Tag: Studly Doright

A Hot Mess

The trash collection guys come on Monday mornings—usually quite early in the day. So here at Doright Manor we usually remember to move our trash receptacle to the curb on Sunday afternoon, but not always.

When I woke up yesterday morning at 7 a.m. my first thought was, “Oh crap! Is that the trash truck I hear?!”

I scooted the cat off of my chest where she’d snuggled down, blissfully unaware of such things as full trash receptacles. Her glare was equal parts disappointment and disdain. How dare you disturb me?!

Hurriedly I donned a pair of sweat pants and a non-matching sweatshirt, pulled on some socks and shoes and scurried outside into the 40° weather to try and outrun the trash collectors. I grabbed the dew-covered handle of the receptacle and winced. It was cold and wet. Ugh.

I was not to be deterred, though! I gritted my teeth and pushed the container to the curb, hoping I wasn’t too late. When I looked around at other homes I was surprised to see that no one else had their cans out for pickup. Puzzling. That was until I remembered that it was Wednesday morning, not Monday, and that I was either two days too late or six days too early.

So there I stood, on the curb, shivering in a pair of Studly’s hole-y sweatpants, which are considerably larger than any of mine, a Walking Dead sweatshirt, mismatched shoes and wet hands, wondering if I truly had finally lost my mind.

The jury is still out.

In Studly’s Hands

I finally got to hold a copy of the paperback version of my novel, Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. Sadly, it’s not mine to keep. I’ll forward it on to my friend and editor, Rachel Carrera first thing tomorrow.

Studly Doright wanted to hold it. “It’s huge!” were his exact words. I was pushing for “clever, poignant, skillfully done,” but I’ll settle for “huge!”

Peace, people!

Harrowing

For future reference, I should NEVER be allowed to drive at night again. Why, you might ask? Because last evening, just after sunset, I set off to pick up a few necessities at the Publix grocery store nearest Doright Manor, and subsequently became totally lost on my way home.

Somehow, as dusk turned to full dark. I missed the turn onto the road that parallels our housing development and drove at least ten additional miles before I could find a safe place to turn around. I was a quivering mess by the time I pulled into our driveway at Doright Manor, having dodged obstacles both real and imagined. Those imagined ones are the absolute worst.

I told Studly Doright, after I finally convinced my legs to carry me into the house following my harrowing experience, that I am giving up driving at night. He asked, “Does that include trips on your broom?”

If I could’ve found eye of newt and tongue of toad at the grocery store, he’d be in big trouble.

Peace, people!

Shivering in Havana; Basking in Bismarck

We don’t see temperatures like this very often here in Florida.

We’ll bundle ourselves up in sweaters, jackets, and scarves and turn up the thermostats. It’ll be a great day for sipping hot chocolate and gathering around a fireplace.

In North Dakota, though, where Studly Doright, our children, and I lived for four years, three decades ago, 32° temps on a sunny December day might feel balmy, inspiring folks to wear short sleeves and even short pants while frolicking in the unexpected gift of a warm day. It’s all relative.

Brrr!

What’s the weather like where you are? Are you cavorting in summer clothing or huddling beneath a blanket? Inquiring minds need to know.

Peace, people!

What’s a Nice Cow Like You Doing in a Place Like This?

On Friday night Studly Doright and I had dinner with our son, his wife, and her mother at a place called Blue Mabel Smokehouse and Provisions in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida. It was a great casual place with a full bar and really good food. I ate way too much.

The decor was heavy on bovines. Paintings of Black Angus, Hereford, Charolais, and other beef cattle breeds adorned the walls. Very clever. The theme even continued into the ladies’ (and I’m assuming, men’s) rooms. But there I found a special kind of cattle decorating the wallpaper:

A Muckle Coo aka Highland Cow

I became so fond of these cows when I first saw them in Scotland that I purchased a Christmas ornament similar to this:

Cute, right? They just seemed a little out of place in Santa Rosa Beach, FL, USA, but they did make me smile.

Peace, people!

Pecan Pie Afternoon

I’m baking not one, but two, pecan pies this afternoon. They’re currently at that stage where they might be done or they might need to cook another few minutes.

That’s my least favorite part of baking—the wondering. In a perfect world. everything would have an exact time limit. For pecan pies the instructions might say, “Cook for 70 minutes at 350° F and voila!”

