Tag: Doright Manor

Just Another Nail in the Wall

I’ve been a busy little decorator these past few days. After two years of living in the home I’ve dubbed Doright Manor I’m finally hanging some artwork. 

Now, the term “art” is used loosely here. There are no Ansel Adams or Georgia O’Keefe pieces gracing our walls. Instead, I’m fond of framing pretty greeting cards and random pictures from glossy magazines, a holdover practice from our days of living below the poverty line, along with finds from estate and garage sales. 

I like to say my taste in art is eclectic. That sounds so much better than questionable or dubious. The few pieces I’ve purchased from art galleries don’t do anything for me once I try to find a spot for them. I really have fared much better with my more frugal purchases.

Regardless of cost or source all of my pieces have something in common: They hide multiple nail holes. Never mind the amount of time I spend measuring and calculating, marking and leveling, I never get it right the first time. Even if I’m hanging a single picture I end up with roughly 9,643 holes in the wall. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but just barely.

My expertise comes in cleverly masking those holes. “Oh, look, you placed a butterfly on the corner of the frame! How cute!” people exclaim. Damned straight, Skippy–that butterfly is camouflaging at least three holes. 

I know at this point in the post I should provide a photo of a few of my displays, but no good could come of that. My readers will either pity me or laugh at me. And I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle that. 

Ok, just one. No laughing. Pity’s ok, though. Or vice versa. 

 

One of my garage sale finds. It makes me happy.
 
Peace, people!

Classic Car Dreaming

Studly Doright and I were out piddling Saturday afternoon. He’d played golf that morning, and I’d driven to Apalachicola to spend some of his money. All in all a win-win, I’d say. He made it back to Doright Manor ahead of me even after helping a friend move some items from one house to another.

When I pulled into the driveway, he was out working (playing) in his shop. I talked him into taking me out for dinner since I’d worked so hard at shopping and beach walking that morning, and couldn’t quite summon the energy to push the power button on the microwave. It’s a tough life, I know.

After dinner he subtly suggested we go grocery shopping, and I reluctantly agreed. If there’s food in the house I’ll eventually have to cook it or ignore it. Both require energy. I just am fresh out of energy lately–shall I blame it on the weather? Daylight Saving Time? Age? All of the above?

The Publix supermarket nearest our home is adjacent to a Sonic drive-in. As we pulled into the drive in we realized the first Saturday car show was in progress and the first car we saw belonged to one of Studly’s friends! Of course we pulled over to look, and for once I remembered to snap a few photos.

The car below was one of my personal favorites. I love the color scheme on this Bel Air. I want to say it’s a ’57 model, but I forgot to look.

 

 

Next is our friend, Pete’s car. It’s a ’55 Chevy Nomad station wagon, hardly stock. Pete’s been working on the build for three years, and it’s a beaut. He isn’t finished with the project–work on the interior is still in progress. This was the car’s first foray into the limelight.

 

Pete had to hide his soft drink from view lest it detract from the view of his car.

Other cool cars from our evening:

 

   

  

  

swoon!

Look at the Jaguar featured in these next photos. I’d never seen this model before in person. I love the way both the hood/bonnet and trunk/boot open. 

   

  

   
  

Here’s Studly urging me to take a peek inside “The Widowmaker.”
  
    
A lone bike made it out on Saturday. This is one Studly would enjoy having in his stable.
    
   
 
Studly had to give me a brief tutorial on the Holley headers on this GTO. He was in heaven.
 
We eventually made it to the grocery store, but Studly’s enthusiasm for food shopping had been replaced by visions of engines and headers and carburetors, so I got off easy. Hurrah for horsepower!

The Adventure Continues

(Note: If you’ve happened upon my blog this evening for the first time, I’m chronicling an epic (for me) road trip that began on February 17, and will hopefully conclude on March 6, when I’m reunited with my husband, Studly Doright, and my two kitties, Patches and Scout.) 

