Tag: Studly Doright

Precocious

On Saturday I drove into Tallahassee in order to stay out of Studly Doright’s hair. Since he can’t play golf right now due to a recent back surgery, he’s embarked on a series of projects that I’m not adept at taking part in, such as cleaning the carburetor and spray painting the frame of a PW 80 Yamaha he’s fixing up for our grandkids.

I tend to be something of a bull in a china closet when working in the shop. Parts break, stuff gets lost, paint goes everywhere except where it should. Studly is patient, but after so many goof ups he shoos me into a corner.

My escape from Doright Manor took me to Target where I wandered the aisles picking up items on a shopping list. I made goofy faces at little kids and chatted with their moms, sniffed scented candles and hefted different styles of bookends.

I created backstories for people I encountered–the woman dressed in all black was in the federal witness protection program, the elderly gentleman wearing old-style khakis and a button down shirt had made millions in the stock market only to lose it all in the last recession. His gold digging trophy wife had left him for a still wealthy man, only to return because the sex was so damned good.

My imaginings were disrupted by a crash followed immediately by a harried father of three sternly reprimanding the oldest of his children.

“Isabelle, what did you do?”

Isabelle, who appeared to be six, or thereabouts, said, “The boogie boards just fell over.”

“Did you have anything to do with the boogie boards falling over?”

“Maybe, Daddy, but they were stacked so deceptively.”

The dad and I made eye contact. Neither of us laughed; although, it was a near thing. He’s going to have his hands full with Isabelle.

I wandered a bit more before returning to Doright Manor. Thanks to Isabelle I have a new excuse for my klutziness.

Peace, people.

Train in Tallahassee

Studly Doright would rather have a root canal without local anesthesia than attend a concert. He isn’t a big music fan and has even less interest in rubbing shoulders with the hoi polloi. I’m the exact opposite, in fact, I’m a proud member of the hoi polloi, and if possible I’d go in search of live music every day. I’m not averse to attending concerts on my own, but they’re so much more fun with a friend.

When I read that the group Train was appearing in Tallahassee I began hinting that I’d like to go. Studly, however, wasn’t taking the bait. I’d about despaired of getting to see Train when one of my Meetup friends posted the concert on the app. With the click of a couple of buttons I’d bought my ticket and was set to go.

Four of us met at the Cascades Park amphitheater on Thursday night to enjoy Train. It seemed the perfect way to celebrate the summer solstice.

I fought off gnats to take that photo above. Next to me is Shavani, then Martha, and Mary Kay.

Although the opening band wasn’t scheduled to play until 8, we’d arrived at 6 p.m. to score a good spot in the grassy general admission area. The temps were in the mid-90’s, a storm was building to the west, and the humidity was intense. We even had to take shelter from lightning for a while. The shelter was an air conditioned bar with cold beer, so it wasn’t much of a hardship.

A local band, Brightside, kicked things off right on time. They were fun and energetic even as they battled heat and gnats. Once the sun dipped low and we all stopped perspiring both problems were solved and the night was perfect for soaking up the music.

Of course, we were there to see Train and they didn’t disappoint.

They played one hit after another and did a couple of covers that were mind-blowing, including Tom Petty’s Free Falling.

My favorite Train song is Drops of Jupiter. They didn’t play it until the encore, but it was worth the wait. I videoed a bit of it, but my camera work wasn’t great. This one is much better:

https://youtu.be/7Xf-Lesrkuc

What a fun evening with friends! I was happy I got to attend and Studly was ecstatic that he didn’t have to. That’s a win-win.

Peace, people!

Golf on TV

There was a time when I could only groan when forced to watch sports on television. Since we had just one tv until I was a teenager I became resigned to watching one sporting event or another every weekend.

Depending on the season, Daddy had the old black and white RCA tuned to either football, baseball, basketball, or golf. I didn’t mind football as long as I could watch the Dallas Cowboys play, and back in the day the networks showed the bands performing during halftime.

Basketball was okay, as well, but baseball and golf were both good reasons to go outside and play. Occasionally, though, it was just too hot to spend time outdoors under the brutal Texas summer sun, and I’d end up watching the televised snooze fests with Daddy.

By far the worst was golf. The matches droned on and on while the announcers spoke in hushed voices that invited a good nap. I could read an entire book, put together a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle, and start another book in the course of a tournament. I’m sure my sighs conveyed my utter boredom and disgust, but Daddy couldn’t be coerced into switching to another program.

