Tag: Studly Doright

Cooking for Studly: Lighten Up

For any of my readers who’ve wondered, I’m still cooking meals for Studly Doright. There were many years during our marriage when my culinary efforts were sporadic at best and non-existent, at worst. The truth is, I’m not very good in the kitchen. 

But Studly and I made a deal wherein I could retire from working in exchange for becoming his scullery maid, er, cook. For the most part, I’m enjoying my end of the bargain, and occasionally I even make a great meal.

Now a new issue has arisen in my cooking experiment–Studly and I are trying to be more health conscious. My first suggestion was a diet of all salads. That got vetoed pretty quickly, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. So I’m to figure out how to make things he likes in a healthier manner.

One of his favorite entrees is a dish I’ve made successfully since discovering it in a Beta Sigma Phi cookbook published in 1981. 

  
You can tell the book has seen its share of use, and I’d like to say I’ve tried every single recipe in it, but that would be a lie. 

Golden Beef Quiche is the only recipe I’ve succesfully produced from the cookbook, and I’d sincerely like to thank Ms. Judith Essenpreis of Centralia, Illinois, for submitting it to the cookbook committee back in the day. 
Studly loves this dish, even though he’s a real man and supposedly real men don’t eat quiche. It is one of the few dishes that he will eat as leftovers. I love it because it’s foolproof, and in the kitchen I am something of a fool.

Now that he’s decided to eat healthier I’ve been using extra lean ground beef, but I would also like to replace the cheddar cheese soup with something less processed. I simply do not know how to do that. If anyone reading this could give me a suggestion that would be lovely.

Apalachicola Art Walk

Saturday morning I had no idea I’d be sipping a beer at noon at a corner cafe in the small port town of Apalachicola. Having had the most luxurious night of sleep I’ve experienced in years, I lingered in bed feeling as if I’d been kissed by an angel. 

Of course, it was probably only Studly Doright who’d pecked me on the brow on his way to the golf course. I guess his grey hair was halo-like in the semidarkness, but you never know.

Before showering I looked on Facebook and read a post about an art walk in Apalachicola. Knowing that Studly would be tied up with his favorite hobby well into the afternoon I made haste with my shower and got on the road.

I’ve written about Apalachicola before. The quaint fishing village on Florida’s forgotten coast is known for oysters and sponges and apparently, art. 

I snapped a few photos as I walked about town:

  
    
    
    
    
   
I even purchased a photograph (below) by and directly from photojournalist Richard Bickel whose work has appeared in National Geographic Traveler, Conde Naste Traveler, Newsweek, and other publications of note. It makes me happy.

  
After a lunch of salmon and grapefruit salad (oddly wonderful) at Tamara’s Cafe, I drove across the bridge to Eastpoint and then crossed another bridge for my first taste of the beach this year on Saint George Island.

   
    
  
   
Studly Doright doesn’t understand my attraction to the ocean. I tell him I have a compulsion to be in the presence of sand and waves and water, but the only sand and water he acknowledges are on the golf courses he plays, and he does his best to avoid landing in either.

So I sent him this photo, and told him sand was a good thing. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t impressed.

  

I’m already planning my next beach day. 

Peace, people.

 
  
  
  

  
 

Classic Car Dreaming

Studly Doright and I were out piddling Saturday afternoon. He’d played golf that morning, and I’d driven to Apalachicola to spend some of his money. All in all a win-win, I’d say. He made it back to Doright Manor ahead of me even after helping a friend move some items from one house to another.

When I pulled into the driveway, he was out working (playing) in his shop. I talked him into taking me out for dinner since I’d worked so hard at shopping and beach walking that morning, and couldn’t quite summon the energy to push the power button on the microwave. It’s a tough life, I know.

After dinner he subtly suggested we go grocery shopping, and I reluctantly agreed. If there’s food in the house I’ll eventually have to cook it or ignore it. Both require energy. I just am fresh out of energy lately–shall I blame it on the weather? Daylight Saving Time? Age? All of the above?

The Publix supermarket nearest our home is adjacent to a Sonic drive-in. As we pulled into the drive in we realized the first Saturday car show was in progress and the first car we saw belonged to one of Studly’s friends! Of course we pulled over to look, and for once I remembered to snap a few photos.

The car below was one of my personal favorites. I love the color scheme on this Bel Air. I want to say it’s a ’57 model, but I forgot to look.

 

 

Next is our friend, Pete’s car. It’s a ’55 Chevy Nomad station wagon, hardly stock. Pete’s been working on the build for three years, and it’s a beaut. He isn’t finished with the project–work on the interior is still in progress. This was the car’s first foray into the limelight.

 

Pete had to hide his soft drink from view lest it detract from the view of his car.

Other cool cars from our evening:

 

   

  

  

swoon!

