Category: Commentary

The Best First

I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately for those early days of my relationship with Studly Doright. I don’t know if it’s because we’re both in our sixties now, or because our oldest grandkids are near the ages we were when we first fell in love, but something has me in a mood to reflect on how this whole thing started.

We’d begun dating not long after I moved to Dumas in my senior year of high school. Studly worked as a stocker, keeping groceries lined up on grocery shelves at the local Piggly Wiggly, and as a sacker who efficiently packed shoppers’ purchases into bags and then carried those bags to their cars. My dad was his boss and even before I began dating Studly, Daddy would comment on his superior work ethic.

“That Noyes kid works circles around the rest of my crew,” he’d say. (FYI, Studly Doright sometimes answers to the name David Noyes, but don’t tell anyone.) Coming from my dad that was high praise and most likely impacted my feelings for Studly even before I’d gotten to know him.

Our first date was to the homecoming football game in 1974. I can’t remember who our team, the Dumas Demons, played that night, or even if we won. I just recall how comfortable I was with this boy, and that was not the norm for the awkward kid that was me.

When he walked me to the door after the game and kissed me goodnight I knew I was a goner, so perfect was that kiss. Once inside the little house my family was renting I shut the front door and leaned back against it. My mom had been waiting up for me and gave me this look.

“Oh, Mom,” I said. “I think I’m in love.”

I didn’t say those words to Studly until that Christmas, though, and not until after he’d said them to me first. My family had returned to our hometown of Floydada, Texas, to spend the holidays with family. For nearly a week Studly and I had to endure being apart. I’m sure I mooned around like a lovesick puppy, and from accounts from friends, so did he.

As soon as we were reunited he took me to our favorite parking spot in his ’66 Plymouth. We were a little awkwardly sweet at first. His motorcycle helmet was in the seat beside me, and as a goof I put it on. Underneath the protective layer of that helmet I said, “I missed you a lot.”

Studly replied that he’d missed me, too.

“I might like you a little,” I confessed.

“I think I might love you,” he responded.

“Oh! I love you, too,” I said. We most likely kissed after that. I forget.

We’ve been married more than 41 years now. We’ve had some epic fights over four decades. We’ve hurt each other’s feelings and done incredibly stupid things, but on some level we’re still those two teenagers, sitting in that old blue Plymouth shyly declaring our love for each other. Every single day.

Promise Me

We were sweethearts in high school, Studly and I. We’d begun dating in September of my senior year, just a few months after I’d moved to Dumas, Texas. Apparently Studly had followed me around all summer, but I was pretty clueless. I wasn’t the kind of girl boys like him pursued. I was more the type they avoided.

Studly worked for my dad who managed the local Piggly Wiggly grocery store. Not long after I asked him where the ketchup was shelved, we began dating and fell head over heels in love. We were inseparable for my entire senior year, and when I moved to Amarillo in the fall of ’75 to attend college the angst of separation drove us both a little crazy. You see, Studly is a year younger than I am, and still had his senior year of high school to get through

I came home to Dumas fairly often, and Studly drove to Amarillo every chance he got. Dumas and Amarillo are only about 45 miles apart, after all, still, it might as well have been a trillion miles, so in love were we.

When Christmas break rolled around I couldn’t wait to spend some quality time with Studly. We went out every night and fell deeper and deeper in love. On Christmas Eve Studly and I went parking in our favorite spot at the old motorcycle track, and when he presented me with a small velvet box my heart started pounding so hard I thought I’d pass out.

I knew it wasn’t an engagement ring. We weren’t at that point in our relationship yet, but I thought it might just be a promise ring, a symbol of our intention to someday be engaged.

Anyway, I opened the box and found myself looking at the ugliest, cheapest piece of jewelry I’d ever seen. See the green one below? That’s the one.

It had the look of a prize from a gum ball machine, but Studly looked so earnest when I opened it that I had to gush over it.

“Put it on!” He urged.

So I did. Luckily it had an adjustable band. Could he not tell that it was obviously an extremely cheap piece of jewelry? I thanked him for the ring, trying to be upbeat, but all the time wondering if he’d bought it from some scam artist.

We made out for awhile, before he suggested that we go to the Pizza Hut for dinner.

“You can show off your ring!” He said, as I cringed.