I learned who Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino were:

So imagine my surprise when I grew to enjoy watching golf on tv. Studly Doright and I spent most of this past weekend watching the U.S. Open, and I was as glued to the coverage as he was. It helps that our big screen television has vibrant color and surround sound making the experience much more satisfying than it was on the old black and white set.

Best of all I learned to enjoy watching the tournaments with my Dad before he passed away, and my years of forced watching with him gave me a knowledge of golf’s history that Studly is lacking. I rub his nose in my superiority occasionally, but mostly I just snuggle next to him on the sofa and we give the golfers tips on reading the greens. Sometimes they listen.

Congrats to Brooks Koepka for his back to back U.S. Open wins. He listened.

Peace, people.

How I Spent Saturday Morning

Studly Doright has successfully slept more than four hours at one time for the past three nights. Hopefully this indicates that his nerve endings might finally be settling down after his back surgery. He woke up practically jumping for joy this morning, and hurried me through my shower and breakfast so I could accompany him on his errands.

His first stop was at a golf shop. Studly hasn’t been released by his surgeon to swing a club yet, but he likes to look. Then we went to a motorcycle shop to buy new grips for a bike he’s working on for the grandkids to ride. Motorcycles are much more fun to look at than golf clubs.

Afterwards I mentioned that I could really use a new pair of sandals. When Studly is in a shopping mood it’s good to put in a request.

The cats like them. They might slightly resemble their scratching post.

Peace, people.

Was it an Upgrade?

Earlier this week a friend on Facebook posted that he believed the new sci-fi film, Upgrade, was better than Solo. “Interesting,” I thought, and decided to do some research.

I’ve seen Solo twice now, so I bought a ticket for Upgrade, along with a gigantic pretzel and a large strawberry lemonade, and settled in for the movie. Counting me, there were six other folks at the 12:30 showing. I was the lone female representative in the place. I see a lot of sci-fi films on my own, so I’m used to carrying the flag for my gender.

After approximately 9 trillion trailers for upcoming films the feature attraction began. Right off the bat the movie caught my attention when the opening credits were spoken instead of projected onto the screen. Cool, eh?

The initial scenes are pleasant. The almost handsome protagonist, played by Logan Marshall-Green, is a throwback to an earlier era relative to the film’s setting. His character’s wife, portrayed by Melanie Vallejo, works for a firm specializing in cyborg-type prosthetics for wounded veterans. He’s old school, she’s new-fangled.

For once, the future doesn’t look like an apocalyptic nightmare. Cars are self-driving, homes are voice-controlled, and everyone seems well adjusted. I felt pleasantly surprised and eager for lots of upbeat future fun.

And then all hell breaks loose. There’s a bunch of slicing and dicing of human bodies with a boatload of blood to boot. I was NOT amused. I felt hoodwinked.

Now I know how Studly Doright felt when many years ago we tricked him into seeing Alien by telling him it was a lot like Star Wars. Hoodwinked, that’s how he felt. There’s no way in hell that Upgrade is a better film than Solo.

If I’d known in advance that the Australian director, Leigh Whannell, best known for his work on the first three Saw movies, also directed Upgrade I might have been better prepared for the gratuitous gore. As it was, I just felt ill, and as I’ve said before, hoodwinked.

Don’t see this:

See this:

Trust me.

Peace, people.

Ahh, The Beach

When Studly Doright came to me one chilly spring day in Illinois and told me he’d been tagged for a position in Florida, I was elated. We’d lived in Melbourne, FL, for four years before the company transferred us to Illinois, and I’d fallen in love with the white sand beaches that were only ten minutes from our Florida home.

It wasn’t until I started searching online for homes in or near Studly’s new office in Tallahassee that I realized we weren’t going to be very close to a beach. I was a bit dismayed.

Studly was already in Florida living in an extended stay hotel when I called him from Champaign, Illinois, to ask, “Where the heck is the nearest beach?”

He hemmed and hawed a bit and finally admitted that he wasn’t sure. Certainly if our positions had been reversed locating the nearest beach would have been at the top of my list of priorities. Alas, Studly isn’t a beach person. The only sand he cares about is in the traps he tries to avoid on the golf course.

Once our home sold in Illinois and I joined my husband in Florida I had two urgent tasks: find a home and find the beach. It took me awhile to find Doright Manor, but just a week to discover the beach at St. George Island. And while it’s an hour and a half drive from our house, it is a lovely place.

