November Writing Challenge Day 16

Just another day.

What’s “just” another day? Today? None are exactly the same…the all have a general theme of aggravation and reminding myself I’ve actually got it pretty good. But my day? My typical day starts between 5 and 5:38, depending on whether I get up at J’s alarm or mine. Today it was his.

First things first, a quick shuffle to the water closet. I mean, this is full disclosure, right? If I remember, I take my vitamin, my allergy pill, and my blood pressure pill.

I generally forget.

And although some people think I’m lying, I make the bed. Ask Shug. With all 300 throw pillows (that he says he despises but secretly loves).

If it’s chilly, I pull on socks and my robe and stumble my way to the coffeepot. If it’s summer, I just yawn and make my way to the couch.

I scroll a little Facebook, maybe glance through emails while I try to wake up. I check the weather to see what to wear and if we can go forward with staining jobs or what have you. I think about how good Chick-fil-a would be for breakfast…or a doughnut. But maybe I should concentrate on the present and grab a Snapple and some Nabs (tip of the hat to you, Southwest Virginia readers. To the rest of the world, that’s just peanut butter and crackers). If I’ve been to the grocery store, there may even be fruit, typically in the form of grapes, tangerines or bananas. Typically, I leave the bananas for Shug. They give me heartburn.

I’m coming awake now, and begin to wonder if I have time to pack my lunch. Rarely do I have time to fix a sandwich, but leftovers are something you can count on here, and I’ll grab a container of whatever I’ve made the previous night. Which I probably won’t eat if someone offers to go get Pollo Loco or Chubby’s.

Shug kisses me goodbye somewhere between six and five after. Now I gotta get with it. At least the bed’s made. I go get dressed in whatever I’ve decided on. Half the time it doesn’t look like I expected or the jeans I wanted to wear aren’t clean (meaning in the pile by the door of once- or twice-worn garments that aren’t dirty enough to be washed yet) or maybe I’m fatter than last time and that shirt is too snug to be comfortable. #life Brush my teeth before I put my sweatshirt on because I’m notorious for dripping toothpaste all over myself.

So now I’m all atwitter because my new outfit doesn’t incorporate the right shoes for the weather but that’s just how it’s gonna be. I frantically reach for jewelry because I’m running on borrowed time to get out the door. Hopefully there’s no frost because of course I don’t have the foresight to start Patsy and thaw. Deodorant, hair in a knot, makeup would be nice but let’s be reasonable-that’s why I use Rodan + Fields, did I take my vitamins? Keys in the sweetgrass basket, grab my phone, my purse, my lunchbag and away I dart into the bracing air of East Tennessee in November. With any luck, it’s only 6:20.

Start Patsy. Watch for dog turds as I pick my way across the driveway and open the gate. Why does Shug chain it when I leave 15 minutes after him? Zombies? Pull through. Patsy is cold natured and I beg her not to die. Shut gate, fingers numb from dealing with the lock so the meter man won’t come in and knock our dogs in the head.

And I’m off. The madness that is Chapman Highway as people like me that have left five minutes past the time they should struggle and weave around people who seem to be out for a Sunday drive at 6:30 in the morning on a Thursday. I don’t know if headlights are getting brighter or if my eyes are becoming more sensitive but I usually have to flip my rearview up if someone is behind me. And why are they so close, anyway? Believe me when I say I’m going as fast as we should or there’s a vehicle in front of me.

Hitting the divided highway is like a breath of fresh air as we can space out after the turn for those going across Pleasant Hill. A drive down the hill into Sevierville and the sun might be coming up and I might notice again how beautiful my hometown is. The mountains, low and weathered in the distance, pink and purple and orange all melting into one another. Fog lies on the river, still and calm before the birds get out for their breakfast. The Baptist and Methodist church spires pointed to the heavens along with the dome of Sevier County Bank and the courthouse, and yes, there’s the Co-op sniper tower, too. I look to see if Mr. McMahan is at the gas pumps in his teal dump truck.

I didn’t take this picture, and I don’t know who did, but this is what I’m talking about. 

Sometimes people wave at me at the light, but I rarely recognize anybody because it’s still dark and I don’t know what anybody drives. I drive the same thing I always have, so I’m easy to spot. I try to not break the speed limit going up Dolly Parton by more than 10 mph but it’s so hard! Finally, with less than 5 minutes to spare, I pull into the gravel drive that leads to SF.

I don’t usually have to open the gates, because the welder or one of the estimators has beat me there. If I do, I pray that no one is watching me struggle with my lunchbag, pocketbook, and keys while unlocking and sliding that barrier gate. If it’s frosty, there’s no hope, the lock will be frozen and I’ll have to go in and get a lighter.

I unlock, punch the code on the alarm, turn on the heat, open the blinds, and wait for shit to hit the fan. Sometimes it greets me. Like when one of our best installers got arrested. I check the phones for voicemails of employees calling in, customers cancelling jobs at the last minute, you know, little nightmares like that. When Brian arrives, I greet him with “Good morning, asshole,” although I don’t have to anymore, since I got him a coffee cup that states it. When Jackie gets there, I hold my breath and wait to see what sort of news he has. He always has news. Sometimes good, sometimes not even remotely good.

The guys drag in. They get to work right away loading their trucks, cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths. They don’t stay long, ready to get their day started. They spare a moment to talk with their project managers about their jobs, double check their straps, and leave in a puff of diesel and crunching gravel.

The sun is up on another day at SF.