Look at the Jaguar featured in these next photos. I’d never seen this model before in person. I love the way both the hood/bonnet and trunk/boot open. 

   

  

   
  

Here’s Studly urging me to take a peek inside “The Widowmaker.”
  
    
A lone bike made it out on Saturday. This is one Studly would enjoy having in his stable.
    
   
 
Studly had to give me a brief tutorial on the Holley headers on this GTO. He was in heaven.
 
We eventually made it to the grocery store, but Studly’s enthusiasm for food shopping had been replaced by visions of engines and headers and carburetors, so I got off easy. Hurrah for horsepower!

Unintentional Dating 

Unintentional Dating 

My lonely life revolves around shopping, blogging, and Facebook, but at least I have a life of sorts. On Facebook I’m particularly vulnerable to clicking on tests–“How Smart are You?” “What Does Your Color Preference Indicate about You?” “Are  You a Sociopath? Find out in 10 Easy Steps.”

 

For the record, there’s a unicorn inside me, which explains the gastric distress.
 
Like most facebookers, I take the results of these tests with a grain of salt, meaning if I like the results it was a righteous test; if I don’t, it was a lame questionnaire with no legitimacy. I still maintain that I am not a sociopath. Stupid test.

Most of the time these little activities are straightforward and harmless: Click on the site, answer a few multiple choice questions, receive your results. But one day this week I took a quiz and was automatically transferred to the online dating site, FirstMet.

I didn’t answer a single question and left the page immediately. However, the site was linked to my Facebook profile so now I’ve been receiving dozens of emails from potential suitors. They include

Gary, a 55 year old male in Tallahassee who’d like to rock my world. His hobbies include listening to Rush Limbaugh and going to tractor pulls.

Mark, 58, is retired and enjoys television and Chinese take out.

Walt, 62, likes the Hunger Games and country music. Walt has a comb over (I saw his photo). 

I thought I could ignore these emails and they’d go away, but they keep coming. Either I’m much more desirable than I ever thought, or these men are slightly desperate. Let’s go with option #2.

Studly Doright really doesn’t want me to date. And honestly, unless Harrison Ford, Huey Lewis, or Adam Levine show up in an email I’m not all that interested. 

Finally a Facebook friend showed me how to stop receiving the emails from FirstMet, so maybe my suitors will fade away. Of course now I won’t have any way to know when Harrison tries to contact me. That’s the downside.

Ok, I’m going to go retake that sociopath assessment. Must be more careful this time around. Bwahaha.
Peace, people!

It’s Raining Benadryl!

Last night I had a dilemma. I could take the anti-inflammatory drug prescribed by my doctor to fight the pain in my lower back, or I could take a sinus/allergy pill in order to breathe. 

Since the anti-inflammatory cautioned against taking anything with acetaminophen or ibuprofen I was forced to choose. Did I want to lie awake all night due to an excruciatingly painful back or due to a headache from the depths of hell? Decisions, decisions. 

Then I remembered that Studly Doright had just bought an economy sized bottle of the antihistamine Benadryl. While it wouldn’t necessarily help with my congestion, it might just knock me out enough that I didn’t care about breathing.

Studly has his own medical stash separate from mine, a tradition started back when he once accidentally took the menstrual cramp reliever Midol and subsequently tried to puke them up lest he develop feminine attributes. Since then our drugs don’t occupy the same space. It’s a rule.

His nearly full bottle of Benadryl was front and center among his medicine collection. It took a couple of seconds to negotiate the child safety cap, but soon I had all those little pink pills at my disposal. 

That’s when Studly chose to surreptitiously come up behind me and playfully demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”

I shrieked and lost control of the bottle, sending it on a vertical trajectory aimed for the bathroom skylight. Little pink pills went everywhere. Everywhere. I was still finding them behind perfume atomizers and cosmetic jars this morning. 

And since my back wouldn’t let me bend over, poor Studly had to pick up all of the pills that landed on the floor. That’ll teach him to sneak up on me when I’m thieving. 

Fortunately I salvaged a couple of pills last night ensuring a deep sleep. Of course I still have the same dilemma tonight, and Studly has declared his medicine cabinet off-limits. I wonder how many glasses of wine equal two Benadryl?

  
Peace, people.

Courting Studly

The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”

To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.  

I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.

Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears. 

After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign. 

Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand. 

Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me. 

Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”

So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans. 

This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused. 

There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!

Peace, people!

  

Word to the Wise

 I sent Studly Doright this message in an email. Let’s see if he can pull off the jump back “no” move to my satisfaction.
Peace, people! 

The Adventure Continues

(Note: If you’ve happened upon my blog this evening for the first time, I’m chronicling an epic (for me) road trip that began on February 17, and will hopefully conclude on March 6, when I’m reunited with my husband, Studly Doright, and my two kitties, Patches and Scout.) 

