Tag: blog

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?)

Caption This

My sister-in-law manages a thrift store that benefits a non-profit organization in the Texas panhandle. These two beauties were left outside the donation bin today. I’m looking for captions. Make them good.

Thank Heaven For Political Cartoonists

In the wake of the passage of the Republican tax scam, pardon me, tax bill, political cartoonists have been spot on. Here are just a few of the pieces of pure genius.

Not all of the talented pundits focused solely on the tax sham, though. Fortunately, Trump’s capacity for corrupt leadership is fertile ground for savvy artists:

All I want for Christmas is a compassionate, articulate, intelligent President. Is that too much to ask?

Our Christmas Letter

Studly Doright and I were too lazy to send out our annual Christmas letter this year (and the year before, and the year before that), but after receiving the twelfth such letter from various friends and family members I began feeling guilty. Without such a missive how will anyone know what an absolutely awesome year Studly and I had? Fortunately I have this forum, so with just a bit of exaggeration, here is our offering:

“Doright Year in Review”

Dear Friends,

It’s that time of year again when we regale all of you with our adventures great and small, but let’s face it, the Dorights only have great adventures. All others are swept under the rug.

In January we moaned about temperatures dropping into the 50’s. My tan faded and Studly had to wear long pants to play golf. It was devastating.

February brought more of the same, but Valentine’s Day broke up the monotony. Studly made it special by purchasing a 10-karat diamond necklace for me to wear to the grocery store. It pairs well with the mink he bought me for Christmas last year.

In March the temperatures began creeping into the tolerable zone. I spent a great deal of time at our beach house while Studly made a killing on the stock market and switched to shorts on the golf course. He shot a 69 on his home course and recorded two holes in one. The PGA contacted him about joining the senior tour, but he declined, saying it wouldn’t be fair to all the other golfers. What a mensch!

April and May were memorable for their showers and flowers. I entered the annual garden show with an orchid I discovered on my last trip to South America. The National Society of Horticulturalists have named it the Nana Glorious in my honor. My entry took first, second, and third place honors at the event.

We spent June, July, and August abroad. While Studly golfed in Scotland and Ireland, I explored quaint mountain villages throughout Europe and discovered yet another rare flower. Being the generous soul that I am, I pointed it out to a local woman who will go on to win multiple accolades for her contribution to botanical studies. Studly isn’t the only mensch in our family.

September was quiet as we recovered from our travels. Studly worked a bit, as his sharp mind and quick wit are in great demand. I was approached with a multi-million dollar deal to publish my memoirs. I just laughed and said, “Darlings, I haven’t even begun living yet!”

In October I traveled to visit our five precocious grandchildren. Fortunately they all take after me and will be outrageously successful.

November brought us together with most of Studly’s family. We celebrated his 60th birthday with a small concert. Sting said it was the best event he ever performed at, and asked if he could join us for Christmas this year.

So here we sit, Sting, Studly, and I, sipping spiced rum around a massive Christmas tree in the grand salon of our cabin in the Rockies. Sting keeps wanting to sing, but Studly says, “Enough, man. Let’s enjoy a Silent Night.”

We hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

My Famous Pecan Pie

Yesterday I posted a true story of a heart wrenching encounter I had with a woman at Walmart in Tallahassee. I won’t retell it here, but I want to thank everyone for their comments and for sharing their own tales of times they’ve either confided in a stranger or had a stranger confide in them. I feel fortunate to have friends and followers with so much compassion for others.

Now, within yesterday’s post there was a casual mention of my “famous pecan pie.” Out of all the comments I received only one person, my cousin Elaine, inquired about the pie. I felt sure everyone would need my secret recipe for the perfect pecan pie, but I guess the heart-wrenching part of my story overshadowed the pie part.

Those of you who’ve followed my blog for any length of time know that I’m a zero in the kitchen. For awhile I regaled readers with my culinary escapades in a series of posts I called “Cooking for Studly.” For almost a year I planned meals and had dinner on the table every single night. Then one day Studly came home and relieved me of my chef’s hat.

“Honey,” he said, “I’ve decided I don’t want a big meal for dinner. From now on I’m having cottage cheese and fruit.”

Some women might’ve taken that as an insult. Some women might’ve felt dejected. This woman lifted her arms to heaven and said, “Thank you Lord, for answering my prayers!”

In spite of my ineptitude in matters related to cooking I do manage to put together a good holiday meal. My turkey usually turns out tender and juicy; although, there was that one year that each bite of turkey required one drink of water or wine or tea. My cornbread dressing generally turns out to be sufficiently savory and my green bean casserole is boringly adequate.

It’s my pecan pie, though, that brings me a sense of pride. In all the years I’ve made it, it’s never failed. I’ll share the top secret recipe in this post and I hope you’ll all let me know how yours turns out.

Okay, so it’s the recipe on the Karo Syrup label. Shhhh!

Peace, people!

Exactly What I Was Looking For

I stopped in at a Walmart yesterday. Not the brightest move I’ve ever made, I must admit. All the usual Christmas craziness was on parade: bright-eyed children asking, no, pleading, for toys. Harried moms of all shapes, ages, and ethnicities asking, no, pleading for them to be good for just a few more days. Weary clerks just waiting for their shifts to end.