When we got to the Pizza Hut, it was hopping. There were no empty booths to be had. I was relieved. Maybe I wouldn’t need to show my dubious promise ring to anyone after all. Then a couple we knew waved us over and asked us to sit with them. Crap.

Almost immediately after we joined them the girl, Karen, exclaimed, “Guess what? We’re engaged!” She then showed me her lovely engagement ring.

Studly and I both admired it. Her ring was small, but so pretty. Studly gently took my hand, and said,

“Honey, aren’t you going to show them your ring?”

I wanted to hide under the table. I knew Karen and her guy would see the ring for what it was–a cheap piece of plastic in an adjustable band.

Just as I was about to bring my trembling hand up to show them the ring, Studly stopped me. “Maybe you’d rather show them this one.”

Out of his pocket he pulled a small blue velvet box. When I opened it I began laughing.

I didn’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. I showed Karen and her guy the first ring Studly had given me. We all had a good laugh when I told them the story.

I don’t know what happened to that gum ball ring. Studly said he’d spent a lot of money trying to win a ring from the gum ball machine. It might’ve well cost as much as my little sapphire by the time he finally got it. I wish I’d kept the cheap one. I had no appreciation for such things back then, but I do now.

There’s a lesson there, I suppose. Pay attention to the little things. Someday, they’ll be really important.

Happy New Year, friends.

We’re Watching the Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl Among Others

My husband, aka Studly Doright, is closely following all of the college football bowl games this year. He and a group of coworkers entered into a pool in which they each ranked the 37 college football games. If a team he picked wins its game, Studly gets to add the number of points according to how he ranked them.

For example, he ranked Wyoming #27, so when they defeated Central Michigan he racked up 27 points. A couple of games have come down to the last possession. He predicted both of those incorrectly. Today, though, his teams came through and he’s feeling optimistic with 321 points.

The winner of the pool gets nothing except bragging rights, and the joy of saying the name of the bowl game out loud. There are the Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl, the Nova Home Loans Arizona Bowl, and the Cheribundi Tart Cherry Boca Raton Bowl among others. I can’t make this stuff up, folks.

I’m dating myself when I say I remember when the games were simply the Cotton Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, and the Orange Bowl. At least the Rose Bowl has maintained its original name, even though the corporate sponsor, Northwestern Mutual, has tagged its name into the end.

The four playoff games leading up to the national championship are scored separately. It’ll be interesting to see how Studly fares in this friendly competition. He’ll never be able to say Cheribundi with a straight face.

Below, a screen shot of the CapitalOne Orange Bowl:

Patches is even into the game:

Peace, people!

Jumanji You Say

I was spectacularly unmotivated yesterday. There was laundry to be done that I didn’t do, a closet to clean out that I left cluttered, and a blog post to write that was left unwritten. It’s a darned good thing I don’t get paid for any of the above tasks, else I’d be holding a pink slip instead of a paycheck come next Friday.

After an entire day of doing nothing except drinking coffee and petting our cats, Patches and Scout, I was on the restless side by the time Studly Doright got home from work. One might even say I was whiny.

“I’m bored!” I complained, in my best imitation of a ‘tween girl on a random summer Tuesday.

Studly countered with, “You can come out and help me work in the shop. I’ll find things for you to do.”

I huffed, “Oh, that sounds fun. Not!” I followed him outside anyway and sulked just within the realm of his peripheral vision.

“It’s too cold out here. I’m shivering. My fingers are going numb.”

Studly held up the thermometer. “It’s 62°. You’re not likely to freeze.”

I held up one of my fingers. It might have been a middle one. “See, it’s blue. And shivering.”

“If you get to work you might warm up.”

“Fine,” I sulked, still channeling my inner twelve year old. “But I’m sure I won’t warm up. The kids will find my frozen body in this shop next time they come for a visit. That’s if they ever come for a visit.”

Wisely, Studly ignored me. We worked for a bit while I grumbled under my breath, and he kept up a running commentary about some of his projects in progress. I was enjoying my role as the petulant pre-teen, so when Studly said, “That’s all we can do for now, how about we see if there’s a showing of Jumanji?”

Crossing my arms over my chest and pouting as prettily as possible, I said, “Fine. But I probably won’t like it.” Of course my smile ruined the effect, but I had to add, “I probably don’t have a thing to wear, either.”

And that’s the story of how I got Studly to take me to see Jumanji. It’s a fun movie, and given my earlier performance I could have been a character in the movie. I guess I won’t get paid for that, either.

