Category: Life

Things I Love: My Hometown

Floydada, Texas. Legend has it that Floyd married Ada and that coupling produced the name of a small Texas town. Located roughly 55 miles northeast of Lubbock, Floydada, the county seat of Floyd County, is primarily a farming community, known for its crops of cotton and “punkins.”

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My parents and both sets of my grandparents are buried in Floyd County, so part of my heart will always reside on the dusty plains of the Texas panhandle. Compared to Tallahassee, Floydada is plain, a scruffy sparrow next to a pink-hued flamingo, but my hometown has its own charms, like the Palace Theatre (below) where I enjoyed my first real kiss, and discarded my two imaginary friends–not in that order.

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And Arwine Drug, where my brothers and I stopped for sodas after hiking to the library housed inside of the county courthouse.

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Floydada also claims country singer/songwriter Don Williams as a native son.

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Floydada, Texas, nurtured me. Toughened me. Made me an independent soul. No, it’s not the prettiest place on earth, but it’s my hometown, and I love it.

Peace, Y’all!

Dean Martin and Love: I’m Somebody

My parents were huge Dean Martin fans, so I was introduced to the music and comedy of the handsome half of the famous Martin and Lewis comedy team early on.

I’d forgotten just how appealing Dean Martin was until I went on a hunt for one of his songs, “You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You.” I hoped to find a You Tube video of him singing, so I could share it here for my Love Month theme, and I wasn’t disappointed. His charm and good looks transcend the decades.

Now the lyrics to this song always bothered me a little. I wasn’t a particularly lovable kid: taller than average, skinny, and bookish, not much to look at and even less to talk to, I was afraid, seriously afraid, that no one would ever love me. And if no one ever loved me, did that mean I was a nobody?

Then, in my typical analytical fashion I began to observe other people. There were some less attractive than me, and they’d found love. There were a few weirder than me, and they had someone. So maybe, just maybe there was hope for me.

Of course now I know I was always somebody. My parents loved me, Studly loves me, my kids and grand babies love me, but most importantly, I learned how to love myself.

Peace, Somebodies!

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I Am Convinced

Love is the best
Four letter word.
I can tolerate
F-bombs and
Damn, hell and
Dang and S-H-I-T.
But hate, no doubt,
Hate is the worst.
Hate robs and steals,
Lies and deforms.
Hate starts wars and
Ends compassion,
Hate aggravates,
Exacerbates, harms,
Defeats.
Is it fair to say I
Hate hate, or is
Hate too strong a
Four letter word?

Some Boys do not Get their Chocolate in Valentine´s Day

I found this post so interesting, and it fits perfectly into my Love Month theme. Plus, nagatayakyoto.com translates his posts into Spanish! I hope my make friends get choco this year.

Things I Love: Good Friends

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Since deciding to learn to cook for my handsome husband, aka Studly Doright, I have experienced a flood of support and advice from more domestically-minded friends. One such friend, Lee Ann, sent me a lovely gift (pictured above) to help me in my quest. Lee Ann and her husband Gary visited us at Doright Manor last month just as I decided to become the cook no one ever thought I could be.

Lee Ann, besides being one of the sweetest women I’ve ever known, is a true domestic goddess. She cooks, sews, keeps a spotless home, and never seems to break a sweat. Even better, she’s never made me feel inadequate for being the exact opposite. That’s the real gift, if you want to know the truth. Supportive and non-judgemental. Now, if I could convince her to support the Dallas Cowboys instead of the Indianapolis Colts, she’d be about the perfect human being.

Love you, Lee Ann! Thanks for the cookbook. Look, you could still wear blue if you ditched the Colts for America’s Team!

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Fiddling Around With Love

A month devoted to love should include a look at physical love. Back in the days before Studly and I were married I enjoyed nothing more than dancing to country Western music. It wasn’t my preferred listening genre, that honor went to rock, but when it came to dancing, nothing could compare to a good Texas 2-Step, or even better, a waltz.

Anytime the DJ played “Love on a Hot Afternoon” by country artist Gene Watson I had a physical need to be on the dance floor. I always melted to the fiddle playing in this homage to hot, sweaty sex. Ok, who wants to dance?