And there I was, an island of calm in the midst of chaos. All I needed was a bag of pecan halves to make my famous pecan pie for Christmas dinner. Ten minutes should have been sufficient for this errand.

Finding the pecans seemed simple enough, except all of the bags I found on the baking aisle were pecan pieces. I insist on pecan halves because they rise so beautifully to the top during baking. Almost like magic.

I couldn’t find a clerk, so I wandered to a center aisle thinking the pecan halves might’ve been moved to a holiday display. I found a likely looking spot, but at first glance, not the right pecans. A pleasant, well groomed woman, maybe a few years my senior, was also perusing the display.

“Excuse me,” I said, “Have you seen any pecan halves? All I can find are the pieces.”

With a bit of a flourish she lifted a bag from a lower shelf. “Voila!”

“Thank you!” I said. “These are exactly what I was looking for!”

I began to turn away, when the woman said, “You could make divinity with the leftover pecans.”

“I suppose I could,” I said. “But my husband won’t eat divinity and I’d end up eating the entire batch.”

She laughed. “My husband only wants cherry pie for Christmas dessert. I used to make pecan pies for our son and grandson, though.”

Again I started to turn away, but she said, “They we’re both killed in a car accident. On the interstate between Jacksonville and Orlando.”

My heart lurched, and time stopped. “I’m so sorry. How long ago?”

“Four years. My grandson was just twelve. I think about them both every day.”

Then she told me how an erratic driver, lane surfing had taken the lives of two of the people most precious to her. He’d had multiple tickets for a variety of violations, but still had a license.

I hugged this stranger. In the middle of Walmart beside shelves of pecan halves and pecan pieces we stood and cried.

She apologized for upsetting me. “I can’t believe I just told all this to a stranger,” she said. “But I think all of my friends are sick of hearing how sad I am. They want me to get over it, or to at least stop talking about it.”

“Sometimes a stranger is just the right person to talk to,” I said. “I’m glad I came in search of pecans. Thanks again for helping me.”

She hugged me again and we wished each other a Merry Christmas. She and her husband were going to her daughter’s home for Christmas dinner, she told me. She assured me she’d be all right. “You found the right pecans, but I found the right stranger,” she said.

We never know, do we? In the rush of the day, in the quest for some mundane object, we might find not only what we need, but be the answer to someone else’s need. Slow down. Listen. Be present. You might find exactly what you’re looking for.

Peace, people.

Pesky Words

We have a president who insists on taking us back to a day without science, and perhaps into a future of oppression. Here is a list of words his administration has banned the Centers for Disease Control from using in future budget proposals:

Similarly, our Florida governor, Rick Scott, has forbidden the use of the term “climate change” among members of our state government, as if banning words could make the reality behind them go away.

So, let’s also ban these words:

Murder

Injustice

Poverty

Hunger

Abuse

Disease

Misogyny

There. That should do it. Pesky words.

Seriously, who bans words? Oh, we all know the answer to that. I’m sure North Korea has a long list of words that are illegal to use. Trump’s friend, Putin most likely has a tablet filled with words his people aren’t allowed to utter in public.

Can we panic now? Or will panic be banned, as well?

Peace, people. Please don’t ban peace.

Hot Toddy Night

I’m not a whisky drinker, but I must admit that when I come down with a cold, as I seem to have done yesterday, a hot toddy gives me a reason to live on. Even the act of making a hot toddy is comforting.

Hot Toddy

1 1/2 fluid ounces whiskey

1 T honey

3 whole cloves

1 cinnamon stick

1 slice lemon

1 pinch ground nutmeg

Pour the honey, boiling water, and whiskey into a mug. Spice it with the cloves and cinnamon, and put in the slice of lemon. Let the mixture stand for 5 minutes so the flavors can mingle, then sprinkle with a pinch of nutmeg before serving.

I’m not sure if it’s a cure, but a hot toddy makes me feel a whole lot better and is much more palatable than over the counter liquid cold medicines.

Peace, people!

But What About Ewoks?

While Studly Doright had to work today I took myself to see the newest offering in the Star Wars universe. I’m a big Star Wars fan and can quote much of the dialogue from episodes IV, V, and VI (the original trilogy) by heart. I’ve seen every Star Wars film more than once–even episodes I, II, and III (the second, rather misguided trilogy.)

I’ve been pleased so far with the newer films: Rogue One and The Force Awakens. Unlike the second trilogy these films felt true to the original saga. The gritty Rogue One was especially satisfying after the whole Jar Jar Binks years, and I am totally enamored of the main characters in The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. Rey, Finn, and Poe are as good as Leia, Luke, and Han.

Now, having said all that, this latest film, while good, and full of great action sequences, special effects, and quick dialogue, felt a little too Disney-esque to me. Don’t get me wrong. I love Disney as much as I love pepperoni pizza. Maybe more, but I don’t want to be distracted by overly cute animals in my Star Wars films or in my pepperoni pizza. And don’t even equate the Ewoks from Episode VI with the cutesy animals in The Last Jedi. Ewoks were warriors!

I’m not saying The Last Jedi wasn’t worth seeing; it just wasn’t as fulfilling as I’d hoped. Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe I’ve grown up. (Studly Doright laughed when I read that out loud.) At any rate, I need to see it again. I’ve got dialogue to memorize. And who knows, maybe those cutesy animals will grow on me.

Peace, people.