Yesterday I drove down through the towns of Crawfordville and Sopchoppy, Lenark Village and Carabelle. I turned left in Eastpoint and over the bridge to paradise.

St. George Island’s residents don’t allow big chains to operate on their turf, so the hotels and restaurants are mom and pop businesses.

I enjoyed a lunch of grilled mahi mahi tacos at the Blue Parrot overlooking the beach.

Then I changed into my bathing suit and set up a spot on the beach just short of the lapping waves.

The heat of the June sun was intense on my super pale body, but every now and then the clouds provided some relief. And when things got too hot, hot, hot, I waded out into the water to cool off.

I took a horrible selfie. I had on my dark sunglasses and couldn’t actually see what the picture looked like until I returned home and began editing my photos. Is it just me or is my face crooked? Also, I need cheekbones.

We’ll call this one “I Think Chipmunk Cheeks Needs a Bigger Hat.”

The photo below is my favorite of the day. I really needed an umbrella like the one pictured.

I didn’t stay too long on the beach for fear I’d get a sunburn even with SPF 50 slathered on my lily white limbs, but my brief visit to the sand and the sea restored me. I returned to Doright Manor feeling better for having made the drive. I guess it’s not all that far away after all.

Peace, people.

A Good Day

Yesterday Studly Doright was working out of town. I knew he wouldn’t be home until late, so with a long expanse of time to fill I decided to get out of the house and find stuff to do.

My initial thought was to drive to St. George Island for a beach day, but a quick glance at the weather forecast showed rain showers for much of the afternoon. I’ll wait for a sunshiny day to head to the gulf.

Instead I went to see The Book Club, starring the fabulous four: Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, Mary Steenburgen, and Diane Keaton. Even on a Tuesday morning the theater was almost full, and all but two of the seats were occupied by women. The movie is a treat, especially for women my age and older. I laughed harder than I have in ages.

Afterwards I had lunch at Zöe’s, and then strolled around Whole Foods. Exciting stuff, right? But I hadn’t felt as good as I did yesterday since the beginning of May, so for me it was exciting stuff indeed.

A rumble of thunder and a darkening sky hastened me on my way to my car, but I wasn’t ready to return to Doright Manor quite yet. I drove to Governor’s Square Mall, parked in the parking garage, and then wandered aimlessly for awhile. Then the Great American Cookie Company in the food court started calling my name. For awhile I was able to tune it out, but then it got really obnoxious and I had to have a chewy pecan supreme cookie to quiet the voices. I hate it when that happens.

Of course then I had to walk more to work off the cookie calories. I decided I needed an ottoman for our patio. Even knowing that none of the stores in the mall was likely to have such an item, I looked anyway. That’s how I tricked myself into walking for another hour. I’m easy like that.

Now that I was on a mission to find an ottoman, I left the mall and drove to the shopping center where Marshall’s and Bed, Bath, & Beyond are located. Surely I could find something to suit me at one of those two stores. Bed, Bath, and Beyond had ottomans more suited for inside use. Marshall’s had a couple that were indoor/outdoor, but they were gaudy. We can’t have gaudy at Doright Manor.

I want one like this:

Just for grins I walked through Michael’s arts and crafts emporium extraordinaire. There I found a crate that I thought I might could turn into a cute ottoman with a coat of paint and a bright pillow. But I got a splinter in my finger when I picked up the crate, putting a damper on that idea. I’m opposed to furniture that physically attacks me.

As I left Michael’s, a glance at my Fitbit told me I was within 1,000 steps of reaching my goal for the day, a goal I haven’t even come close to realizing for over a month. My feet were getting tired, but I buckled down and did a quick walk through of the Old Navy and Ulta stores in the same shopping center before driving home.

I fixed myself a light dinner and drank a tall glass of water. My Fitbit was at 9,900 steps, and I practically had to crawl to bed to finish out the day, but by golly, I reached my goal, and today should be easier. Or I might just have to hibernate and recover. Regardless, yesterday was a good day.

Peace, people.

Bumming Around Bainbridge

On Saturday morning Studly Doright decided we needed to drive the thirty miles or so to Bainbridge, Georgia, for breakfast at the American restaurant. I was delighted that he felt like getting out for a bit, so I quickly made myself presentable, and soon we were driving north through Havana, FL, and across the Florida-Georgia state line.

