Tag: blog

You Might Be Studly Doright If….

Studly Doright (aka David Noyes) seemed to enjoy his birthday celebration on Thursday. After an outstanding Thanksgiving feast orchestrated by his mother and sisters, we settled in to fete Studly as he prepares to enter his sixth decade on earth.

First our son, Jason, emceed a game show pitting our five grandchildren against Studly’s four siblings in a quest to see which group knew more about Studly. I’m not sure which team emerged as the winner, but we all got a kick out of the questions and accompanying vintage family photos that served as clues.

(Above, our two oldest grandkids, Garrett and Dominique, discuss their team’s answer.)

Our daughter, Ashley, led us in an activity called, “You might be David Noyes,” in which participants had an opportunity to share humorous recollections about the guest of honor in a format similar to Jeff Foxworthy’s “You might be a redneck.”

The contributed memories had everyone in stitches. I can’t remember many of them; I was laughing too hard. One I shared was, “If you ever tried to claim gravy is a liquid to justify eating it while prepping for a colonoscopy, you might be David Noyes.”

The grandkids got a kick out of these revelations about their Poppa.

(Above, our youngest grandchild, Harper, listens as her Poppa explains one of the many shared stories. She might have been angling for a piece of the birthday cake, as well.)

Afterwards, Studly read cards from family and friends. He got a little emotional at times, declaring this was his best birthday ever.

Thanks to everyone who made it so special.

Peace, people.

Night in the Airport

Studly Doright and I traveled to Amarillo, Texas, on Tuesday to spend Thanksgiving with his mom and his siblings in the Texas panhandle. We elected to fly out of Orlando, a four hour drive from Doright Manor, because every other option was outrageously expensive.

I’d always wanted to stay at the Hyatt Regency inside the Orlando airport and with a 6:55 a.m. flight, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that. I made the suggestion to Studly, and he thought it was a great idea. We could sleep a little bit later, and walk a mere 100 yards from our room to the airlines’ check-in kiosk.

There was an element of excitement to staying inside the airport overnight. I’d read the book, From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, when I was a kid, and this experience reminded me of how the characters hid in bathroom stalls inside a museum, emerging only after the museum had closed for the night. The characters found places to sleep among the exhibits and took baths in the fountain. For some reason Studly wouldn’t let me do either of those things.

There were a few folks who were stranded due to delayed flights and were sprawled out on chairs and benches in vain attempts to catch a few zzzzz’s, but for the most part we had the terminal to ourselves.

(This guy encased in the plexiglass cubicle above isn’t real. At least we never caught him moving.)

Our room was comfortable and amazingly quiet nestled as it is inside one of the busiest airports in the country. I’d definitely stay at the Hyatt at the Orlando International Airport on a future trip. Maybe Studly will indulge my desire to bathe in a fountain. Or not.

(I’m writing this late on Tuesday night and I’m pooped! We got up at 4:40 a.m. eastern time to check in for our flight, and I’m about to go to bed at 8:30 central. Sorry for any poor grammar and nonsensical sentences. I’ll try to do better tomorrow.)

Peace, people!

Lessons in Holding

I realize the photo is grainy. It’s a screenshot taken during a FaceTime chat with my daughter and her kiddos on Saturday morning.

Five-year-old Harper, the one being held, climbed into her big brother, Garrett’s arms, where she began wriggling around like someone with ants in their pants as Garrett tried his best to keep from dropping her.

“Garrett,” Harper said. “You really need to take lessons in how to hold people.” We all lost it.

Couldn’t we all use lessons in holding? Not too tightly, but in a way that makes others feel secure. Sign me up!

Can’t wait to see these guys in person. Shhhh! Studly has no idea we’ll see them on Wednesday!

Texas Tech Connection

I didn’t attend Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas, but a good many of my childhood friends are alumni of that institution. I grew up about 60 miles from Lubbock, and we followed the Red Raiders religiously. In fact, for my 16th birthday gift all I asked for was a date with my daddy to a Red Raiders football game. That date remains one of my best memories of all time.

