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Monthly Archives: January 2019
I got a little emotional the other day. Sometimes you have those moments where you just know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. An epiphany, if you will. About a month ago, my friend Rhonda, the director of the library (don’t tell her I idolize her job just a little bit), called me up in the wee hours of the day. Obviously, she was trying to catch me while my guard was down so I would agree to her little plan. I hadn’t had my coffee. Something about a Seed Swap, that wasn’t on the National Holiday, but it was close enough, and could I say a little something about soil? Why sure because CLEARLY I’m qualified after seven months at a job. But I agreed because namely, it just sounds like a day we’d have snow. January 19th. When I went to write on my old school blotter, I discovered it was a Saturday. That sly wench! Nonetheless, I assembled 27 folders full of valuable literature, soil sample boxes and forms, several posters, and my ever-present blue board. I loaded up Maggie for my presentation. Presentation. Snort. We’ll see about that. I didn’t want to get in over my head, so I just printed some Fun Facts About Dirt off the NRCS website. Fortunately, she had me paired up with my good friend Jim from the City, and he…
Because I ate two containers of Mayfield Caramel Toffee Ice Cream in a week, I forced myself to spin on Monday. Let’s begin with Friday, when my good friend Rhonda brought me some rice pudding. It had to be refrigerated, and it was one of them good ole Tennessee 60 degree January days, so when we made plans to meet for dinner I decided no harm would come to leaving it refrigerated at the office over the weekend. But then, here comes Monday after my seven days of indulgence. I had to spin. It was still 60 degrees, so I thought, I’ll just swing back by the office afterwards and pick it up. We had a new-to-me instructor Monday night, and she had a different way of going about getting us to achieve our goals. She wanted us to envision pedaling up a hill to our object of affection. The only person I could think of that I would really want to see was Peyton Manning, but I didn’t want him to meet me all out of breath and sweaty, so I just concentrated on barreling over whoever happened to be at the top of my mountain once I got there. And I watched the time go right out the windowTrying to grab hold, trying not to watchI wasted it all on the hands of the clockBut in the end no matter what I pretend The journey is more important than the…
I don’t have much of a heart. Most of y’all know this to be true. It’s not that I don’t have a heart, exactly, it’s that I’m stingy about who I feel compassion and empathy towards. A lot of people out there aren’t truly grief stricken, or sick, or poverty level, they are simply desiring attention. I have no patience for these people. I also strongly dislike the ones who take advantage of the system. Able-bodied individuals who seek out funding through good-hearted folks or the government. I see it regularly, people looking for handouts in parking lots, gas stations, walking into random businesses, begging at churches. And these GoFundMe pages are panhandling via internet, plain and simple. NOT that I’m saying there aren’t plenty of deserving citizens out there-but the ones who are taking advantage make it that much harder for the truly deserving crowd to get the help they need. My office is situated directly across from a low-income clinic. I’m not precisely sure how it works, but I know its purpose is to serve the needy and uninsured. All day long, I watch as a parade of young people in souped up cars jounce in and out. They seem to get around just fine. Not sure what they go there seeking, as it is not a pain clinic, but whatever. I tell you…
I should probably use this prompt to go off on a tangent. There are many controversial subjects itching at my fingertips, but instead, I’m gonna write about this: The handwritten note. I remember in fourth grade, our entire class had pen pals. They lived in San Bernardino, California. Mine was a boy….I think his name was Derek. It could just as easily have been Daniel. Or David. Or Eric. Or Steve. Who knows, the letters are long gone but I remember wanting to continue writing after we finished our required number of correspondence. Of course we didn’t. He was game, but somebody has to take initiative and no doubt, I had a horse to brush or a book to read. I wonder what ever happened to him. Where our lives have taken us since those long ago carefree days. He could be a firefighter or a lawyer or a park ranger. He could be pouring asphalt or working on cars or cutting up asparagus.He could have a houseful of kids or maybe he’s in prison for beating his wife. He could be a jewelry maker or living under a bridge. He could be living in Portugal or Paris, or maybe even East Tennessee. It’s untelling. And he could be gone already. I’m a big believer in thank you notes. And I still owe a few. If you’ve ever received one from me, you probably had…
Well, this is involved. I’ve just picked up Jewel’s Never Broken today. As in, I actually opened the cover, not went out to the store and bought it. I’ve had it for awhile. But here’s a link, if you’re so inclined to have your own copy. I love her. https://amzn.to/2TcG39I It starts with an “Ode To My Fortieth Birthday” style poem, which I found poignant. I’m not even fifty pages in, and she’s breaking my heart. I feel a kindred spirit to Jewel, always have. She loves the wilderness and grew up out in the Alaskan territory on horseback. She writes many of her own songs, and I admire her resiliency. I think this will be an insightful book, not only into her life, but mine as well. If I weren’t so ashamed of my library right now, I’d post a few pictures of it. How ’bout I just post some oldies instead?Welcome to my abode. I have read a great many of these pictured, but I would say 50% remain unread. I just love them. This is my utopia. It’s a dream I’ve always had, to be able to walk into my own library and select a book at random. I’m pretty sure I’ll like whatever I’ve picked up because, after all, it’…
