Studly Doright is a capable kind of man. He’s a combination of Mr. Fix-It and MacGyver wrapped up in one nice looking package. Seldom do I find something he doesn’t comprehend how to do. During our nearly 44 years of marriage I’ve only encountered a handful of things that stump my guy, but recently a new one popped up.
Since the pandemic, we’ve been performing personal maintenance tasks that we’ve paid others to do in the past. I’ve been giving myself (awful) pedicures and (even worse) manicures, and I’ve been keeping Studly’s hair trimmed. Studly doesn’t have much hair to trim these days, and by the time I finish shearing him, he has barely enough to notice.
After the last trim I discovered Studly in the bathroom, looking in the big mirror above our sinks and holding my hand mirror behind his head. He was trying to see if I’d cut his hair evenly.
“How do you do this? I can’t see anything,” he said.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you turned around and used the small mirror to reflect the back of your head into the big mirror?
After several tries he made the magic happen, and I had the satisfaction of briefly knowing how to do something he did not. It’s not as rare an occurrence as a Halley’s Comet’s sighting, but it likely won’t happen again in my lifetime.
Lately when I write I’ve asked Alexa to play seventies music. Some days she selects pop, other days, country, and still others, folk. I can’t decide which genre I enjoy the most, but I do have some favorites: Bob Seger, Gordon Lightfoot, Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles, among others.
When Studly Doright chooses a station he always picks sixties music, and while I enjoy that decade’s offerings, there’s something about the 70’s tunes that speaks to me. Maybe it’s because I graduated high school in ‘75, and married Studly in ‘76. In the space of a year I went from childhood to adulthood with seventies music playing in the background.
The 63-year-old me often finds herself crying during certain songs. Today, John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High had me blubbering at my computer, and not long after that I completely lost it over Michael Martin Murphey’s Wildfire.
Am I mourning the loss of my youth? Surely not. That’s been gone for at least three decades. How about my close proximity to death. Naw. I’ve made my peace with the world.
Maybe it’s bigger than that. Maybe it’s the loss of our nation’s soul that’s gotten to me, and these songs remind me of a time that seemed so much simpler. Oh, I know the 70’s had their issues. They weren’t rosy by any means, but I was young enough to believe everything would turn out fine.
Today we celebrated Independence Day here in the United States. Celebrated might be an overstatement in my case. I napped, having been unable to sleep last night. I did wear my special flag t-shirt most of the day, though.
Then, while Studly Doright and I were cooking our dinner of vegetable kabobs and fruit salad, I managed to get cooking oil all over the front of my shirt. I might’ve said, “Yankee Doodle Dammit!” Or something similarly patriotic as a result.
We’ll likely spend our evening watching “Shameless” on Netflix while listening to our neighbors across the lake shoot off fireworks. Is it wrong for me to hope a predicted thunderstorm might keep the ruckus to a minimum tonight? It’s not as if they have any children.
Suddenly I feel like the Scrooge of July 4th. Bah firecracker!
Doright Manor is located in a hilly rural housing development about eight miles outside of Tallahassee, Florida. And when I say “hilly” I am not exaggerating. For as long as we’ve lived here we’ve talked about riding our bikes around the neighborhood. But that’s as far as we ever got to doing it. We could ride about a quarter of a mile and that was it.
Then my brother, Kelly, and his wife, Susan, stayed with us on their journey to Fort Meyers, Florida, and they left some items with us to be picked up when they passed through Tallahassee later in the week. Among those items was a pair of e-assist bikes. They told us to try them out, and we did. They were great fun. We could pedal for awhile and then take a break by using the battery power.
Studly Doright immediately began researching e-assist bikes and soon had one ordered for me.
Voila!
This isn’t a great photo, but I’ll do better next time.
Pretty cool, right? He’s now looking for a conversion kit for his bike. Until then, I might share.
On Saturday afternoon Studly Doright and I drove out to the Tallahassee RV Park to meet up with my brother and sister-in-law who were spending the night there before moving on with their big adventure.