Today I drove into Tallahassee for a solo lunch while Studly played golf. I was in line to order at Firehouse Subs when I realized the guy in front of me had on a red polo shirt with Texas Tech stitched on the back of the shirt in black. I did a double take and then tapped him on the shoulder.

“I like your shirt,” I said. “What’s your connection to Tech?”

Well that started a whole conversation with the man, his wife, and kids. They live in Alabama now, but he and his wife met at Texas Tech and are still rabid fans. They invited me to sit with them for lunch and I had such a great time. We threw out names of people from the Lubbock area, but never found anyone we knew in common. They both knew where my hometown of Floydada was which made me grin like an idiot.

The family was headed to DisneyWorld in Orlando, and as soon as we finished our lunch I wished them safe travels and we went our separate ways. That little connection made my day, though. Is that weird? Am I that desperate for conversation?

Discuss and talk to me. Apparently I need to connect.

Peace, people!

Not an Option

Not an Option

By Leslie Noyes

Failure, under the spotlight, turned down a wrong road, dined at the bad trough, lessons learned.

Heartache, walked on the tightrope, fell into an abyss on the highway to hell. Seeking penance forevermore.

Trust, sought, but not earned, squandered in bushels, by deeds too heinous to tell. Forgiveness sought.

Grace, offered in buckets, washed in the blood of the everlasting lamb. Earnest prayers offered with hands raised in praise.

Keeping Secrets

I have a big mouth. Not literally, though. As a kid I had to visit the dentist frequently so he could find creative ways to make room for all of my teeth. He told my folks my mouth was too small, to which they replied, “Hahaha!!” for days. Every time the story was retold to family and friends they laughed like it was the funniest story ever told.

We didn’t have oodles of money back then, and no dental insurance, so braces were out of the question. Our dentist, Dr. Craig, bless his heart, worked to strategically pull several of my permanent teeth so that my teeth weren’t too crooked. He was almost successful, but later in life I had some work done to correct what I thought of as my vampire teeth. Dr. Craig would have approved, I think.

Mine weren’t quite this bad, but you get the picture:

Back to my big mouth, which by now you should know is figurative rather than literal. I positively can not keep a secret. Not a fun one anyway. I can keep your “I can’t stand my boss and have been interviewing for new jobs” secret. I can keep your, “I’ve won the lottery and am not telling anyone other than you until I’ve seen an attorney” secret. But I cannot keep the “We’re having a surprise party for someone and you absolutely can’t leak the news!”

I have one of those fun secrets right now, and if the person the secret is for hasn’t totally figured it out yet it is a miracle. I don’t give hints–it’s just that I’ll say things like, “When we see A_____ in a few days….” and then I panic because I remember he doesn’t know A____ is coming, so I have to say, “I keep forgetting A_____ isn’t going to be there.” Then I act all upset so he’ll think I’m losing my mind a little. Heh. I’m not sure it’s an act anymore.

I must hold myself together through next Wednesday when all will be revealed. It’s too bad I can’t see a dentist to help me through this problem with my mouth.

Peace, people.

Under a Cloud

Lately I feel like I’m living under a cloud. Not a happy, fluffy cloud, but not a threatening one, either. Just a cloud.

Well, that one is a little too cute, and vaguely resembles a politician, but you get my drift.

Am I depressed? Maybe. Fall is always a tough time for me. My mom passed away on a beautiful fall day 22 years ago, and since her death I view the season with mixed emotions. Fall has always been my favorite time of year, but some days, like this one, it’s difficult to muster the energy to get out of bed.

Thank goodness I have some upcoming events to prepare for, forcing me to get a move on, otherwise I’d burrow beneath my covers and perhaps never emerge again. That’s pretty pitiful, am I right?

I know this all will pass. Today just seems very hard–and it’s only 7:30 a.m. Thanks for reading. Some days writing this blog is my motivation to participate in life. Now go away little cloud.

Peace people.

