Tag: Doright Manor

I Need a Hug

The awful illnesses that have infected Studly Doright and I seem to be slowly drawing to an end. I watched a hamburger chain’s advertisement for a double thick steak burger last night without feeling the need to run to the bathroom to puke up the chicken broth I’d just sipped on for an hour. It’s a harbinger of better days to come, just as the first robin signifies Spring’s beginning. Less poetic, but the same.

Studly seems to be coughing less and he doesn’t fade in and out when walking through a room with white painted walls. He’d make a great spy if all the walls in a given location were bone white. Walk right in, seize the classified documents, walk right out.

One of the worst things about being ill at the same time with one’s partner, only with two different types of viruses or infections is that we can’t hug lest we give each other what we’ve got.

“Here, Studly, my love, have a week of puking up everything you even think about wanting to eat.”

“Sure Nana, my goddess, why don’t you enjoy hacking your head off for a change of pace.”

I really need a hug. Studly might need one, too. We’ve patted each other on our respective heads and arms, and then quickly moved to sanitize our hands lest germs be transferred in this manner.

Maybe that’s why last night (in my dreams, of course) I had an intense make out session with Gerard Butler. I woke up feeling immensely more cheerful.

Peace, people.

The Flu or Something Even More Hideous

Readers, I’m sick. Studly Doright is also sick. We both have different symptoms. His are upper respiratory in nature, mine have kept me tethered to the toilet. Fun, fun, fun.

We’ve had to take turns caring for one another over the past four days. Neither of us are good nurses under the best conditions, and certainly these conditions aren’t good.

I hope we’re both headed towards our own warped versions of normal. In the meantime, this little girl has been my constant companion.

Patches would’ve made a fine nurse.

Thrift Store Finds

My decorating talents are weak, at best, and most of my efforts at making my home attractive are more miss than hit. That doesn’t keep me from trying, though.

Last week I dropped off some donations at a local thrift shop and thought I’d look around for artsy pieces while I was there. Usually I come away from such trips empty handed, but on this day I hit gold.

Okay, this first one is something most likely originally purchased at a Bed, Bath, and Beyond, but I liked it and for $10 it looked like a winner. It’s a great piece for our den.

This one, though, was my favorite find.

It’s an original, most likely by an FSU art student, and fits nicely with the Guatemalan decor in our dining room. It only set me back $3.99.

One of my all-time best thrift store art finds, though, is this painting.

I think I gave $5.99 for it at a second hand shop when we lived in Melbourne, Florida, many years ago. It makes me happy. Isn’t that what art is supposed to do?

Peace, people.

Carabelle

At this time of year in the Florida panhandle there seems to be something fun going on every weekend. On Saturday morning I had a tough time choosing between events, but decided I needed a bit of the coast, which led me to Carabelle, Florida’s Riverfront Festival.

Usually Carabelle is just a place I pass through on my way to St. George Island or Apalachicola. Maybe I’ve purchased gas there, but that’s about it. Today I walked around and sampled some of the foods and did a bit of shopping before returning home to Doright Manor.

The engineer discouraged me from riding the train.

I intended to bring Studly some kettle corn, but forgot. Maybe a photo will suffice.

Fried foods and more fried foods:

A beer bottle cap lobster:

Nothing exciting happened, but it was a pleasant way to spend my day.

Peace, people!

March Minimalist Challenge: Whatever Happened to Days 28, 29, 30, and 31?

I have a conscience. That probably comes as a surprise to some of my readers, but it’s true. I’ve dropped the ball many times in my life. Often it was because I was afraid my efforts wouldn’t be worthy, other times it was because I once was a world class procrastinator and would fall so far behind in a task that catching up seemed an impossibility. So I didn’t even try.

Often, it was a combination of both, like the year I was in charge of putting together a scrapbook for the president of our women’s group. I became paralyzed by a lack of creativity, a failure to organize, and I never got it done. I’m still embarrassed and ashamed of myself for letting that group down. I’m not proud of my failings. If I could go back in time I’d put together that damned scrapbook, but all I can do going forward is to be a better person.

So when I found myself struggling to keep up with the March Minimalist Challenge, in part due to Studly’s medical issues and my trip to Illinois, I promised myself I’d finish as soon as possible. Day after day I made excuses for myself. After all, it was only a promise to myself. No one else would really care. But, a promise is a promise. And I’m not the same person I was 35 years ago.

