Not Funny

Studly Doright and I don’t go out much other than to dinner on the weekend. Occasionally his golf course offers some entertainment on Friday or Saturday night and if he isn’t too worn out from his work week we’ll head out there for a good time because he knows I crave live music. I only suggest stuff that I think we both will enjoy.

So, when I saw that comedian Rob Schneider was coming to Tallahassee for a one-night comedy show, I thought that could be fun. Studly agreed and I purchased tickets for Saturday night’s show.

Now I have seen Schneider in the Duece Bigelow movies, and Adam Sandler often has a role for Rob. He’s funny in those parts—and while no one’s ever going to consider him for an Oscar, he makes Studly laugh. And Studly’s laugh is THE best. I was really looking forward to hearing that laugh.

Unfortunately, Mr. Schneider used the stage as a pulpit to rage against liberals. I’m a big girl. I can laugh at good-natured ribbing about politics. I know the Democrats aren’t perfect and there’s a lot of humor to be had making fun of us. But Schneider just never let up. Or maybe he finally did—we left about 45 minutes in.

He’s an anti-vaxxer. He has a problem with masks. Okay, so did a lot of people. I get it. He voted for Trump because, something to the effect of, I know the guy, oh and his opponent was a murderer…

It was at that point Studly asked if I wanted to leave. “Not yet,” I said. “I paid good money for these seats.”

So we stayed, watching as others began “going to the restroom and never returning.” When Schneider announced that we can’t say “woman” in America anymore and the WOMAN beside me clapped and cheered and said something nasty about liberals, I turned to Studly and said, “Now we can go.”

Schneider’s running joke for the evening was “I don’t want to get “Chris Rocked” or “Dave Chappelled” tonight. My thoughts as I was strolling out the door: “Honey, you’re not in their league, and I’m not spending a night in jail over the likes of you.”

The worst part is, I didn’t get to hear Studly’s laugh. Sure wish I’d done my research on Mr. Schneider.

Peace, people.

Head Shots

There was a brief period in my life when I was considered adorable. It began the day I was born and ended around the time I entered kindergarten. Somewhere there is photographic proof, but I’m too lazy to go through all the pictures from those long ago years. Let’s just say that any one of my school pictures from first grade through my junior year would make excellent dart board targets. Senior year photos weren’t any better, and to make it worse, featured feathers around my skinny bare shoulders. Shudder.

So, one might deduce, and correctly so, that I shy away from having my picture taken. Regardless of how much I prepare or practice or primp, my smile always seems to look slightly unhinged at its best or dour at its worst.

So when I needed a good head shot to put on the author’s website a good friend is helping me develop for my books, I was in despair. Should I pay for a professional photographer? That’s never worked for me in the past. Should I just take a selfie and be done with it? Or, should I turn to Studly Doright whose photography experience is limited to taking multiple shots of whichever motorcycle he’s currently got for sale on eBay.

I feared hearing, “Here, honey, let’s get a closer picture of your gas tank. Polish it up a little first.”

But in the end. I risked it. After all, he works for free, and he’s never once failed to find a buyer for a bike.

“Who knows,” I thought. “We might even get lucky.”

And I believe we might have. Help me choose.

1
2
Or maybe this slightly deranged one? 3

Yes, my hair is imperfect in the first two, but that’s a given in my world. I think Studly did pretty well. And just in case these go on eBay, I get really good gas mileage.

Peace, people.

No Brunch for You!

Neither Studly Doright nor I remembered to make reservations for Easter brunch, and now every place in Tallahassee is booked. Looks like the Easter bunny is going to be dining on whatever this non-cook can cook up.

Peace and happy Easter, people.

Swoon Worthy

Huey Lewis reacted to MY post. Mine.

I love Huey Lewis. Yes, Studly Doright is well aware of the fact that Huey is my dream man. That voice. Oh my. That look. Oh dear! And he seems like a genuinely good person. Bonus points!

So when something I posted on Huey’s Facebook page gets a ❤️ reaction, I’m ready to chuck 45 years of marriage down the drain, ‘cause if Huey’s ready to propose, I want to be available.

Okay, I realize that THE Huey Lewis likely never saw my post or reacted to it, but someone he probably knows did and, hey, can a proposal be far behind?

I’d never leave Studly anyway. Right? Right.

Peace, People.

Bright Spots

I haven’t posted much lately. My mind is occupied with worry for my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, both of whom remain in an Amarillo hospital battling COVID. Both are now on ventilators.

On Tuesday I began my journey from Tallahassee, Florida, to Amarillo, Texas. I’m hoping to be a help and not a hindrance to the sister-in-law and niece who have been bearing the brunt of the responsibility these past few weeks.

Last night I stayed with my son and two of my grand dogs and this morning I’ll have a fairly short (four hour) drive to Amarillo.

The son and dogs were bright spots on my trip.

Jason and Milo
Ryder

Ryder slept with me part of the night. He snores a lot less than Studly Doright.