Acclimated

Studly Doright and I have been in the Tallahassee area for four years now, having moved from central Illinois where we resided for eight years. This morning I realized I’d finally acclimated to the weather here when upon hearing that the high in our area would be in the mid-60’s today, I said to myself, “Better wear a sweater!”

I’m not complaining. I’ll wear that sweater all winter thanking my lucky stars I don’t need a heavy jacket and snow boots.

Truly everything is relative. We lived in North Dakota for four years where an ambient temperature of 34° on a winter day had folks digging out their bikinis and sunscreen.

Even in the mid-west the definition of cold is a matter of season. Forty degrees in November feels cool, while the same temperature in February is positively balmy.

The most difficult part for me when the weather turns cool is having to put away my flip flops. Although, I have been known to pull this stunt:

But only to take out the garbage. If I go downtown, I’ll put my pants on….

No matter where you are, I hope you have a great day. Pants optional.

Peace, people.

Driving Home

I successfully picked up Studly Doright’s new pickup truck in Houston on Friday night. My flight into Houston Intercontinental was delayed, but not late enough that I could escape evening rush hour traffic. Fortunately Studly had arranged for a gentleman from the dealership to meet me at the airport, so I didn’t have to rely on Lyft or Uber.

The salesman, Tim, was an interesting guy and the thirty minute drive to the dealership in Tomball went quickly. I was in the truck within another 30 minutes and headed home. So much for seeing the big city, but my plan was to get as far east on Interstate 10 as possible so I could make it home on Saturday evening. The best laid plans of mice and women—Bwahaha!

Gamely I shifted gears in stop and go traffic. To my credit, I only killed the engine once, but I over revved a bit and probably upshifted when I should’ve downshifted a couple of times, but before long I was back in the groove of driving a manual transmission vehicle.

By the time I reached the outskirts of Houston, though, I was worn out. I saw the sign for Buccees huge service station/store in Bay Town and pulled in for a rest. Normally I’d spend some time wandering around and ogling the place, but I made a beeline for the bathroom, then grabbed a water and a barbecue brisket sandwich.

Oddly enough, there’s no place to sit and enjoy a meal in Buccees, a store roughly the size of Rhode Island, so I ate standing up next to a couple who were heading back to Houston after a trip to New Orleans. We had a nice visit and we wished each other safe travels which prompted the husband to tell me that there’d been a bad accident on the eastbound side of I-10 and traffic was backed up for several miles.

That, combined with my tiredness prompted me to go back in the store to enquire about nearby hotels. A very few minutes later I was ensconced in a nice room with a glass of wine. I reasoned that I’d get up extra early on Saturday and make up for my relatively early end to the evening. Again, bwahaha!

According to my Fitbit app I slept a total of two hours and 44 minutes on Friday night. Around 5:30 a.m., I gave up on sleeping. I showered hoping to shock myself awake, and for awhile I felt okay. Sirius/XM radio helped and I sang along with the 60’s and 70’s channels or listened to NPR for many miles.

I also drank a lot of caffeinated drinks. And subsequently had to stop frequently to empty myself of caffeinated drinks. I wasn’t making much forward progress, and my need to sleep was gaining ground.

Studly called my cell phone around 2:30 and after listening to my sad tale, told me to stop fighting the need to sleep and get a room, so a mere five hours from Doright Manor I exited the interstate and checked into a Holiday Inn.

Now I’d only packed for one night’s stay so I had to go to a nearby mall to purchase a clean T-shirt and undies. My jeans and socks would have to suffice for one more day.

I would love to say I slept like a baby on Saturday night, and I did–a very colicky baby. Again I got up around 5 a.m. and this time emerged into a gray world and a steady rain. I did make better time and was home by two that afternoon. I kissed Studly and handed his new truck keys over. He tucked me into bed and then I didn’t hear another peep until he joined me around nine.

I know for sure I’m not cut out to be a long haul truck driver, so I’m crossing that career off my list. The pickup was fun to drive, though, and I’m glad I made the trip.