I tend to err on the side of caution, while Studly Doright errs on the side of, “A little bit too done is just right.” Some years when I’ve allowed him to control the process my pecan pies have ended up with the consistency of a Goodyear tire. But when I’m in charge, the pie often is best eaten with a spoon.

That used to drive me crazy, but nowadays, que sera sera! Whatever will be, will be.

https://youtu.be/

Peace, people!

Propaganda and Pancakes

Tuesday morning Studly Doright took me to breakfast at one of his favorite spots. I’d never eaten there because I don’t generally eat breakfast, but Studly has talked about this place for two years, so I finally relented.

The place is kind of a dive on the outskirts of Tallahassee. I’ve driven by it many times but never felt inclined to stop there for any reason. Studly and I have quite different ideas of what constitutes a good restaurant.

When we arrived the small dining area was almost empty, but between the time we placed our order and the time our food arrived the place had filled up. Following Studly’s lead I ordered pancakes, and they really were as good as he’d claimed. Unfortunately they didn’t cancel out the conversation swirling around us. It went something like this:

Old White Man: It looks like that Biden’s going to steal the election.

Old White Woman: You know Nancy Pelosi is just going to have him removed as soon as possible.

Different Old White Man: Yep, I heard that. Then that KamAlla will be President and she’s going to get that socialist, commie Cortez to be her Vice President.

Different Old White Woman Who Was Our Waitress: And that’ll be the end of this whole USA.

Old White Man: First thing they’ll do is try to take my guns, but I ain’t giving ‘em up without no fight.

Around this point I swallowed the last bite of my absolutely perfect pancake and suggested to my husband that we should leave before I said out loud the word I was thinking. In case you’re wondering, the word was “bullsh*t”. Once I had my mask back on I said the word multiple times. Not loud enough for anyone to hear it, but it made me feel better.

Where do these people get such outrageous ideas? I know this crazy theory isn’t only being bandied about in Tallahassee, Florida. I’ve also read it in friends’ posts on social media. So some tv conspiracy theorist must be pushing it. My money’s on this guy:

Alex Jones (Creep)

Peace, and get a grip, people!

Laundry: The Never Ending Story

I was so proud of myself for getting all of the dirty laundry from Studly Doright’s recent golf trip taken care of on Monday. Truly, it seemed I must’ve had some assistance.

But then I helped him clean out the car he’d driven to Texas and in the back seat I discovered two hotel bags stuffed with more dirty laundry.

“Really?” I said.

“Oops,” he shrugged. “Look at it this way, your task was divided into manageable portions. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. That’s just how I roll.”

Peace, people.

Drunk Shopping

Studly Doright has been gone for nearly a week. He’s due home any minute now, and it’s about damned time. I don’t sleep well when he’s gone, so I might’ve had a little more wine than was prudent last night.

The good news is, it worked. Last night I slept deeply and had wonderful dreams. The bad news? Apparently I ordered a pair of tights and a deck of tarot cards from Amazon. I only know this because there are messages to that effect in my inbox.

All I can say is, the future’s so bright I’ve gotta wear tights.

I might need these socks sold by The Sock Drawer.

Peace, people!

Mad Skills

When Studly Doright and I returned home from our brief trip to northeastern Georgia we were faced immediately with two issues. 1) Our refrigerator/freezer had stopped doing its job, and many of the contents inside were rendered inedible. 2) Our television developed the odd habit of turning off after ten to fifteen minutes of viewing. The sound continued operating, but there was no picture.

Our first inclination was to call repair companies for both issues, so we googled the appropriate service providers and soon had repairmen scheduled. Neither could come quickly, though, and that was frustrating.

As we sat contemplating our situation Studly looked at me and said, “I think I can fix that refrigerator.”

Not to be outdone I said, “I think I can fix the television.”

Truly I was kidding, but once Studly began exploring the fridge and gathering tools, I decided to see what Google could tell me about our television’s problem. The hard part was in figuring out how to word my question, but after only three tries I hit pay dirt.

It took Studly about three hours to get the refrigerator cooling properly—and that included two trips into town for supplies. It took me approximately five minutes total to fix the telly and to call the tv repairman to cancel our appointment. Yep, I won. Studly just won’t acknowledge that there was ever a competition.

Peace, people!