On Thursday I kept my promise. I reorganized the cabinets and drawers in all of our bathrooms at Doright Manor and came up with way more than the 118 items needed to satisfy the challenge for days 28, 29, 30, and 31. Inside one pill bottle alone there were 89 pills (I had taken one of the 90 prescribed and suffered terrible side effects).

It’s not an artistic display, and I didn’t try to add alliteration to the post, but by gum, I finished the challenge. I don’t guess the former president of my old club would like a scrapbook filled with my minimalist challenge photos. Definitely not.

Peace, people.

Sunday, Boring Sunday

My feet never even left Doright Manor yesterday. I slept in until 9 a.m., had a Kind breakfast bar and a cup of coffee with Irish cream while simultaneously watching MASH reruns and reading The Dark Tower VII. I think I even took a nap. The morning just flowed over and around me like a lazy river.

Studly Doright played golf on Sunday morning after being sidelined for over a month by sciatic pain and returned home in time to enjoy watching the final round of the Masters golf tournament with me. I’m not a golfer, but I grew up watching tournaments on tv with my dad, and watching the Masters is akin to seeing a painting come to life in real time. The beautiful course at Augusta testing the skills of the best players in the world is always a thrill.

Now we plan to spend the evening catching up on The Walking Dead. I’ll drink a glass of wine, or two. Then it’s off to bed. Maybe I’ll be less boring tomorrow.

Peace, people.

Rainy Saturdays, Nudity, and Ukeleles

The best way to deal with an early Saturday morning thunderstorm is to pour a second cup of coffee, add a generous helping of Irish cream, and let the lightning and thunder rage on outside.

I need to take a shower, and I should be doing chores, but the rain is telling me to wait.

One should always listen to the rain. Unless, that is, the rain is telling you to strip naked and run through the neighborhood playing a ukulele. I won’t make THAT mistake again.

Albert Arthur Allen’s “Nude with Ukelele”

Albert Arthur Allen’s “Nude with Ukelele”

Peace, people!

Do the Wave

Friday was pretty low-key around Doright Manor. I caught up on the laundry, and we took Studly Doright for a second epidural for his sciatic pain. He’s hoping that this second round will allow him to embark on his annual men’s golf trip later this month. Fingers crossed.

I decided to cheer him on by doing the wave, but a one woman wave isn’t all that effective. In fact, it’s downright idiotic. So I enlisted members of the animal kingdom to assist me. It’s still fairly idiotic, but you have to admit that animals caught in the act of waving are pretty cute.

Peace, people!

Oddities and Noteworthy Sights Along the Way

Now that I’ve returned safely home to Doright Manor after my trip to San Marcos, Texas, I’ve had a bit of time to look back at some of the cool stuff I found along the way.

For instance this drive through daiquiri store in Louisiana, just across Texas border. Isn’t it illegal to drink and drive?

And how about the Wooly Mamoth (sic) head mounted on the wall of a barbecue place in Katy, Texas? I’m fairly sure the disclaimer “REPLICA” wasn’t necessary, but it made my daughter and me giggle. The misspelling of mammoth was a bonus.

Notice the sign on I-10 just west of Mobile, AL. I almost cried because I thought it read “ROAD WORK NEXT 568 MILES.” Thank goodness the decimal point between the 5 and the 6 was just difficult to see.

Technically, the Alamo isn’t an oddity, but it’s worth a mention.

On my way to San Antonio, I spent the night in a Holiday Inn in Gulfport, Mississippi. I’d stayed there before and had fond memories of the place. The staff is friendly and the rooms comfy. This time I snapped a photo of the nifty artwork in my room. I love retro pieces and thought this was a nice change from the artwork one usually finds in hotels.

A red door on a shop in Wimberley, Texas. I like red doors. Once I heard that if you want your house to sell quickly, paint your door red. Works for me.

San Antonio has some nifty stuff to see besides the Alamo.

I feel so fortunate to be able to travel and share my adventures with you all. Hopefully I still have a couple of decades ahead to enjoy adventures like this one. It’ll break my heart when I can no longer take my car on long trips.

Peace, people.

It’s Good to be Home

Top five reasons why there really is no place like home:

5. My time zone

4. My shower

3. My bed

2. My cats

1. My Studly Doright

And then there’s this: