Tag: Studly Doright

My Accomplishments

Sometimes one must toot one’s own horn lest it go untooted:

1) I pulled together an incredible Thanksgiving Day meal.

2) Neither Studly Doright nor I have developed any signs of food poisoning.

3) I took the best nap of my entire life. Thanks L-Tryptophan!

4) I have single handedly consumed an entire bottle of wine today and am sober as a judge.

Now I sit with Studly watching the Dallas Cowboys play the evil Washington Redskins as I contemplate my plans for tomorrow. Should I venture out into Black Friday crowds? Only fools venture where angels fear to tread. But, I’m no angel, and there’s always more wine.

Peace, people.

 

Cooking for Studly: Thanksgiving for Two

Those of you who are new to my blog might not realize that I have a life outside of bashing our president-elect, but I do! I live with my husband, Studly Doright, and our two feline supervisors, Scout and Patches, in our own little piece of paradise that I like to call Doright Manor.

We have two perfect children and five absolutely superior grandchildren (funny how that works, seeing as how Studly and I just barely peek over the average range), but they live far away from our home outside of Tallahassee, Florida.

Studly and I were high school sweethearts in Texas, and in forty years of marriage we’ve moved 14 times, lived in five different states, and I’ve lost count of the number of homes we’ve shared. We aren’t retired yet, but it’s number one on our bucket list.

Studly married me thinking I’d turn out to be a great cook like his mom (Saint Helen) or my mom, (Gingymama), but I had neither the aptitude nor the attitude to develop into much more than a mediocre heater upper. Poor, poor Studly.

Twice a year, though, I focus all of my energies into cooking a kick ass holiday meal. I plan and prepare and check ingredients off of lists and shop and preheat–all the necessary stuff. Sometimes, it all turns out perfectly. Other times we pretend. Wine helps.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day here in the US. So today I’m baking a pecan pie, hard boiling eggs, and making cornbread. Doright Manor smells amazing. I’ll arise early tomorrow to prep and roast a turkey, make cornbread dressing, a fruit salad, and deviled eggs, along with Studly’s favorite green bean casserole (ugh!) and cranberry sauce. With any luck neither of us will need to pretend that it tastes great. Again, wine helps.

It’s just going to be the two of us for dinner, well and the cats, but I’m thankful that we are healthy and have each other. I’m most thankful that at Christmas we’ll get to see our kids, grandkids, and Saint Helen, when we congregate in Nashville, Tennessee, for a family holiday extravaganza.

Now, the smoke alarm hasn’t sounded even once this morning, so all is well at Doright Manor. I’d best go, though, and open a bottle of wine. Just in case.

Peace, and Happy Thanksgiving, people.

Studly’s New Toy

Studly Doright thought I should share photos of his new toy. It’s a ’72 model 350 Yamaha R5, a two cylinder, two stroke. He bought it for himself and then told me it was his birthday present from me. That’s how you cut out the middle man. Or middle woman, in this case.


It needs a bit of TLC, so I’ll be supervising the work. I do have a stake in the thing, after all.

Peace, people.

Whistle Stop Cafe

Studly Doright bought a new old motorcycle as a gift to himself for his upcoming birthday necessitating a quick trip to Atlanta, Georgia, on Friday evening. About 50 miles outside of Atlanta I saw a billboard for the Whistle Stop Cafe, made famous in Fannie Flagg’s novel, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe and the film, Fried Green Tomatoes. 


I’ve read the book more than once, and I’ve seen the movie enough times to be able to quote entire lines of dialogue from memory, so being something of a kid I began an earnest campaign for us to make a side trip to the cafe on our return to Doright Manor on Saturday.

“Please, oh please, oh please can we visit? I want to yell ‘Towanda!’ at the top of my lungs and eat fried green tomatoes!”

Studly, being the patient man he is grumbled something like, “Hmmmph.”

I took that to mean, “Certainly, sweetheart, whatever makes you happy!”

Of course he was driving in Atlanta traffic at the time, so my interpretation might’ve been off by a word or two.

We spent the night in Atlanta, picked up the motorcycle, which happily met Studly’s expectations, at 10 a.m., and then plugged the address for the Whistle Stop Cafe in Juliette, GA, into the GPS. 

Juliette is about 55 miles south and slightly east of Atlanta, nestled in the gently rolling farmland and forests of southeastern  Georgia. Turning into its main street felt like stepping back in time.


Studly and I arrived just in time for lunch. That’s his “new” ’72 Yamaha R5 in the photo.


For an appetizer we had the famous fried green tomatoes. So delicious!


The cafe isn’t large, so be prepared to wait for a table should you ever visit. Studly and I sat at the horseshoe shaped lunch counter. 

He had fried chicken and I ordered grilled catfish and a glass of sweet tea. Both meals were seasoned and cooked to perfection. The prices were reasonable as well.


I kept expecting Idgy and Ruth to come strolling in the door.