Somehow I survived the rodeo and related events on Thursday night. With a heavy heart–at least a nine pounder, I left my brother’s home in Houston and headed three and a half hours south to see Studly Doright’s eldest sibling, the beauteous Lyn, who lives near Corpus Christie with her husband, Mike.

Mike is dealing with some serious health issues right now, but he’s tough as an old Texas boot, and I have every confidence he’ll recover fully. I just needed to go and give him a kick in the rear to facilitate his healing. He’ll thank me later.

I stayed the night with Lyn and made her buy me breakfast at Hester’s, a great bakery in Corpus Christie, before I dropped her off at the hospital where Mike is a reluctant guest. It was hard to leave her there. My heart gained an extra pound.

From the hospital I drove the overwhelming distance of 35 miles where I met my cousin Diane for coffee in Rockport. Diane and her husband have relocated to this Texas coastal town from California, and we hadn’t seen each other in years. 

  
We didn’t get to visit long, but it did my heart good to see her. Our first comments to each other were exclamations of how much we looked like our respective mothers. Again I said a sad goodbye and resumed my trip. My heart weighs at least 15 pounds at this point.

Finally I set my GPS to take me home. Of course I needed to stop for lunch–heavy hearts need extra calories–and came across a little barbecue place in the middle of nowhere.  

  

The pig statue at Auntie Jo’s Barbecue beckoned to me and soon I was enjoying a pulled pork sandwich.

  
This kitty kept me company as I ate. I might’ve snuck her a few bites from my sandwich. We bonded.

With lunch over I became serious about finding my way back to Doright Manor. The GPS informed me that I had 13 hours of driving ahead of me. With that in mind I set a goal to get at least half that distance behind me before stopping for the night. 

I almost made it, too! Unfortunately I ran out of daylight around the city of Lafayette, Louisiana. My night vision has never been great, but lately it is awful. 

Tomorrow I still have roughly seven hours to go before I get to see Studly and the cats. Tonight I’m tucked into a hotel bed, watching The People v. OJ Simpson on TV after having dined sumptuously on Taco Bell fare. Ah, the glamorous life! 

Good thoughts for Mike’s recovery and for safe travels will be greatly appreciated.

Peace, people!

Born a Ramblin’ (Wo)man

After a week watching over our Illinois grandchildren I’m back on the road. The three children, ages 13, 11, and three, were fun to look after while their parents enjoyed a much-needed second honeymoon.  

 

A wintery view of the Mississippi River from the Illinois side.
 
 But Studly Doright and I live an intensely laid back life–no rush or bustle, and going from that to getting three active kids ready for school in the mornings and into their respective beds at an appropriate time each night was a shock to my delicate system. I’m exhausted. 

I’m headed now to Hereford, Texas, where my lovely mother-in-law, Saint Helen, resides. This evening I’m staying in Emporia, Kansas, having fallen short of the halfway point between Rapids City, Illinois, and Hereford. I had to stop and take a nap at a rest stop this afternoon and that put me behind schedule. I HATE being behind schedule! 

Plus, I’ve come down with a head cold, so I’m sitting on my hotel bed, watching American Idol and struggling to breathe. In a few minutes I’m going to take a large dose of Tylenol extra strength liquid nighttime cold medicine and hope that my friend, Insomnia, doesn’t purloin my sleep. 

 Hopefully tomorrow will be a better travel day. In the meantime, here’s a little Allman Brothers’ tune to inspire us all.

http://youtu.be/68X8o0S7vJc
Peace and quiet, people!

The Shadow Knows

Recently we had a guest from the Hoosier State spend a few days with us. On one day of his stay, Studly Doright and I took our friend Jerry to Cascades Park in Tallahassee. As the former State Director of Parks in Indiana, Jerry is keen on such outdoorsy venues.

I’ve written about Cascades Park before. It’s a beautiful multi-use site that serves as part of Tallahassee’s drainage system–the park is intended to flood.

Within the park are a restaurant and bar, an amphitheater, as well as walking/biking trails, various monuments and works of art, a splash pad, and a natural playground area.

Jerry snapped this photo of me standing next to one of the climbing rocks in the playground. I was not prepared to see the shadow I cast. 

 

I think I look like *Kokopelli:  

Or alien:

 
Only the shadow knows. Bwahaha!

Peace, people!

*From Wikipedia: Kokopelli is a fertility deity, usually depicted as a humpbacked flute player (often with feathers or antenna-like protrusions on his head), who has been venerated by some Native American cultures in the Southwestern United States. Like most fertility deities, Kokopelli presides over both childbirth and agriculture. He is also a trickster god and represents the spirit of music.