(Even if you aren’t a fan of Country music, listen through to the end. That fiddle is swoon-worthy.)

Love on a Hot Afternoon

From somewhere outside, I hear a
Street vendor cry “filet gumbo”
From my window I see him, going
Down the street and he don’t know
That we fell right to sleep
In the damp tangled sheets so soon
After love in the hot afternoon

Now the bourbon street lady,
Sleeps like a baby in the shadows
(in the shadows)
She was new to me, full of mystery,
But now I know (but know I know)
That she’s just a girl,
And I’m just a guy, in a room
Full of love in the hot afternoon

We got high in the park,
This morning and we sat, without talkin’
Then she came back here,
In the heat of the day, tired of walkin’
Where under her breath,
She hummed to herself a tune
Of love in the hot afternoon

Guatemala Bound

I booked my flight to travel to Antigua, Guatemala! My trip isn’t until April, and Studly kept urging me to hold off on booking.

“Prices will come down,” he said.
“Be patient,” he cautioned.

Does he not know me better than that?Patience might be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. Now that I’m booked I can start on the other tasks I’ve set for myself, namely shopping for appropriate Guate-wear and brushing up on my Spanish.

Having grown up in Texas, I have a decent vocabulary of inappropriate Spanish. I won’t plan on using any of those unless I get into a heated discussion with someone smaller than me.

I did take two years of high school Spanish. I remember how to ask where the bathroom is located, and I can tell someone that they should take only one piece of toast because two is too many. Surely that phrase will come in handy with the toast-eating crowd.

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Viva Guatemala!

Peace, People!

Cooking for Studly: He’s Late for Dinner!

Well it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. Dinner, Studly’s favorite chicken and rice casserole, is ready for consumption and he is nowhere in sight.

Now what? Should I leave it in the oven and hope it doesn’t dry out too much? Do I take it out and reheat it when he gets home?

Studly’s job is a demanding one. His stress level is high, and his schedule erratic. I know he’d have called if he could. Nonetheless, I’m not sure what I should do.

I absolutely detest chicken and rice casserole. Made to Studly’s specifications it is the blandest slop in the world. It’s like eating paper only with less pizazz. So maybe there’s no right or wrong to taking it out of the oven. It’s not going to miraculously grow less bland, right? And I doubt it can become more bland. I’m voting to leave it in.

Wow! Thanks for helping me with my dilemma! Sometimes you just need to talk it over with a friend.

Peace, People!

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Love and Other Stuff

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Poems of love
Well crafted
Or not, can
Do only so
Much to
Sway a
Lover.

Loving,
Though,
Done well
Softly sighs
Arrowing into
The very heart
Of the intended.

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Peace and Love, People!
(Photos were found on Pinterest)

Something New

Studly was out of town yesterday, so I had the afternoon off from my new cooking gig. Truthfully I’m a little lost. Since switching to a very part time job, and ditching Candy Crush, et. al., I’m not sure what to do with my bad self.

I spent a little time looking at recipes and checking my ingredients list, then I considered taking a nap, but with Studly gone I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to sleep. As it turns out I didn’t sleep anyway, but that’s another story. Obviously, there was but one thing left to do: Shop!

It wasn’t going to be gratuitous shopping. Nosirree. I needed underwear. Panties, knickers, bloomers. You know, all those unmentionables that I just mentioned. I’d like to say that I’m a high end shopper when it comes to such items, but instead of Victoria’s Secret, I’m more of a Wal-Mart’s Whisper or Target Tart kind of girl. Basically, I needed something that would cover my butt without riding up between my cheeks.

Years ago I switched from bikinis and hipsters to the full-coverage almost-granny panties. Ok, they probably are granny panties but I’m in denial. It should have been easy to find these lackluster undies in a super Wal-Mart, where the selection was displayed by size and style in somewhat neat rows. Well, it was just hell.

I’d find the style I liked (oddly enough there isn’t a style labelled “granny panty”–they’re called briefs, like boring law documents), but not the size. Or I’d find the size, but not the style. After a good thirty minutes of looking I finally settled on some serviceable briefs.

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Notice they say “NEW!” I tried to avoid the aisle with the used undies.

In keeping with my Love Month theme, Studly loved my NEW purchase.

Peace, People!