Then the calls begin. Hopefully Christy is there with me to help field them. No doubt somebody forgot something that they realize when they get to their job in Wears Valley or Dandridge. Hopefully not Thorn Hill. Arrangements are made to take it to them. Someone has missing or damaged material. Someone has a truck broke down (or on fire, as it happened one bright day), a jobsite that isn’t remotely ready, a problem with a dog/ bear/ goat/ snake/ horse/ pig/ homeowner/ electric-gas or water line. Always something. 

Thankfully Brian is always prepared for any emergency. He even hauls around a kitchen sink, as we discovered today. Photo evidence: 

There’s an issue with the dumpster delivery/ pick up-customer isn’t ready for pick up, customer isn’t there to pay, gate is locked, too muddy or steep, overloaded…the possibilities are endless with things that go wrong in the trucking business.

I typically get unburied around ten o’clock, long enough to tinkle and maybe eat a snack. I send off for quotes, I order material, I reply to emails, I call for DIG numbers, and I get deposits. I confer with Taj on every scheduling possibility, I bill delinquent accounts, I enter credit card charges. It’s finally lunchtime and I’m starved. Christy and I catch each other up on whatever we haven’t already talked about. Everybody at the shop gathers in the office to eat together and it feels like home for awhile and I take a moment to be thankful again that I’m at this job. We have walk-ins, but not like the previous stream I was accustomed to at my former employment. And I get to sit down all. Day. Long.

If it’s my week to go home at three, the afternoon passes in a mad rush. I call installers to make sure we’re on track with the jobs (the Two O’clock Dead-in-a-Ditch check in, as it is known), call customers to let them know if they’re on the board for the next day, and then Brian will blow in with five estimates he needs emailed with details and pictures. If I stay till five, it’s slightly less insane. I scribble notes at every turn. If I don’t write it down, there’s no hope of me having any recollection of it happening. I try to leave with my work done and a clean desk. Most Mondays this is impossible, but by mid-week, things have hopefully settled down.

The trip home is rarely as harrowing as the one in. If I don’t have to stop for gas, ice cream, drop off garbage, Co-op, or my favorite boutique for necessities (necessities, I tell you!), I’m home by ten till six. That’s going the back way or the straight shot, although I much prefer the circuitous route.

You can plainly see why. But there’s a stretch out by the lake that makes me thankful for my home but also nostalgic for old Sevier County. The Sevier County of more dirt than gravel driveways, wood stoves, working on your own truck, and a good time around a six pack. There’s not a cabin rental in sight, but there might be a dog or turkey in the road.

I go downstairs to kiss my husband hello, but Bug always intercepts me. Sugar lays in her kennel, wagging her tail and gazing at me mournfully. I sit down to catch up on Facebook (clearly I have an addiction) then I’ll get started on supper as Shug finishes up his workout downstairs. I get dinner on the table (the table!!!)

And we eat to the sounds of whatever is on the TV. I used to play the radio a lot but got out of the habit sometime back. I need to reincorporate that into my routine.
I wash dishes. By hand. Every. Single. Day. Yes, I do. I don’t dry them or put them away till the next day (sometimes in the morning but usually when I’m cooking supper), then I run through the shower and then I’m finally settled enough to work on my blog (hi there!), read, or scroll Instagram. I like Instagram, but I kinda need to give it up. I don’t have time for everything like I’d like to. I want to read at least a book a week and it’s a lot of pressure to get everything done. We’re in bed by 9:30, while I lie there and wonder what all I forgot to do, or if I said something I shouldn’t have, and what tomorrow will bring.

Friday, if I’m off, or Saturday if I’m not, is the day for cleaning. Maybe the store if I haven’t gone one day after work. Laundry, starting with bed linens, then J’s work pants, then work clothes, then whites,ending with delicate-cycle-hang-me-to-dry-and-all-the-other-ways-I-can-suck-all-your-time-away clothes. I sweep, mop, vacuum, dust, wipe down the bathrooms. I might clean a window or two, or ceiling fans, and twice a year I have to treat the leather furniture. That was today (yes, it took me two days to write this. I was exhausted yesterday). I’m just thankful our home is small. I don’t know how people do it with these huge McMansions. I suppose they have help.

People sometimes ask me if I’m particular. I find this hilarious, much like I do when people ask if I’m an only child. I think it’s blatantly obvious. I put certain colored pillowcases on certain pillows (why would you put a cream colored sham on a pillow that has a sage stripe, unless you don’t have sage pillowcases? Don’t strain yourself, there is no good reason why one should do this. J has just resigned himself to it). My left shoe always goes on first. In the days of actual shoe salesman, this could be a tad embarrassing but I couldn’t change my habit no more than I could change the size of my foot. Gloves, too, but I only noticed that recently. Ice goes in a glass before the liquid. I think most people do this, but I’m incapable of putting it in there after. I have to make a new glass. This is sometimes problematic at parties. Paper towels should be white. I bought some Minions by mistake awhile back and I cannot use them fast enough. Socks should match. Exactly. Like, even if they’re white, that’s not good enough. I look for equal wear. And if they’re different brands it goes without saying they should definitely be paired together.

I know all this is very bizarre for someone who has illegible handwriting and crazy hair, but it’s true. I exercise control where I can.

So sometimes my little quirks make for a longer day before I can reach for my laptop to bang out a story for you or pick up my latest read. But these are my days. Not exiting, but generally peaceful and cozy. “Be content with what you have” Hebrews 13:5-6 But I have a lot. And I know it.