet from his face.

My head is full of complaints on Thursday. Not right, is it?

One of my granny bowls, Pyrex, shattered on my gorgeous and terrible kitchen floor. Sassy set it to dry not far from the edge of the counter, Moo climbed said counter to put dishes away, Bubba leaned on the same counter — SMASHO! Bubba got a bunch of tiny cuts on top of one of his giant man feet and I swept it all up because it happened before my husband got home, even though cleaning up glass is his job. Bubba will heal and I still have another granny bowl just like the one that shattered. I hate my kitchen floor. Pyrex. Shattered. Damn.

I tried Noodles & Company today. I had never had it and was excited when Receptionist said she was ordering and would go pick it up. It was icky. I ate the mushrooms out of it and brought the rest home for my dog. She liked it fine.

All it does is rain.

Here’s the thing: When The Mister and I took our overnight date à l’hotel? Certain moments excluded, we watched The Weather Channel the entire time. Tis true. We watched The Weather Channel exclusively. Actively at times. Mindlessly at others. At the time, we laughed about morphing into our parents and growing older, but like, we didn’t turn it off. We marveled at the low temps and high rainfall all over our side of the country. We had intense conversations about flooding. And so, this week, as we had storms, tornadoes, outages and everything wet, we could discuss it properly, as older people do.
“Well, we knew it was coming.”
“Yes, in from Oklahoma.”
“Yes. They did say.”

We haven’t driven by the creek lately. We should do that this weekend. Maybe take the kids and comment on how high the creek is so they will know how to grow old properly. Maybe talk about tributaries and turtles…

Here are some things that haven’t floated away…

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They also haven’t been weeded for some time…

I don’t know how happy I’ll be in four hours. Hopefully my next sleeping session is cool and hard. Maybe Friday will have significantly superior highlights. I’m grateful to leave the living room at 3am, I’ll say that much.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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Friday Fun Flag Day

It’s Friday and I’m tryna get back into my bloggertine, so it’s Friday and it’s happy!

The other day, The Mister and I were textscussing whether we thought we could have a lil getaway for our anniversary at the end of the summer. Y’all know how ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey gross we get in August. Anyway, we debated a bit about weekend before or after and whether I can get a long weekend and he put in for a four-day and we grew giddy, lots of heart emojis…

Maybe we were a wee bit impatient.
August is a ways off.
There are numerous kids in our house.

Good gravy, this is a weird summer.

Sassy is lifeguarding, which means she’s in various stages of wet, red, euphoric, chilled to the bone, and exhausted. She keeps that whistle in her mouth like it’s a ming-ming (pacifier) and since she basically yells all day — but like nice yelling, like “Sir! I’m sorry, Sir, those are indoor towels!” and “Sweetie, please don’t drown the other children!” she’s significantly louder than she had been, which was, well, we just have one quiet kid. Unless he drinks.

Moo alternates between ambitious socializing and hermitting, but having not been apart from her sister in such a way, ever before in her life, has become a bit … needy.

Extra kids are here now and again.

*taps fingers*
Have I mentioned Mottern One has landed his big city job and temporarily resides here in our tiny bungalow that we bought partially because it will be perfect later when we have an emp — ? You’d think “bungalow” in itself would make it clear, but I don’t want you to think we have a big California bungalow. No, I need you to know there are only 1500 square feet here and now we have lost our dining room to the command center, our entryway stores luggage and ginormous man-shoes and our sofa isn’t a desirable sleeping spot, (I can’t imagine why!) so there’s an air mattress and then another monitor almost the size of our tv in here and did I mention it’s only temporary? Have I mentioned we have temporarily lived with other people in transitional times? My karma is super shiny clean. And I tell you what, we temporarily have a ‘babysitter’. OKAY?

The Mister booked us a room downtown tonight.
A sweet escape.

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If ever two people needed to sit in silence with a cocktail…
In a clean and tidy room…

Yeah. We gotta go.

Happy Friday Everyone!



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