They’d stopped by on Monday on their way to Fort Myers, Florida, where they’d pick up their new Airstream trailer. After several days of orientation and practice with their new trailer they were ready to hit the road. First, though, they needed to collect a few things they’d left at our house. Rather than have them drive all the way to Doright Manor and back to the RV park, we loaded their stuff into Studly’s pickup and met them at the park.
Their new trailer is beautiful—very posh and spacious. We enjoyed wine and cheese with them and their adorable dog, Gus.
That’s my brother, Kelly, dog, Gus, and me. Look at Gus’s eyes. I think he’s a bit leery of his Aunt Leslie.
We had a wonderful dinner with Kelly and Susan before bidding them goodbye and safe travels. Kelly says he’ll start a blog about their journey. If he does, I’ll share it with you all. It’s bound to be good.
Studly Doright and I, after finally learning how to use Netflix, have gone a little nuts. We’ve watched “Orange is the New Black,” “Schitt’s Creek,” “The Ranch,” and “Grace and Frankie” along with several others. We started “Longmire,” but it didn’t really tickle our respective fancies, so we went looking for something else. That’s how we stumbled onto “Shameless.”
If you’re a parent and wondering if you’re doing an adequate job, watch “Shameless.” I guarantee your faith in your own abilities and common sense will be restored.
The story follows Frank, played by William H. Macy and his many offspring. As a father, Frank really sucks. He’s a grifter and a conman who shirks his responsibilities at every opportunity.
His eldest child, Fiona, runs the household, and that’s no easy task. She’s barely an adult herself and sometimes she isn’t quite up to the task. But she’s resourceful, as are her siblings. They borrow and sometimes steal in order to stay afloat, always one step ahead of the bill collectors.
“Shameless” is great fun. It’s sexy and sweet and often hilarious. And after watching even one episode, you’ll never doubt your parenting skills again. I promise.
Today was one of those days. My younger brother and his wife stayed the night with us on their way from Houston. Texas, to Fort Myers, Florida, where they’re going to pick up their brand new Airstream travel trailer.
They had their adorable dog, Gus, with them, so we kept our cat sequestered in the master suite last night. The two were aware of each other, but no one got chased and neither of them puked from nervousness, and we had a great visit with family.
It was a win-win. Still, I didn’t sleep well, and having the cat on my chest all night didn’t help much.
After breakfast at a local cafe our guests headed to Fort Myers and I came back to Doright Manor for a nap. The cat settled in beside me on the sofa in the den, and within minutes I was out like a light for the better part of two hours.
When I awakened it was as if I were in an alternate universe. The sky was dark, and I wondered if I’d slept the day away. I hadn’t. But a storm had blown in while I was napping making early afternoon look like nighttime.
I looked at the calendar on my watch fearing that I’d forgotten an appointment with the insurance adjuster, but realized that wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. Then I began thinking about the carpet I’d ordered. It was supposed to have arrived on the 19th. Today’s the 23rd. Hmmm.
The carpet company had required a deposit. Had I made one? I couldn’t remember. I knew I’d gone to their office to do so, but couldn’t remember actually making a payment. The checkbook didn’t have an entry either. Had I used a credit card? Suddenly I was certain that the reason my carpet hadn’t yet arrived was that it had never been ordered because I hadn’t paid a deposit.
I called the store, “Hi, this is Leslie Noyes. I think I ordered carpet from you, but I can’t remember actually making a deposit.”
The woman on the other end laughed, sort of, “We can sure check.”
A couple of seconds later she read off my address and said, “Yes, it appears you paid a deposit using your credit card, and we’re just awaiting delivery of your carpet.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or humiliated or worried for my sanity. I’m going to blame it all on the lack of sleep and the lengthy nap I took this afternoon. I’m going to avoid using sharp objects, though, for the remainder of the day.