The drive is a pretty one through rolling hills and by 9:30 a.m. we were pulling up in front of The American.

There was just one problem–the restaurant didn’t open until 11:30. Studly assured me that he knew of another restaurant in Bainbridge, so we drive across town only to discover that they weren’t open either.

Studly suggested we get a donut at a place we’d passed as we drove into town, after which we could shop for a few necessities at the local Walmart then try The American for lunch. A donut sounded awful, but by this time I was so hungry I’d have agreed to just about anything.

After eating our much too doughy donuts we drove to Walmart and bought a new alarm clock and a few other items. We wandered around as long as we could, but it was only 10:30, and I could still taste that damned donut.

I suggested we go back to the downtown area and walk around until The American opened. Studly parked under a shade tree and sent me off to explore while he took a nap.

This pretty park sits in the heart of downtown Bainbridge:

Finally The American restaurant opened. We’d never eaten there, but one of Studly’s co-workers highly recommended it.

The interior was appealing.

Studly enjoyed a Hawaiian ribeye sandwich, and I had a grilled chicken and pesto sandwich. Both were good, but I’m not sure they were worth the drive. Maybe that darned donut was still messing with my taste buds. I’ll have to give the restaurant another try some day.

We drove home and both of us took a nap. Poor Studly still isn’t getting enough sleep due to pain from surgery to repair sciatic nerve damage, so he catches a few zzzzz’s anytime he can. I feel totally helpless.

Peace, people.

What About the Zombie Apocalypse?

On Tuesday morning I had an ultrasound procedure to determine if my recent medical issues were actually the diverticulitis that I’d self-diagnosed or a result of a faulty gallbladder. No big deal, but I was required to fast from midnight until after my 10 a.m. appointment.

During an average night I get up at least twice to potty and get a drink of water. Afraid that I’d forget the “nothing by mouth” order I taped a hastily written note to my bathroom mirror:

Of course Studly Doright found the note hilarious.

Thank goodness, though, for my foresight because at 3:49 a.m. I had a glass of water in hand and only my note prevented me from taking a big drink. Take that Studly!

As I drove to the imaging center I pondered that note. What if, God forbid, some tragic accident had taken both my life and Studly’s life before we returned home that day. Whatever would investigators make of the cryptic “No food or water!!”?

Might someone have thought I was starving in spite of the abundance of food in our pantry? Perhaps they’d believe I’d penned a note crying out for help because my husband had forbidden me access to our food supply.

Then of course my mind pondered how that note might be interpreted by survivors of a zombie apocalypse. Would they think our food and water were tainted? Would some poor survivor pass by the jars of peanut butter and boxes of rice and cereal believing the contents weren’t fit for human consumption? I’d hate to be the reason someone in an apocalyptic situation starved to death. As soon as I returned home I tossed it in the trash. Whew! That was a close one.

Peace, people

A Metaphor?

Monday is laundry day. Now that there are just two of us in the Doright household the chore isn’t nearly as tedious as it once was. I still don’t love doing laundry, but I don’t mind it nearly as much.

Once the final load was in the dryer I drove into Tallahassee for a few necessities. Normally I avoid the big retailer (aka Walmart), but it was the nearest store that was sure to have everything I needed.

When I entered the store I was looking for just three items, so I didn’t grab a shopping cart. Can you believe how naive I still am at the ripe old age of 61.5? One doesn’t simply shop at Walmart without a cart.

As my arms became overburdened with just discovered “must haves” I began looking for an abandoned cart. As luck would have it, I found one just around the corner from the Preparation H aisle. Don’t ask, but yes, that was one of my necessities. Damned diverticulitis.

It didn’t take me long to realize why the cart had been abandoned:

That annoying intermittent sound (much louder in real life than in the above video) was my cart. The darned thing handled like a two ton tank that every few feet emitted an awful buzz causing fellow shoppers to wince and/or laugh out loud. A small child began crying as I approached.

I guess I could have abandoned the cart as its previous operator had done, but I decided to embrace it instead, quirky sound effects and all. As I wrestled my noisy cart around the store, adding milk and cat treats and plain yogurt and bananas and yes, Preparation H, among other things, I began to think of the cart as a metaphor for life:

“The road we travel isn’t always peaceful or smooth, but if you keep pushing, eventually you’ll get to lay down your load.”

Okay, that’s a crummy metaphor, but what are you going to do? Sue me?

Peace, people.