Tag: Studly Doright

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.

When Your Mouth Says ‘Yes,’ but Your Brain Screams ‘NO!’

A couple of days ago I received an email from a woman I’d met at a Meetup group. It seems she’d taken on the role of securing speakers for a newcomers’ group in Tallahassee for the coming year and wondered if I’d be interested in speaking at a future luncheon.

Just reading the request turned my stomach inside out. Me? Speak in front of (gasp!) people?! I told Studly Doright about the opportunity and he said, “Do it! It’ll be fun.”

I asked for additional information: How many people typically attend these luncheons? How long would I need to speak? What in the world would I speak about?

When I had the answers, I took a day to think about it and decided that there was no way I could stand in front of 60 women for 20-30 minutes and talk about my writing. But for some reason, I said, “Sure; I’ll do that.”

Now I’m just waiting to find out which month I’ll be assigned to. In the meantime I’ll stress out about the whole thing and probably won’t sleep much. Oh, and maybe I should begin writing a speech. Speech crafting suggestions are welcome. I want to appear witty, so keep that in mind. Oh, I am so screwed.

Peace, people.

Peace, people!

Emerging

I’ve been sick with a nasty cold for almost a week now and finally I feel like I’m almost human again. Studly Doright was sick, as well, only his illness was due to a change in medications. We made a fine pair for the Thanksgiving holiday.

While everyone else was chowing down on turkey and dressing, pumpkin pie, and that wonderful canned cranberry sauce, Studly and I were heating up canned soup and having Mucinex for dessert. Yum, yum.

Of course he felt well enough to play golf on this Saturday morning. As he left, I brandished my raised fist at him, saying, “Okay, if you get sick again I am NOT taking care of you.”

He just patted me on the head and laughed before leaving.

I can’t imagine why he wasn’t intimidated.

Okay, the photo is motivation to get myself back into the world of the living. It’s going to take a lot of work.

Peace, people.

When I Talk, People Listen (Whether They Want To Or Not)

Remember the old E.F. Hutton commercials? They usually featured a collection of well-heeled folks standing around at a cocktail party or gathered ‘round a campfire chatting away until someone in the scene said, “Well my broker is E.F. Hutton and he says…” Once those words were uttered, all conversation ceased and everyone leaned in to listen. I kind of have the same effect on people. I might just be the new E.F. Hutton.

Last evening I decided to stop by Sweet Pea Cafe for dinner. Studly Doright was out of town and I had an appointment that ran late. Sweet Pea was on my way home and I knew there’d be a friendly face or two to say “hi” to before I went home to the cat.

The place was hopping. As I entered the cafe to place my order there was a group of college-age women ahead of me. They were so lively. So spirited. So indecisive when it came to ordering. One of the young ladies noticed me and said, “Why don’t you go ahead?”

I knew exactly what I wanted and apparently I spoke loudly enough that everyone in the place, and on into the next county, knew my order, as well. Literally everyone stopped talking when I ordered. I’d have quipped something about being in an E.F. Hutton commercial, but literally no one in the crowd would have gotten the reference.

I have this uncanny ability to become a human megaphone at times. Studly Doright always knows just what to say to tone me down when my volume gets turned up: “Shh!” I sure could’ve used him last night.

PEACE, PEOPLE!!!

Making Waves

Studly Doright and I are hanging out in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, this weekend. I’d packed all my beachy stuff: swimsuits, beach towels, beach chairs, straw hats, etc. But a storm has blown through the area bringing epic, awe-inspiring waves, so there won’t be any lounging on the beach.

You can see the waves behind the dune.
Turn up the sound for this video.

It’s just wonderful. Even the locals are impressed

Peace, people!

Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life

From this morning. He’s such a romantic.

Peace, people.

From a long time ago.

Midnight Mass Interlude

Studly Doright and I are watching Blacklist. We’re midway through season six, and frankly I’m a little weary of Raymond Reddington and Agent Keene’s soap opera-ish entanglements. If it weren’t for Agent Arim Mojtabai, played by Amir Arison, I’d probably bail on the series.

Amir Arison provides welcome comic relief.

Don’t tell Studly, but I’ve been cheating on Blacklist with the Netflix series Midnight Mass. I’m only on episode two, but the moodiness and the sense of impending doom is captivating. I am already hooked.

Where is the old Monsignor? Is the new guy even a real priest? What happened to the cats? Is Riley going to make it and why does he look so familiar? Who else is watching this and what are your thoughts?

Something fishy about this guy.

Peace, people!

The Cat Wants What the Cat Wants

Routine is everything to our cat, Gracie.

She wakes Studly Doright up at five every morning and makes him carry her to the kitchen for a treat.

After he leaves for work, she snuggles with me and insists I get up at six. While I shower, Gracie watches me from her ringside seat on the side of bathtub. She presides over my morning routine, ensuring that I take my vitamins, and calcium, and allergy meds, and well, you get the idea.

The day proceeds with Gracie allotting time for feeding, naps, and play when she’s not actively supervising my work. In the evening she lets us know it’s time to stretch out on one of the chairs on the screened-in porch by pawing at the patio door.

Bedtime routine with Gracie is reminiscent of my days of tucking in a toddler. She gets a bowl of her favorite wet food, a bit of playtime, then we snuggle into our bed. But Gracie isn’t ready to sleep.

She’ll jump off the bed in dramatic fashion and rush down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon she’ll come back toting a bag of treats in her mouth. If she can’t get to the cat treats, she’ll bring a bag of people food—nuts, trail mix—whatever comes closest to resembling her treats, so the gist of her message is clear—one last snack, please.

Once she gets what she wants Gracie disappears into one of the guest bedrooms for the night only reappearing in our room when it’s time to wake Studly up for work. And the routine begins again,

I wish Gracie had been around during the years I taught. I could’ve used a good scheduler.

Peace, people.

I Don’t Wanna Be Wrong

College football is in full swing right now, and Studly Doright and I watched games most of the afternoon and into the late evening. After one successful short pass from the quarterback to a wide receiver the commentator said, “That little shuffle pass has been effective against this defense this year.”

Studly turned to me and asked, “Is it shuttle pass or shuffle pass?”

As the self-proclaimed word expert in our home I declared that it had to be shuttle. I reasoned that the QB was shuttling the pass along. Studly disagreed. He believed the word was shuffle because it was as if the passer was shuffling a card to the receiver.

We argued back and forth until I googled the topic. I’m happy to say that Studly was wrong. But sad to say that I, too, was incorrect. The term is shovel pass because the hand motion involved mimics the movement of a shovel being wielded.

Well, fine. I don’t agree with the decision, but I can’t be right all the time. That would be annoying.

Peace, people!