Somehow I survived the rodeo and related events on Thursday night. With a heavy heart–at least a nine pounder, I left my brother’s home in Houston and headed three and a half hours south to see Studly Doright’s eldest sibling, the beauteous Lyn, who lives near Corpus Christie with her husband, Mike.

Mike is dealing with some serious health issues right now, but he’s tough as an old Texas boot, and I have every confidence he’ll recover fully. I just needed to go and give him a kick in the rear to facilitate his healing. He’ll thank me later.

I stayed the night with Lyn and made her buy me breakfast at Hester’s, a great bakery in Corpus Christie, before I dropped her off at the hospital where Mike is a reluctant guest. It was hard to leave her there. My heart gained an extra pound.

From the hospital I drove the overwhelming distance of 35 miles where I met my cousin Diane for coffee in Rockport. Diane and her husband have relocated to this Texas coastal town from California, and we hadn’t seen each other in years. 

  
We didn’t get to visit long, but it did my heart good to see her. Our first comments to each other were exclamations of how much we looked like our respective mothers. Again I said a sad goodbye and resumed my trip. My heart weighs at least 15 pounds at this point.

Finally I set my GPS to take me home. Of course I needed to stop for lunch–heavy hearts need extra calories–and came across a little barbecue place in the middle of nowhere.  

  

The pig statue at Auntie Jo’s Barbecue beckoned to me and soon I was enjoying a pulled pork sandwich.

  
This kitty kept me company as I ate. I might’ve snuck her a few bites from my sandwich. We bonded.

With lunch over I became serious about finding my way back to Doright Manor. The GPS informed me that I had 13 hours of driving ahead of me. With that in mind I set a goal to get at least half that distance behind me before stopping for the night. 

I almost made it, too! Unfortunately I ran out of daylight around the city of Lafayette, Louisiana. My night vision has never been great, but lately it is awful. 

Tomorrow I still have roughly seven hours to go before I get to see Studly and the cats. Tonight I’m tucked into a hotel bed, watching The People v. OJ Simpson on TV after having dined sumptuously on Taco Bell fare. Ah, the glamorous life! 

Good thoughts for Mike’s recovery and for safe travels will be greatly appreciated.

Peace, people!

On The Road My Friends

At some point this morning I will have departed from Doright Manor to take a trip of epic, dare I say Odyssean, proportions. Having packed my bags with everything from winter boots and a parka to capris pants and flip flops I should surely be prepared for any eventuality.

My first destination is a point north of Nashville, Tennessee, for an overnight stay. From there I’m bound for our daughter’s home in Rapids City, Illinois, where I will be baby sitter-in-chief for my daughter’s three children while the parents go to cavort in the bright sun of a Mexican beach.

  
  
After a week in Illinois I’ll head south to the Texas panhandle, the place that no matter where on earth I roam will always be home. I’ll stay with the lovely Saint Helen who gave birth to Studly Doright and hopefully get to commune with the rest of the panhandle-dwelling Noyes bunch. 

  
Once they’ve chased me out of town with torches and pitchforks I’m off to Dallas to spend a night with our son if we can get our schedules to sync. Then it’s on to Houston, that most intimidating city, for a couple of nights with the oldest of my two younger brothers and his wife. They’re taking me and Studly’s eldest (she’d say prettiest) sister to a big event. I’m sure I’ll blog about it afterwards. If I’m still capable, that is. 

  
  
I have another event in mind for the Houston stay, but I’ll save that for another post, as well. 

When my brother finally kicks me out of his home I’ll begin working my way back to Doright Manor. Somewhere on that stretch of road is a wonderful little outlet mall that’s been calling my name for awhile now.

  
I’ve been writing like a mad woman to stock my blog with pieces to post daily during my trip. I’m sure there will be times I can post something from the road, but just in case I can’t, the blog must, and will, go on! 

Any prayers, blessings, positive thoughts, etc., offered up for my safe travels will be greatly appreciated. And as always, peace, people.

