Category: Family

(im)Perfection

My mom was a kitchen perfectionist. She had precise ideas as to how most things had to be done, and I never quite was able to live up to those ideals. I never stirred correctly, never measured properly, never quite made anything to Mom’s specifications. I’ve always blamed her for my not learning to be a better cook, but truthfully I never enjoyed kitchen tasks.

Every year as Thanksgiving nears I wish I’d paid more attention to Mom’s directives. Even though I’ve now successfully prepared two dozen or more holiday dinners on my own I still have at least one hiccup in the preparation stage every single time. One year I almost forgot to buy a turkey. Another year I accidentally prepared sweet cornbread as the base for my cornbread dressing. That’s a definite no-no! No amount of sage or pepper could counterract the sweetness. There’s no telling what will happen this year. You see, I’m a bit of an imperfectionist.

On Thanksgiving morning I can always imagine my mom looking down from her perch in heaven shaking her head and saying, “Oh, sis, not like that!” But she’s also probably beaming in amazement that I manage to pull the whole thing off, and that so far no one’s been rushed to the emergency room after one of my meals.

Studly Doright and I wish each of you a Happy Thanksgiving. May your heart be filled with love and gratitude and your belly filled with good food.

Peace, people!

Thanksgiving Day at Doright Manor

Roast Turkey

Cornbread Dressing

Green Bean Casserole (Studly’s favorite)

Grape Salad (from Chicken Salad Chick-my favorite)

Cranberry Sauce

Deviled Eggs

Yeast Rolls

Pumpkin Pie

Wine

  

 

 

The Day Before Thanksgiving

Studly Doright, the love of my life, is a bit of a horse trader. He doesn’t trade actual horses (dear Studly harbors an unnatural fear of farm animals, large and small); instead, he trades cars, trucks, motorcycles, basically anything that is motorized transportation.

On Tuesday he informed me that he’d bought a pickup truck. I nodded and smiled. “And, by the way,” he said casually, “We have to pick it up on Wednesday.”

Again, I nodded, like the dullard I must be.

Studly cleared his throat and I looked at him expectantly. “Um, it’s in Orlando….”

Normally a proposed trip to Orlando would have me jumping up and down like a small child. Universal Studios, DisneyWorld, tacky souvenirs, oh joy! But on the day before we are to host a Thanksgiving meal in our home? Nooooooooooo! For one thing  I knew there’d be no dawdling. We’d drive four hours south, in holiday traffic mind you, then turn around and drive four hours back to Doright Manor. But I had no choice. Studly can be an awful bully, I mean, awfully persuasive. 

The trip down was enjoyable. In addition to his gifts in persuasion Studly is always entertaining. Once again we drove right by the Cafe Risqué, Florida’s all nude cafe, even though we have a series of running jokes about what’s on the menu. Trust me, you don’t want to know the jokes. 

Traffic was interesting. One seriously aggressive driver came lane surfing around us, easily going 20 m.p.h. above our rather sedate 75. (Speed limit was 70.) As we neared Orlando we passed her after she’d hit another car. I’d have cheered, but she ruined someone else’s weekend. 

Once we arrived at the car dealership Studly took a test drive while I stretched my legs and looked at cars. The dealership had a gorgeous red BMW convertible that could’ve come home with me if I had just a few more (thousand) dollars in my bank account. After he returned, smiling like an idiot, Studly told me I could start for home while he finished making the deal.

I’ve officially been home now for an hour, and put together another pecan pie that should be done in 10-15 minutes. Studly got caught in a holiday traffic jam on the turnpike. I’m enjoying a Shiner Bock and the Thanksgiving classic Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Studly is probably cursing at rude drivers. Who knows, he might actually get to check out the menu at Cafe Risqué.

  
Peace, people!

Cooking for Studly: Special Thanksgiving Edition

Just when I think I can’t come up with a new way to screw up a meal I manage to surprise myself. Yesterday, I prepared the cornbread for our Thanksgiving dressing. I’ve made hundreds of batches of cornbread over the years, maybe even thousands. It’s pretty much a no-brainer at this point. Bwahaha!

This year I decided to make my cornbread from scratch rather than use one of the handy dandy mixes on the market. And because I’d rather have too much cornbread than too little, I doubled the recipe. Or I thought I did. 

1 1/3 cups of milk? No problem, that’ll be 2 and 2/3 cups.

1 large egg? Easy breezy: 2 eggs.

1/4 cup oil? A little tougher, but my superior mathematics skills came up with 1/2 cup.

So tell me why, when I went to add the cornmeal and sugar I didn’t double those ingredients?

And tell me why I didn’t notice that my batter was a bit on the watery side?

The result was a soufleé-ish concoction with a lovely aroma and squishy texture. I tasted it. Kind of yummy, but not at all suitable for cornbread dressing.

  
So, back to the cupboards for another try. I didn’t double anything this time, mostly because that would’ve meant a trip to the supermarket.

  
It might look a little overdone to some of you, but we like our dressing made from cornbread that is a bit on the dry side. At least that’s what I’ll tell everyone. Just in case, I have a packet of Martha White cornbread mix that I can put to good use.

  
This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for convenience.

Peace, people!

The Finer Things in Life

Potato soup and

Warm cornbread 

An ice cold glass

Of Borden’s milk.

Fuzzy kittens in

Cradled arms

With fur as soft

As the finest silk.

A child’s warm

Heartfelt embrace

I love you Nana

The sweetest grace.