I’m out of order and all to hell and I’m sorry. I had written a few blogs as bonuses and then got out of whack and so I’m trying to do better this week. Maybe if it snows I can get caught up. I’m apologizing to myself as much as you, because I need to write as much as I need to breathe. And here we go. {WP #635 The real reason people have freckles} As a child, I remember a sweet red haired lady telling me not to be embarrassed by my freckles, that they were God’s kisses. Obviously, she was as Irish as they come. But NOW I know the real reason. Those of us born under a waxing crescent or a full strawberry moon in June are fey. That is, magic. If you’ve ever known someone who was energetic and charismatic, chances are they are Gemini. If they were of these moons, they are also spritely. They probably drive you a little crazy. They can’t help it. It’s like their brains can only light on subjects for a short while and then they’re distracted by dandelion seeds floating on the breeze and they must follow them to find where they lead. You’ll know them by their freckles. Usually they have to come into their “power”, for lack of a better term. They are often ridiculed…
Every time I think about Batman, all I can think of is this blue heeler I once knew. They have very pointy upright ears. I was lying on the couch, watching a movie, the lights down low. The dog heard something that we didn’t, and sat up slowly with perked ears. All you could really make out was the silhouette. “I’m Batman,” Greg said. I nearly fell off the couch laughing. Batman Forever was a movie I watched in the movies right after it came out. I fell in love with Chris O’Donnel and have never truly recovered. I kinda think Meredith is warped for not pursuing the relationship with him on Grey’s Anatomy. He was a vet, after all. Two points. And that’s all I have to say about that…
I’m gonna tell y’all one story, although I have hundreds relating to deer. It is the account of the one time I went deer hunting. I know what you’re thinking: “Amy? In the woods? To shoot a deer?” I know, it’s preposterous. There are ticks there. And deer are graceful and agile and beautiful….and I’m so decidedly NOT. I was eleven years old. My uncle, having decided there were no boys forthcoming in the family, had taken me under his supervision for all things outdoors. It started simply enough, with frisbee throwing. I was the blue ribbon winner of my Kindergarten class on Field Day. And Field “Day” used to be a week, in my glory days. But it looked weird when I typed it. Uncle Dale also taught me a great many more things, including varieties of trees, how to tie my lures, how to fish, how to clean a fish, how to double knot my shoelaces so I wouldn’t eat dirt, how to shoot a pistol, a rifle, AND a muzzleloader. I assisted him when he processed deer, and I picked up sticks for the duration of my childhood under his watchful eye. He gave me my first dog and my first knife. He gave me $5.00 for my own crawdad lure, but he didn’t buy me a My Little Pony kite from McDonalds. He’s…
I used to never hit snooze. Now I hit it almost every morning, unless there’s a really good song playing. I’m really digging my new station. I like to listen to nearly everything, and they very nearly play everything. Tear in my beer country, pop from the last four decades, Beach Boys and the like, and I guess you could call it Indie Rock for those songs I’m not familiar with. I pet my dog and rub his warm ears. I void my bladder and start drinking water. I do a little virtual farming. I look at the clock. I do a little Facebookin’. I look at the clock and sigh and hop in the shower. I clean my ears with a q-tip even though everyone says you’re not supposed to and that one did come apart on me that time. I scrub my face, scrutinizing it for fading freckles, newly arisen blemishes, and the always present forehead wrinkle. I pick out clothes to match my attitude. Or sometimes, in contrast to my attitude. I pile on the jewelry. I roll my eyes at my fat legs and add cute shoes. I sigh at my hair. I drive and bask in the luxury that is Maggie, reflecting on Patsy and her jarring ride. I sing along to some empowering females, most usually Brandy Clark, Pistol Annies, and Cyndi Lauper. I make coffee. I type, I file, I chat on the…
Of course a January topic would be “New You”. New Year’s Resolutions and all that. Every year I say I’m gonna do better. I’m not gonna cuss so much, I’m gonna quit being such a gossip, I’m gonna stay off the internet and quit ordering books and start reading the ones I already have. It never works. I rarely even make it to the afternoon of January 1st. So this year I said I was gonna write more. I adopted a second writing challenge. I was doing alright till last weekend, when I became a lazy slug. I was exhausted from packing up all my Christmas decorations and I finally had a clean house and I just wanted to lay around and enjoy it. Which I did, and no writing was accomplished. I have also abandoned all hope of keeping my checkbook balanced. I’ll just have to spot check my bank. Or something. *yawn* But I tell you what I HAVE been doing. I’ve started going to spin. Spin? you ask. Yes. That’s a stationary bike that you pedal. And you don’t just pedal lackadaisically, you pedal like the hounds of hell are nipping at your feet. You engage the resistance, and you feel like you’re pedaling underwater because by then you’re sweating so hard you think you’re swimming. I take my glasses off…