Peace, people. Oh, and wear your masks and get vaccinated and boosted as soon as you can.

Cautiously Optimistic

I haven’t had it in me to write a blog post these past few days, but I’m going to give it a go. On Christmas Day, my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, was taken to an Amarillo hospital where she tested positive for COVID. Her eldest daughter and son-in-law also tested positive.

Due to the overwhelming number of COVID patients there were no rooms, so the three stayed in the emergency room. When a room on the COVID floor did open up it was given to my sister-in-law who had developed the crystals that indicate COVID pneumonia in both lungs.

Saint Helen did well enough that she was released to her middle daughter after a couple of days. Unfortunately COVID wasn’t ready to let her go and she was readmitted a few days ago. Currently, she is in the Intensive Care Unit. She had two really rough days, but maybe turned a corner last night. Middle daughter says they are cautiously optimistic.

My sister-in-law, “Almost Saint Lyn,” is one of my favorite people in the entire world. She remains in the ICU (I believe, I forgot to ask this morning) and also has had some really tough days, and likely still more to come, but we are hopeful she has turned a corner. I’ve texted with her a time or two and she feels good enough to be bored.

Her husband was able to go home yesterday, and according to Almost Saint Lyn’s daughter, who is taking care of him, he’s cranky, so that’s a good sign.

Now, Saint Helen’s middle daughter, Angie, has shouldered most of the responsibility for keeping the rest of us informed. Angie has been the constant solid contact since Christmas, caring for the sick, suiting up and going onto the COVID floor for the once daily 30 minute visits with her mom and the others. She’s had help from Almost Saint Lyn’s daughter and also from Saint Helen’s youngest daughter, but Angie is the one who has born the brunt of the crisis.

Please keep our loved ones in your prayers or send good vibes or whatever you can spare. I know we aren’t the only ones in this situation. The number of new infections is staggering.

So I’m officially granting Angie sainthood. She has earned it. It doesn’t pay well, but we are so grateful to her. Studly Doright and I have felt so helpless being in Florida, so far away from family, but Saint Angie has been our rock.

I joke to keep from crying, you know. Still, Saint Angie has a nice ring to it.

Peace, people.

This photo of Saint Helen and me was taken at Christmas several years ago. We were in Nashville getting ready to attend a performance of the Grand Ole Opry. She’s the best.

Speaking of Speaking

A few days ago I shared with you all that I’d agreed to speak at a newcomers’ group luncheon in Tallahassee at a date to be determined later. Well, later has arrived. The date is February 9, so now I can begin working on my speech, and more importantly, over stressing.

If I were to share my speech thoughts and rough drafts here would my readers offer creative and constructive criticism? I really have no one to bounce them off of, except the cat, and she adores me, so objectivity isn’t her strong suit.

“What about Studly Doright?” You might ask. He’d just tell me to show more cleavage or leg or something. Since I’m fairly certain the group is made up almost entirely of women, I highly doubt that showing more skin would help. Besides, I’m 65. Showing even a hint of cleavage or an inch of thigh can go horribly wrong in the blink of an eye.

Peace, people.

Too Tired to Top the Tree

For two days I’ve been waiting patiently for Studly Doright to return home so he can put the angel on top of the Christmas tree. I briefly flirted with the idea of getting out the step ladder and doing it myself, but I’m a klutz and at my rather advanced age I don’t heal quickly anymore.

I left the angel on an end table in easy reach of Studly’s chair, so he’d quickly make the connection once he had an opportunity to shower and relax a bit over dinner, but so far he’s managed to ignore it. Finally I asked, “Will you put the angel on the tree?”

“I’m too tired.”

“But, it’s right there and you’re tall and the tree really needs its angel. It’ll take two seconds.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Now, that’s tired. maybe I should get that stepladder….

Angel watches patiently…

Peace, people.

Thirty Seconds of Terror

I’m not a terribly skittish person—and that’s a really good thing considering that during my 45 years of marriage to Studly Doright I’ve spent a good many nights without him. Between his years working different shifts and then the extensive periods he has had to travel to different locations, I’ve become fairly comfortable on my own. Last night, though, I almost had a complete meltdown.

Studly had just called from somewhere near Hattiesburg, Mississippi, to tell me what time he’d be home today. We’d said our good nights and I went about my normal nighttime routine. I’d just turned out the Christmas lights and had begun washing the makeup off my face when the house went dark. And folks, when you live in the forest, dark is DARK. I literally couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

My mind began racing: What if someone cut the power off to our home? There was that random couple walking down the middle of our street today. But even so, our generator will kick on anytime now. Unless they disabled the generator…

On that last panicky thought the generator did kick in and I went in search of candles just in case I lost power again, I’m not going to lie, it took me a while to relax afterwards. I wonder if I could develop better night vision for any future occurrences. It’d be a great latent super power.

Peace, and light, people!

My brief time in total darkness reminded me of this suspenseful film. I’m not as brave as Ms. Hepburn was.
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