Excitement at Doright Manor

I was in bed, reading the latest adventures of Joe Ledger by the light of my Kindle Paper White when I heard the sound of scuffling cats. My feisty felines do not care for each other’s company, but when they disagree it’s with a great deal of hissing and noisy posturing. This sound was the one they make when in co-pursuit of another critter. Not a good thing to hear at bedtime.

My first inclination was to let them handle the situation, but then one of the cats made a sound of distress. I grabbed my trusty iPhone and activated the flashlight accessory, pointing it in the direction of the noise. Sure enough, there were Scout and Patches standing guard over a rather large lizard. 

 

Not THE lizard, but you get the picture.
 
Cautiously I slipped out of bed and stood over the anxious cats and nervous reptile. I could see one white whisker poking out of its little mouth. The damned thing had attacked my baby!

Throwing caution to the night, I grabbed that lizard by the tail and tossed him out the back door where he landed on the porch with a satisfying “plunk.” That’ll teach him to mess with me and mine. 

Of course now the cats are patrolling the bedroom with wide eyes and bushy tails. It might be awhile now before we can settle down to sleep. Maybe Joe Ledger and company can soothe my jangled nerves.

  
Or maybe not. At least it isn’t The King of Lizards! 

Peace, people! I might be awake for awhile.

Laughter, the Best Medicine?

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Roaring Laughter

What was the last thing that gave you a real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh? Why was it so funny?

Not this past Christmas, but the one before, Studly Doright and I met our kids and grandkids in Nashville, Tennessee, for the holiday. Our son and his family live in Texas. Our daughter and her family reside in Illinois. Studly and I are in Florida, so it’s a treat when we can all be together.

Rather than stay in a hotel we rented a home for the week, and made it into a temporary Doright Manor. We had a first rate time cooking and eating and playing games with the grown kids and grandkids. 

One night, though, we sat the kids down in front of a movie in one room while in another the grownups played the game Cards Against Humanity. There might have been a bit of drinking involved. And by a bit, I mean copious amounts of liquor were consumed.

Our son-in-law, Stephen, having moonlighted as a bartender, knows how to mix a drink and soon had us all giggling like school children even before we started playing the game. Then the competition began.

Now if you’ve never played Cards Against Humanity you have no idea what you’re missing out on. I laughed so hard that tears rolled down my face–deep, strong belly laughs that caused my jaws and cheeks to ache well into the next week. 

 If laughter truly was the best medicine the Doright family could have cured every disease known to man that week. Instead, we just had a wicked good time.

Peace, people!


Caution–the game is not for the easily offended. There are references to body parts and bodily functions that aren’t often mentioned in polite company. Of course Studly and I never were much for polite company.

Another Saturday Night

Written in response to the Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: 

Tell us about the most exciting big night out you’ve had lately.

Life at Doright Manor is tame. Generally, a big night around here involves watching an extra episode of Ray Donovan while splurging calories on a second Shiner Bock.

Yet once a month we head to Studly Doright’s golf club for a rousing night of trivia competition. I know, a lot of readers will be jealous, as they should be. You see, in addition to the trivia, there is music, great food, and just enough wine to make me feel like a wittier, prettier person. And, I’m not bragging, sometimes we even stay up past midnight!

January’s event was especially fun because our friends from Indiana were in town and we dragged, er, invited them to go with us. I don’t know about them, but I had a blast. We didn’t win the competition, but we didn’t come in dead last either. 

I’m certain today’s prompt was written specifically to demonstrate what a lackluster life I live. Gee, thanks WordPress.

Peace, people!

A little Cat Stevens for your entertainment (following the dadgum ad)

http://youtu.be/aLeWB3C2cLo
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/saturday-night/”>Saturday Night</a>

A New Arrangement

A few weeks ago, Studly Doright and I spent all afternoon moving furniture from one end of Doright Manor to the other. 

When we moved in nearly two years ago I made an error in measuring our guest bedrooms. Ok, let’s be honest, I didn’t bother measuring, and one of the bedrooms ended up being cramped and claustrophobic, while the other felt cavernous. With two sets of company coming for a long weekend, we decided to right that wrong.