The finer things

Aren’t steeply priced

When simple love

Will always suffice.

 

great nephew Michael and our youngest granddaughter Harper.
 
 

Feeling a little sentimental today, and oh so very lucky. (I borrowed that from my friend Janie, a lucky, lucky girl.)

Peace, people!

Anagogglin

My vocabulary was enriched this week by the addition of the word, “anagoggle.”

 

Saint Helen at the historic capitol building in Tallahassee.

Saint Helen and I were exploring the little community of Colquitt, Georgia, and had walked quite a distance from my car. When we realized we were both fairly tired of walking in the heat we decided to begin angling our way back to our starting point. 

“We’ll just have to anagoggle our way back to the car,” Saint Helen said.

“Huh?” I replied in my most articulate manner.

“You know,” she said, demonstrating a zig zag pattern with her hands. “Anagoggle. You’ve never heard of that?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Must be a New Mexico thing,” said Saint Helen.

“Indeed.”

By that time we’d anagoggled over to the car and I’d conjugated the verb successfully: I anagoggled yesterday, we went anagogglin, we can anagoggle. 

 

Me before I knew anything about anagogglin.

Peace, people. 
 

Playing the Pogo Stick in Perry

Studly Doright took today (Friday) off so he could spend time with his mom before she has to head home on Monday. Studly excels at finding fun locations for lunch, and he outdid himself today.

  
Just outside of Perry, Florida, is Deal’s Famous Oyster House. People drive for many miles to experience the cafe’s oysters on the half shell along with just about any other kind of seafood one might desire.

Now, Studly doesn’t eat seafood, so we knew there must be some additional reason he chose Deal’s as our lunch destination. It didn’t take long for that reason to be exposed:

   
 
This, my friends, is a one-woman percussion instrument. We believe her name is Zodie and her instrument is called the pogo stick. One plays the pogo stick by dragging it along the floor and tapping it in time to a recorded melody, while simultaneously spinning an attached tambourine and drawing a bow across a string. Simply put, my mind was boggled!

 

 
Studly was pretty proud of himself for introducing us to the pogo stick. I hope the video plays for you!

Oh, and the seafood was incredible. Saint Helen and I had fried shrimp and hush puppies. The breading was light and didn’t overwhelm the shrimp. Perfection. Studly had chicken. Silly boy.

   
 Peace, people!

Colquitt Silos

Yesterday I posted photos of the murals in downtown Colquitt, Georgia. Those murals pale in comparison to the silo murals in this small Georgia town.

Neither Saint Helen nor I claim to be professional photographers, and our only cameras are on our iPhones. Hopefully, though, our photos will convey at least an idea of the scope and beauty of these larger than life works of art:

   
    
   
Every crop grown in the area surrounding Colquitt is depicted on the silos.

We stopped in at the Colquitt Chamber of Commerce before heading downtown, and the women there were full of lively conversation and helpful information. In a future post I’ll share the town’s Cotton Hall Theatre schedule. I’m hoping that Studly Doright and I can attend one of their Swamp Gravy performances in the near future.

Peace, people!

Colquitt, GA

Saint Helen and I visited the quaint community of Colquitt, Georgia, today. We had a scrumptious lunch at the Tarrer Inn, and then wandered around the scenic town square. 

At one shop we purchased some lotion that’s purported to help alleviate the pain of arthritis. After one use Saint Helen was pleased to report that she had no pain in her hands. Of course she then had to sheepishly confess that she hadn’t actually had any pain in her hands to begin with. See why I adore her?

Colquitt is known for its murals, and for good reason.

 

Saint Helen

   

  

 Each corner building has its own mural depicting periods from the town’s history. 

Once Saint Helen shares her photos of the town’s beautifully painted silos with me I’ll post them, as well. Of course, if her hands are giving her trouble she might not be able to hit SEND on her iPhone.

Peace, people!

The Corruption of Saint Helen

I took my beautiful mother-in-law, Saint Helen, to lunch at The Edison in Tallahassee today. 

  
I had an outstanding BLT. She had a strawberry salad. We both had a cocktail!

 

Saint Helen and her cocktail.
 
Well, to be fair, Saint Helen only had half of one. I drank every last drop of mine.

  

Rosewater Pink Lemonade shaken with Bombay Gin is a lovely way to celebrate October 29. Or any other day, for that matter.

Peace, people!

Doright Manor Musings

Outside Doright Manor the temperature is 85 degrees. It’s a warm October day, but not terribly humid. Of course I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort having just enjoyed a Smart Ones spicy chicken and fries meal. 

There are two separate shows being played out for my enjoyment. One is a recording of The Walking Dead. The other is the steady procession of roofers hauling bundles of shingles up a ladder to our covered/screened in porch addition.

My cats are fascinated by the roofing show. They want to attack the dangling cords and to pounce on the dropped sacks that seemingly appear from nowhere and float enticingly to the ground. They are both indoor cats, though, so the roofing show is as real to them as The Walking Dead is to me.

Hopefully before too many more days all the work on the porch will be completed, and the cats will be able to venture into the great indoor outdoors. Studly Doright and I are making predictions on their first adventures. 

Scout, we feel, will embrace the porch immediately, claiming it as her territory, but Patches fears everything and it may take her awhile to cross the threshold. I give her a week before she takes the plunge, whereas Studly thinks it will take much longer. We live exciting lives, don’t we?

  

Peace, people!