Peace, people.

To Epcot or Not to Epcot

Next week Studly Doright has to be in Orlando for a meeting, but he’s also taking a day of vacation while he’s there to have his golf swing analyzed. Heck, I offered to save him a great deal of time and money by watching his backswing and laughing for free. He wasn’t amused.

Apparently he didn’t hold my snarky comment against me, though, suggesting that I accompany him to Orlando. Instead of taking his company car, we’d drive one of our own vehicles, and I could visit one of the theme parks on the day he has to work. I might’ve jumped up and down like a little kid.

I haven’t been to Epcot in years, so that’s the park topping my list. I geek out a little thinking about Future World, and I’ve never once made it completely around the World Showcase, so that’s my goal for this trip.

The only possible downside is that the weather predicted for the day I’ll visit isn’t optimal with temperatures expected to be in the 50’s. I’ll more than likely need to wear jeans and real shoes! Maybe even a jacket! Oh, the humanity!But, on the plus side, maybe the cooler weather will keep the crowd sizes down, and I won’t have to worry about long lines.

The only other park in the running would be Universal Studios Islands of Adventure, but my heart is saying Epcot, and the heart wants what the heart wants, am I right?

Christmas Recap

Doright Manor was too quiet this Christmas. Studly Doright and I had gotten together with our kids and grandchildren in Texas at Thanksgiving, so we had to suck it up and spend Christmas without them. I’m going to be honest and tell you, Christmas for just us two isn’t much fun.

We tried to be as festive as possible. We took in a movie on Christmas Eve and then drove around Tallahassee to view the holiday lights, returning home to open gifts from each other. We’d agreed neither of us needed any big gifts this year, so I bought Studly books (he really isn’t a reader, but I always hold out hope), and T-shirts featuring vintage motorcycle brands.

He bought me Star Wars stuff: a Resistance leader’s jacket, a BB-8 handbag, and several pieces of jewelry in the shapes of light sabers and droids. So if anyone in Tallahassee sees a late middle aged woman sporting any of the aforementioned gear, you can be fairly certain it’s me. Say hello and we’ll go find some First Order thugs to put in their place before heading for coffee.

Our dinner on Christmas Day was outstanding, even if I do say so myself. I ran Studly out of the house to work in his shop, opened a bottle of Chardonnay, and made a meal for the ages. I’m a much better cook when fueled by wine, and that’s a fact. Studly went back for seconds and thirds which I took as the highest compliment. And the pecan pie, oh my word! It was one of the best ever. Studly said I was going to have to stop telling people what an awful cook I am.

We went to another movie after dinner, getting home much later than is our norm (10 p.m! Absolutely decadent!) and then spent a quiet post-Christmas Tuesday. I had planned and executed the perfect turkey and cheddar sandwich on soft white bread for dinner, while Studly warmed up the leftover turkey and dressing for a repeat of Christmas Day’s meal.

So, while nothing exciting happened, and we missed being with our children, we had a pleasant holiday. I’m writing this on Tuesday evening and thinking I might have to have one more piece of pecan pie. Wednesday’s post most likely will deal with how none of my pants will button. Exciting stuff. Stay tuned.

Peace, people!

Thirteen Today

Our beautiful middle grandchild, McKayla, was born 13 years ago today, prompting us to leave our son’s home in Dallas, where we’d spent Christmas Day, to journey as quickly as possible to Kansas City to welcome this child.

She wasn’t due until mid-January, but she insisted on arriving early. I will always believe the tsunami that hit Indonesia on December 26 played a role in McKayla’s early arrival. Superstitious? Maybe. But she’s quite a force of nature.

Happy birthday, dear McKayla. We love you.

The Christmas Story

When I was small one of my favorite activities during the Christmas season was rearranging the nativity scene that my mother placed beneath the Christmas tree. It wasn’t a fancy nativity set, in fact, as I recall it was made of heavy duty paper and the figures of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, et. al. were little more than cardboard cutouts, like holy paper dolls.

I’m sure I made them trek to and from Bethlehem a hundred times or more as I replayed the story of Jesus’s birth. That’s probably why they didn’t last much past my childhood.

For most of my marriage I didn’t have a nativity set. I wanted a nice one, and I couldn’t afford to buy a set that suited me. Then about fifteen years ago I won this one as a door prize at a charity golf tournament Studly Doright and my dad played in at Pensacola, FL.