Never will I claim to be the most observant of humans. In fact, my husband of nearly 44 years, Studly Doright, is fond of telling me that I have “awareness issues.” I’d disagree with him if he weren’t so right.
Yesterday I wrote about a woman who, while visiting in my home, thought that when I said that I’d just finished my first novel that I meant I’d just finished reading my first novel.
Okay, I get it. I don’t look all that scholarly, but she was in my home, where literally the first thing one sees upon entering Doright Manor is this:
And this:
Look around a bit and you’d see this:
And this:
And even this:
Oh, and then there are my Star Wars books:
And
The dust is real.
Most of my books are on kindle nowadays, but the evidence that I’m a reader is pretty clear. So perhaps I’m not the only one with awareness issues. Maybe we can start a club.
Studly Doright sometimes must travel overnight on business. During the pandemic, though, he was able to be home every night. Company travel was suspended for the last three months. Now that businesses are opening up again, though, he’s had to make up for lost time.
Last night was his first on the road, and I hate to admit that I was kind of looking forward to it. I’d already planned on getting a bit drunk and finishing my novel after determining that too much sober writing was inhibiting the writing process. However, I completed the novel while stone cold sober on Monday morning, so now I had no excuse to get tipsy whilst Studly was away.
I did go to bed later than our usual old people time of 9 p.m., and I read awhile longer before falling asleep. Such a little rebel.
Usually when Studly is away at night I struggle to fall asleep, but I don’t even remember the light of my Kindle fading, so quickly was I in lala land. But around 1 a.m., Scout kitty sauntered into the bedroom meowing loudly.
I knew she had no immediate needs, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. Scout promply jumped onto the bed, stood by my head, and without warning, puked all over my pillow.
My reflexes took over. I plopped her onto the floor, where she continued retching, and ran to the bathroom to get a wet cloth to clean up her mess. On my way back to the bed, I stepped in the additional cat puke. I said a really awful word before wiping the sole of my foot and returning to the bathroom for a clean wet cloth. This time I thought it wise to turn on the lights fearing there were piles of puke everywhere.
Apparently, though, I’d stepped in the only little pile in our oversized bedroom. What are the odds? Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.
I took the soiled pillow case off of my pillow and wiped the sheet off, then the underlying mattress, but since it was the middle of the night and no one was sleeping on the other side of the bed I figured morning would be soon enough to change the sheets. I’d just take over Studly’s domain.
Once back under the covers I used the Calm app to begin relaxing enough to return to sleep, and I’d almost succeeded when I caught a whiff of cat puke. It was on my shoulder! I jumped out of bed, took off my pajama top and washed my left shoulder before putting on a different top. Fortunately I hadn’t been laying on that side and the sheet wasn’t contaminated.
Back in bed again, I tried to relax, but I began to worry about Scout. After all, I had ejected her from the bed rather violently. What if she was she really sick? After about half an hour of internal debate, I put on my glasses, turned on the lights, and went in search of my 16-year-old baby.
Scout was curled up on the sofa in the den and meowed when she saw me. I apologized for being so abrupt and for calling her a bad name. She followed me back to bed where she couldn’t stop giving me head butts and kitty kisses. She was so apologetic that I couldn’t go back to sleep for at least another hour.
Now, she’s off, happily patrolling the screened-in porch, while I’m preparing to wash the sheets and treat the carpet to a good cleaning. It’s 8:30 a.m., and I’m already looking forward to a nap.
Yesterday (Friday) was the first day in two weeks that Studly Doright and I were able to use the shower in our master bathroom. A water leak in the hot water pipes had us taking sponge baths and ultimately building a temporary shower stall in the garage.
It wasn’t pretty, but Studly had it hooked up directly to the hot water heater, so after nearly a week of sponge baths it felt like heaven.
We’ve now dismantled the structure. There’s no telling what the bits and pieces of our shower will be used for in the future. Let’s just hope they never have to come together to be a shower again. I couldn’t concentrate in there, and the acoustics weren’t great.
Praying for Eyebrowz 