After lunch I wandered around main street for a bit, but I knew Studly was eager to get his purchase home to see if it would run. I did buy a brand new Brighton bag, retail price $145 that I bought for ten dollars before we started home to Doright Manor. That was my Towanda moment. Here’s Kathy Bates with hers:

https://youtu.be/lx0z9FjxP-Y

Peace, people!

A Thor in My Side

I’ve developed a new pattern of sleeping. Studly Doright and I get into bed around 8:30 (don’t judge; we’re old) and he watches tv while I read for a few minutes. We kiss good night, I say my prayers, and then bam, I’m sound asleep. 

Around 2 a.m. I wake up with some weird worry on my mind: Did one of the cats just puke beside my side of the bed? Am I going to put my foot in puke if I get up to use the restroom? Do I even need to use the restroom? What if there’s a snake in the toilet? Seriously, these are my 2 a.m. concerns.

The great thing is that once I determine if I need to use the restroom, and the answer is always a resounding “YES!” I return to bed and fall immediately back to sleep where lately I’ve had the most vivid dreams. 

Last night Thor, (played by Chris Hemsworth) was trying to seduce me. He kept showing up in my house, in my shower, and against my feeble protests, in my bed. I tried to tell him I was a married woman and old enough to be his mum, but he promised he just wanted to snuggle. 

“Well, in that case,”I thought, “What’s the harm?”

And we were snuggling so sweetly, so innocently, until we heard Studly Doright open the front door. In one smooth move, Thor rolled off the bed and underneath it before my husband reached the master bedroom door. The sound of Thor rolling off the bed awakened me, and I patted Studly on the arm.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Huh? What?” he mumbled.

“Oh, nothing,” I giggled. “I just thought I heard thunder.” 

After Studly left to play golf early this morning I couldn’t resist the urge to peek under the bed. No Thor. I did find a bedroom slipper I thought I’d left in Clearwater Beach, though.


Peace, and sweet dreams, people.

World Series Lite

I understand that the first game of The World Series begins tonight featuring two teams with epic hard luck stories and armies of loyal “there’s always next year” fans. 

Studly Doright and I lived in Illinois for eight years, and while I never became a rabid Cubs fan I did root for them. However, I’ve actually been to an Indians game, whereas, I never made it to Wrigley Field to see the Cubbies play. That’s still on my bucket list.

My son-in-law, Stephen the Great, and my grandson, are big Cubs fans, though, so I’ll put my energy into cheering for them. 


As a good friend once said, baseball is a simple game. You hit the ball, you throw the ball, you catch the ball. Piece of cake, right? We just have to do it better than those guys from Cleveland. Let’s do this! Fly the W!

Peace, and hot bats, people!

Home Improvement

When we purchased our home over two years ago we knew eventually we’d want to do something about the front courtyard area. The previous owners, who’d built the home, paid a gardener to tend the two small plots on either side of the front walkway twice a month, but Studly and I weren’t crazy about taking on another bill. Actually I remember the conversation going something like:

Studly: We can’t afford both a gardener and a housekeeper.

Me: Cross off gardener. Check.

And that was the end of that story.

Except that we didn’t really think about the amount of yard work this courtyard area required. There was weeding and raking and digging and more weeding and since neither of us wanted to do any of that it just didn’t get done. Before too long Doright Manor’s entryway was overgrown and under utilized. 

I had the bright idea of having the area done in paving stones, but the estimate in the neighborhood of seven grand put a damper on that idea. Occasionally I’d go putter about trying to clean up all the unidentifiable growing things, but my efforts made it even uglier.

Finally Studly and I drew up a plan to do something simple and hopefully manageable with our courtyard. That was months ago, and we worked on it a little bit in the evenings and on weekends. 


We had to till everything up and cap off sprinklers.


Then we put down heavy duty matting and laid out some big stones before adding mulch.


We plan to add a decorative potting bench and container plants on this side.

Then on the opposite side we placed a little bench that I found at the French Country Flea Market on Friday. I fell in love with the butterfly shape. 


Now we need to personalize the courtyard with accents and plants for a more finished look. I’m not much of a decorator, so I know there will be a good deal of trial and error involved, but maybe this is something we can keep in good order without too much effort from a pair of non-gardeners. And I get to keep my housekeeper. 

Peace, people!

Studly and Subtitles

I’m married to a wonderful man. I call him Studly Doright on this blog for good reason. He’s a man’s man kind of guy. Physically stong, mentally stalwart, with a firm sense of right and wrong. 

He’s also rigidly entrenched in his habits. He gets up at a certain time. Goes to bed by 9. Eats only certain foods. Drinks an occasional American beer. Watches mainstream tv and movies.

So when I came into the den after my evening shower to find him watching a French film, The Confession, complete with subtitles, I immediately grabbed a thermometer (oral) from the medicine cabinet and firmly instructed him to open wide. 

I fully expected to discover he had a raging fever and was subsequently suffering from hallucinations. 

“Well, you’re fine,” I said. “Why are you watching this?”

His reply, “The words got to me.”

I love this man, and after 40 years of marriage he can still surprise me.

https://g.co/kgs/iKfY79
Peace, people

Studly’s feet.