I had to add the stable and the angel, but the rest of the cast was present. Every now and then I take the shepherd and the kings away and make them all play out their parts in the story. Sometimes Joseph manages to get them all a room at a Holiday Inn Express, but usually they make do with the stable. I mostly stick to the tale as told by Luke.

No matter where you are, I hope you and yours enjoy a peace filled Christmas Day.

Luke 2:1-20

The Birth of Jesus

2 In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. 2 (This was the first census that took place while[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) 3 And everyone went to their own town to register.

4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. 5 He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, 7 and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14 

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

Searching for the Real Deal

I was perhaps four years old. Surely too young to have this memory of walking from store to store in downtown Lubbock, Texas, on a cold and blustery December day. My hands can still recall the feeling of being snuggled into a white, fake fur muff. Someone, probably my Grandaddy, thought I was special enough to have this beautiful hand warmer. It was a wondrous thing. As soft on the inside as on the outside. I wish I still had it. Of course at my age I’d only be able to fit one hand inside the one I had back then.

(Above, a muff similar to the one I once owned.)

At any rate I recall the vibrancy of this particular day: Happy shoppers clogging the sidewalks in the midst of tall buildings, Christmas music emanating from every store, stopping for hot chocolate with my mommy at a drugstore, and all of a sudden wondering why there were Santas everywhere. How could this be? I was four, but even I knew there was just one Santa Claus. I’d sat in Santa’s lap inside one department store, so how could I be seeing him again in the store next door? I was no mathematical prodigy, but dang, it was pretty obvious that something fishy was going on.

“Mommy?” I asked. “How did Santa get from Hemphill-Wells to Montgomery Ward so fast?”

“He’s magic,” Mom said.

I thought a bit and reckoned that must be so, especially since Santa had a history of popping down chimneys with a sack full of toys he’d carried around with him in a flying sleigh pulled by eight miniature reindeer. Still, by the time we reached the end of one block I’d counted at least five Santas. And, none of them looked the same. A couple of them were skinny and one had an obviously fake beard. I could see the elastic he used to keep it in place.

So, I broached the subject again. “Mommy, why are all the Santas different?”

“Well, you see, Santa has to have helpers. He’s up at the North Pole getting ready for Christmas.”

“So none of these Santas are real?”

“I think maybe Santa does stop by some stores, just to make sure his helpers are doing a good job.”

From then until I learned the truth about Santa Claus I became fairly obsessed with discerning whether the Santa I visited with at Christmas time was indeed the real deal or just a hired hand. It became my quest to find THE Santa. A couple of times I was fairly certain I’d found the one.

After every visit with a department store Santa my brothers and I would debate that one’s credentials. Of course the boys looked to me for wisdom, (I’m pretty sure that’s still the case, they just won’t admit it) so I’d say, “That seemed like the real Santa! Did you see his twinkling eyes?” or “That one was just a helper, I think. I could see his real hair under his hat.” I don’t remember there being much debate; although, my brothers might have different memories.

Wouldn’t it be lovely for just one week to experience the wonder of Santa as a child? Not through the eyes of a child but as one? The wonder and magic, the anticipation! Ah! I wonder if anyone would hire me as a Santa detector? I think I have a knack for it.

(Below is a photo of the old Hemphill Wells store in downtown Lubbock.)

Peace, people.

Coffeehouse Christmas

I’m fond of the Coffeehouse channel on SiriusXM radio. It’s the station that plays acoustic versions of just about any song you could name. I’m not sure some songs SHOULD be performed acoustically, but for the most part I enjoy the offerings on Coffeehouse.

This week the station is playing only Christmas music, and I’ve become enamored of some of the songs.

I’d never heard of the group Civil Wars, but I really like their version of I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. It’s a new take on a beautiful old favorite.

Likewise, Last Christmas by Denny Lloyd is a slower, sweeter version than Wham!’s.

And James Taylor’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is as wonderful as ever.

Christmas at the Airport is hilarious. I have no idea who Nick Lowe is, but he had me chortling as he sang about the travails of being snowed in at an airport on his trip home for the holidays.

Coffeehouse is Channel 14 on SiriusXM.

(Lest you worry that I took these photos while driving, let me assure you I pulled over before snapping any of these shots. We don’t want Santa to think I’ve been naughty, right?)