One set of bedroom furniture is antique and fragile. It belonged to my grandmother, and even though I’m sometimes tempted to sell it I just can’t bring myself to part with it. While the headboard and footboard are massive the bed is a small full size and barely allows one adult to sleep comfortably. 

   
 
The other set is fairly new, acquired when my dad lived with us. The queen sized bed and armoire are nothing fancy, but the mattress is top notch. I’ve dubbed it, The Texas Bedroom, and it holds my go-to bed when Studly’s snoring passes the merely annoying stage and heads into the sonic torture realm.

   
 
The moving process from one end of the house to another was tricky, in that one room would need to be completely empty before the other furniture could be moved down this hallway:

  
Studly, a self-proclaimed master of both logistics and wiseassery carefully studied the necessary steps for a week before finally declaring, “Well, this is gonna suck.”

It did indeed suck. Neither Studly nor I are young any more, and that antique bedroom set is both heavy and unwieldy. Add fragile into the mix and we had ourselves quite an afternoon of gently persuading the pieces to hold together while we balanced them precariously on moving dollies. At the end of the day copious amounts of both wood glue and Ben-Gay were involved.

The results, though, were pleasing. The beds are much better suited to their respective rooms, and I am a happy camper. And in the end, isn’t my happiness what it’s all about?

Peace, people! 

Entertaining at Doright Manor

We have company coming from Indiana this weekend, and I’m beyond excited. The men will play golf Saturday and Sunday mornings, while we ladies hang out in and around Tallahassee. 

I don’t often get to interact with adults other than Studly, so I’ve been practicing my small talk. The cats are my audience. They aren’t very good at providing feedback, though.

Me: So what do you want to do today?

Cat: Meow.

Me: The Tallahassee Museum is supposed to be nice. I’ve never been there….”

Cat: Meow. (I detect a small variation in this meow, but I’m not sure what that indicates.)

Me: And I thought we’d have lunch at Kool Beanz. It’s outstanding and I don’t think I’ve ever taken you there.”

Cat: Yawn. 

Me: Well if you’re going to be that way we’ll just stay in all day. Here. Have some tuna.

That didn’t go well at all. I’ve got until Friday to get my patter down. Wish me luck!

Peace, people!

Women are from Earth; Men are from Uranus

Studly Doright fell into a deep sleep as soon as the lights went off in Doright Manor last night. In contrast I watched the minutes, then hours, tick by on my Fitbit, practiced coordinating my deep breathing skills with the rise and fall of his snores, and not only counted sheep, but also organized them according to height, weight, and quality of fleece. It was a long night.

Twice during the night I felt the call of nature. Being a considerate woman even in a state of severe sleep deprivation, I carefully slid out from under the covers, making the most minute movements imaginable. With the stealth of a cat I moved through our bedroom and down the hall to access one of the guest bathrooms in order to allow dearest Studly to slumber in peace, undisturbed by the sound of a flushing toilet or running water.

Returning to bed after both trips to the loo I gently eased myself onto the mattress and matched my movements to his snores, pulling the blankets up to my chin in increments of a half millimeter per second. Studly never stirred.

At some point I slept. I know this because I was awakened rudely by Studly who abruptly sat up with a loud grumble-snort-sigh combo, followed by an inelegant roll out of bed, and topped off with a vicious tug of the covers. Granted he couldn’t have known that I struggled with sleeping last night, but geez Louise, he could’ve shown a little respect for the near dead.

I fumed as he showered and readied himself for the day ahead. As Studly noisily fumbled about for his keys and wallet I leaned across his side of the bed to kiss him goodbye. 

Sweetly I asked, “Honey, did I steal the covers last night?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

“Then why did you jerk them like a magician pulling the old tablecloth trick?”

“I dunno. Maybe I was looking for a rabbit?”

His humor just barely saved him this time. Grrrrr.

Peace, people.