Tag: Texas

Say What You Mean–A Joke Y’all

A Texas Aggie goes in to see his doctor and says, “Doc, I want to be castrated.”

The doctor looks at the Aggie and says, “Surely you don’t want that. It’s a very serious operation and once you go through it it can’t be undone.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Doc,” says the Aggie.

The doctor does his best to talk the Aggie out of the surgery, but he refuses to budge. 

Finally the doctor says, “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll perform the surgery. But it’s against my better judgement.”

So the Aggie has his operation, and the next day he is up and walking very slowly, legs apart, down the hospital corridor with his IV stand in tow. Heading towards him is another patient, who is walking exactly the same way.
 “Hey there,” says the Aggie, “It looks as if you’ve just had the same operation as me.”

“Well,” said the patient, “I finally decided to be circumcised.” 

The Aggie snapped his fingers and said, said, “Circumcised! THAT’S the word!”

Courtesy of Sickipedia.org: http://www.sickipedia.org/sex-and-shit/castration#ixzz3zLgF1Ovf

On The Road My Friends

At some point this morning I will have departed from Doright Manor to take a trip of epic, dare I say Odyssean, proportions. Having packed my bags with everything from winter boots and a parka to capris pants and flip flops I should surely be prepared for any eventuality.

My first destination is a point north of Nashville, Tennessee, for an overnight stay. From there I’m bound for our daughter’s home in Rapids City, Illinois, where I will be baby sitter-in-chief for my daughter’s three children while the parents go to cavort in the bright sun of a Mexican beach.

  
  
After a week in Illinois I’ll head south to the Texas panhandle, the place that no matter where on earth I roam will always be home. I’ll stay with the lovely Saint Helen who gave birth to Studly Doright and hopefully get to commune with the rest of the panhandle-dwelling Noyes bunch. 

  
Once they’ve chased me out of town with torches and pitchforks I’m off to Dallas to spend a night with our son if we can get our schedules to sync. Then it’s on to Houston, that most intimidating city, for a couple of nights with the oldest of my two younger brothers and his wife. They’re taking me and Studly’s eldest (she’d say prettiest) sister to a big event. I’m sure I’ll blog about it afterwards. If I’m still capable, that is. 

  
  
I have another event in mind for the Houston stay, but I’ll save that for another post, as well. 

When my brother finally kicks me out of his home I’ll begin working my way back to Doright Manor. Somewhere on that stretch of road is a wonderful little outlet mall that’s been calling my name for awhile now.

  
I’ve been writing like a mad woman to stock my blog with pieces to post daily during my trip. I’m sure there will be times I can post something from the road, but just in case I can’t, the blog must, and will, go on! 

Any prayers, blessings, positive thoughts, etc., offered up for my safe travels will be greatly appreciated. And as always, peace, people.

Lone Star Cuisine

Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt:

Live to Eat

Some people eat to live, while others live to eat. What about you? How far would you travel for the best meal of your life?

I’m a Texan by birth, and even though I haven’t lived in the Lone Star State in well over two decades I still crave a couple of foods that just have no peers anywhere else on the planet.

The first is a chicken fried steak. 

 While one can order a chicken fried steak outside of Texas there is some undefinable attribute that is missing when this dish is served elsewhere. I am actually capable of making this comfort food, but making good gravy is not my forté. 

The other food I must travel to Texas to enjoy is chili Relleños. I’ve had Relleños served a hundred different ways, but in Texas the product is fairly consistent.

  
I’ve never attempted to make Relleños. Studly Doright doesn’t like them, so it seems a bit wasteful to cook them just for me. 

The question posed by the daily prompt was how far I’d need to travel to partake of my favorite foods. Thanks to Google, the answer is just a click away.

  
In ten hours or less I could be at my middle brother’s home in Houston. That’s totally doable. Start the car.

Peace, People!

A New Arrangement

A few weeks ago, Studly Doright and I spent all afternoon moving furniture from one end of Doright Manor to the other. 

When we moved in nearly two years ago I made an error in measuring our guest bedrooms. Ok, let’s be honest, I didn’t bother measuring, and one of the bedrooms ended up being cramped and claustrophobic, while the other felt cavernous. With two sets of company coming for a long weekend, we decided to right that wrong.

One set of bedroom furniture is antique and fragile. It belonged to my grandmother, and even though I’m sometimes tempted to sell it I just can’t bring myself to part with it. While the headboard and footboard are massive the bed is a small full size and barely allows one adult to sleep comfortably. 

   
 
The other set is fairly new, acquired when my dad lived with us. The queen sized bed and armoire are nothing fancy, but the mattress is top notch. I’ve dubbed it, The Texas Bedroom, and it holds my go-to bed when Studly’s snoring passes the merely annoying stage and heads into the sonic torture realm.

   
 
The moving process from one end of the house to another was tricky, in that one room would need to be completely empty before the other furniture could be moved down this hallway:

  
Studly, a self-proclaimed master of both logistics and wiseassery carefully studied the necessary steps for a week before finally declaring, “Well, this is gonna suck.”

It did indeed suck. Neither Studly nor I are young any more, and that antique bedroom set is both heavy and unwieldy. Add fragile into the mix and we had ourselves quite an afternoon of gently persuading the pieces to hold together while we balanced them precariously on moving dollies. At the end of the day copious amounts of both wood glue and Ben-Gay were involved.

The results, though, were pleasing. The beds are much better suited to their respective rooms, and I am a happy camper. And in the end, isn’t my happiness what it’s all about?

Peace, people! 

Let’s Talk About Buc-ee’s

  
Studly Doright, my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, and I made an important discovery on our recent trip home from the Texas Hill Country. No, it wasn’t an actual chupacabra, or a new, hotter than hell type of chili pepper. This was something way cooler and far more easy to digest–the mega convenience store called Buc-ee’s.

I’m not even sure mega comes close to describing just how big these stores are. 

  
 

Above is pictured a small part of a Buc-ee’s food court. 
 Coke, anyone?

  
Buc-ee is a pretty big deal. Even the Travelocity Gnome paid a visit.

Need a souvenir of your Buc-ee’s trip? You’re covered!

  
   

I didn’t find a photo of the bathrooms at Buc-ee’s, but trust me on this, it was amazing! I felt like I’d entered the Buckingham Palace of restrooms. It was huge and every stall had its own hand sanitizer dispenser. 

Oh, and as we left we heard the friendly, “Y’all come back now!”

God bless Texas. And Buc-ee’s!

Remember When

  

remember when youth
defined our relationships?
who kissed whom, when, why?

remember when life
seemed suspended in bubbles
of the possible?

remember when love
was everywhere, yet nowhere
for all, even you?

remember when fate
was always to be tempted?
damn consequences!

remember sweetest
softly tangled memories,
joy amid regrets.

remember classmates
underneath crinkles remain
life’s anchors, steadfast.

Parade

She sat on the tailgate
of an old green Ford,
her narrow denim clad hips
wedged between an Igloo cooler
and a box of faded red rags.
Scuffed boots swinging.

The whoop whoop of a siren
heralded the coming display
of a starched color guard,
eliciting a respectful salute,
grandparents demonstrating
flag etiquette for the young.

Then came beauty queens smiling,
perching precariously on the
pinnacle of a tissue paper
decorated semi-trailer in gowns
of taffeta, satin, and lace.
Tiaras glittering in the sun.

She waved at those high school
princesses, pulling funny
faces to make them laugh.
That was her talent, after all.
Hardly anyone took her
seriously as the parade passed.

Marching bands from rival
schools vied for favor
as the sun heated the summer
Texas day; twirlers in spangled
shorts tossing batons inspired
ooohs and ahhs from the crowd.

Reaching inside the battered
Igloo, she dug deep, found an
icy cold Schlitz and disguised
it with a red rag. The Baptists
sitting at the curb on either
side would cluck if they knew.

A string of politicians came next,
esconced in the finest vehicles
the local car dealers could offer;
bright smiles plastered on their
faces as their well-coifed wives
wilted in the climbing heat.

Following close behind came tykes
wobbling on bikes, spokes decorated,
festooned with ribbons and crepe
paper and baskets overflowing
with flags or stuffed animals. She
called out each name as they passed.

Finishing her beer, she craned her
neck to see tractors and combines in
John Deere green compete with those of
International Harvester red in a show of
the latest in agricultural technology.
The parade’s low point, she thought.

At last she heard the clip clopping of
hooves on the WPA bricked street and the
bright clanging of a bell, as the old cowpoke,
Zeke, sang out. Smiling she popped the top
on another Schlitz, hopped down from the
rusty tailgate, and joined the parade.

Life’s Little Lessons #5

Be sure the pants or skirt you packed to travel home in after a week of dining on Texas’ finest cuisine have a bit of elastic in the waist. #cannotbreathe #fatandhappy.

Playground 

sixes and sevens charged headlong,
vying for first place in an
imaginary race to the monkey bars,
and the seesaws, and the slide.

Texas panhandle playground, dirt-covered
unkind to bared legs on cold, windy days
while archaic dress codes demanded
dresses be worn by little girls.

disregarding weather, firm, yet kind
educators shepherded their charges into
stinging maelstroms of gravelly sand.
it was for teachers’ sanity no doubt.

some days impromptu games of
following a self-appointed leader
consumed recess time, effectively
socially sorting first graders at play.

teeth were sometimes lost as children
clamored for a spot on the merry-go-round;
noggins often took bumps and lumps
slipping through monkey bars.

tears weren’t uncommon; neither was blood.
rules were simple: don’t push,
no tattling, leave the teachers alone.
tough, necessary playground lessons.

I lost one of my first baby teeth on a merry-go-round just like this.

 

It never occurred to us that monkey bars might be dangerous!
 
Teeter totters a.k.a. seesaws had all sorts of pinch points and other fun dangerous accoutrement. note: there are more trees in this photo than in my entire town .

   

Countdown to Texas

    Four days to Texas
    Amarillo bound
    Can’t wait to see my baby
    When I hit that dusty ground.

    Goin’ home, after years gone by
    Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
    Tears of joy and happiness
    When my baby’s by my side.
    Goin’ home.

    Three days to Texas
    I can feel it drawing near
    Like a hot blast of air
    And a cold Budweiser beer.

    Goin’ home, after years gone by
    Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
    Tears of joy and happiness
    When my baby’s by my side.
    Goin’ home.

    Two more days to Texas
    Amarillo here I come
    Where the air smells of cattle
    And cowboys get work done.

    Goin’ home, after years gone by
    Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
    Tears of joy and happiness
    When my baby’s by my side.
    Goin’ home.

    One last day to Texas
    Back to my country roots
    I’ll put aside my flip flops
    And don my old black boots.

    Goin’ home, after years gone by
    Goin’ home, tryin’ not to cry
    Tears of joy and happiness
    When my baby’s by my side.
    Goin’ home.

    And now the wheels are touching
    a runway on the plains
    broad prairie sweeps around me
    It’s different, but the same.

    I’m home, after years gone by
    I’m home, tears start to fall
    In my baby’s arms I’ve finally found
    My home.

     

    Palo Duro Canyon–a must visit in the Texas panhandle
      
    Historic Route 66 runs through Amarillo