this is a page for
Monthly Archives: February 2020
Hard to handle. Direct. Ruthless. Stubborn. Impulsive. Selfish. Strong willed. Bossy. Sassy. Confident. Outspoken. Snobby. Bold. Too-smart-for-your-own-good. Assertive. Uncompromising. Unapologetic. Did these words cause you to stiffen? Did they make you feel defensive? Would you feel more at ease if I had started with meek, ambivalent, selfless, passive, harmonizing, delicate, reserved? What characteristics would you rather have at your side as a partner? Or what about in an active shooter confrontation? Don’t you want the stronger willed person fighting for you? I don’t even know how to be anything else. Now go back and read it again but picture those words being applied to a man (well, maybe not sassy and men are somehow exempt from bossy, too. And nobody ever thinks of “handling” men, only women require handling 🙄). Because the first time you read it in my voice and you knew I was talking about myself. So read it again. In a male, isn’t that what they look for and call them “leadership qualities”? Yeah, I thought so. Why aren’t all women “difficult women”? I’ve asked myself this ever since I realized I had been branded with this label (around the time I went to work for the Co-op). I don’t mean to imply I dislike the branding, quite the opposite. To me, it just means I have a backbone and I express my (sometimes…
Lisa and I have this game we like to play when we’re out. All we do is try to guess the occupation of the people around us. Sometimes we even ask the ones we’re talking about if we’re not in agreement. I don’t like that part, because I understand that not everybody is approachable. Also, after so many years in a retail environment, I don’t fancy striking up a conversation with strangers. But Lisa has virtually no filter and she really likes talking to new people (and subsequently challenging them to a debate). Additionally, she likes telling people she teaches kickboxing. But anyway, it’s a fun way to pass the time and speculate. We get it right more than you would think. I’ve played a version for years in my head everywhere I go. But mine is more of a first date/ just friends/ work colleagues/ affair/ married an eternity version. Careers typically don’t enthuse me. And you know what I see the most? People sitting across the table from one another, on their phones. Completely ignoring the person they’re with. This drives me mad. Surprisingly, you don’t see as much of it at the bar. Patrons watch sports on the TVs, or they’re engaged with the people around them, strangers or not. There is a camaraderie. Blame the alcohol or praise it; I know I prefer interaction…
I like to think that my writing is a gift I have. Y’all tell me so, and I want to believe you. You say that reading my words is just like having me in the room with you, chatting. And that makes my heart swell. Because ain’t nothing worse than pretentious writing. I have a little sign above my desk that reminds me every day to be thankful. It says, “The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”~Pablo Picasso I think I do. Even if I’ve had half a pot of coffee, I can write. Even when I hurt, maybe especially when I hurt, I can still write. I may not be writing about the thorn itself, but I’ll be circling it like a shark circles its prey. My other gift is my hair. It gives y’all something undeniable on which to blame my crazy. You’re welcome. It’s also a gift to me from God, that way I can shrug and say, “What’d you expect? I’m a redhead.” I think my hair was the gateway that got me here. It’s wild, and people are drawn to it. When there’s nothing else to talk about, when we’ve exhausted the weather, and what we do for a living, conversation will unfailingly turn to…
All the words!!! I want to scream from the rooftops to do what you want to do! For the last time, you’re not promised tomorrow! You’re not even promised a minute from now! Life is but a vapor, get to it. And you gotta have faith. That’s the main thing. Someone is always going to disapprove of whatever decision you make. They’ll always try to make you see things from their perspective and bend you to their will. Hey, they may be right, but you’ll never know how it might have turned out for you. You only get one spin in life, live it to your satisfaction. Don’t regret anything if you can help it. And in my experience, I regret more of what I DIDN’T do than what I did. (I bet you’re wondering what I haven’t done, aren’t you? Well, for starters, I wish I had gone to Key West that time and left my work out to dry! It was before most of y’all knew me–my job selling dishes). As I write this (March 16th, 2020), we are amid a panic as the Corona Covid-19 “crisis” continues. I’m not trying to downplay what has happened in China or Italy by any means, but here in most of mainstream America, we’re not living in densely populated areas…
The short answer is after a good night’s sleep. Just like any of us. So when do I get a good night’s sleep? Well, after a long hike, but one not so strenuous to cause my legs to ache. I sleep well after a few G&Ts. The temperature must be 70 or below, and a fan is required for those hot humid months. I’m not opposed to having a window open on frosty nights. I prefer completely dark, but it’s not necessary. I can even sleep in the presence of strangers. I sleep well when I’ve accomplished all my tasks for the day, like getting all my contracts updated at work. Or getting caught up on blog posts. Or knocking out a book in a day. Much more satisfying than say, binge watching a whole season of Big Little Lies. I fall into a deep sleep when my house is tidy and all the bills are paid. I sleep peacefully on vacation, especially when I’m near the ocean. I learned a while back that tranquilizers have absolutely no effect on me. Best to medicate the old fashioned way. I also cannot sleep if there’s a TV on. All bets are off if it’s a full moon. I could have cleaned my house, paid my bills, balanced my checkbook, shredded mail, driven ten hours, drank a vodka lime, and opened the balcony door…
My stomach turned on this one. If it helped me, was it a mistake? No. I tend to be rash. I am notorious for thinking it and saying it in the same split second. I don’t think about consequences. This is a fault. I recognize this. I’m gonna turn lighthearted because I can’t write about the real mistakes today. Not today. Almost all involve trust and love. Doughnuts. Chinese food. Biscuits. Mountain Dew. Cake. Cupcakes. Butter. French fries. Cheese. Cheeseburgers. Bacon. Mocha lattes. Caramel ice cream. Fried oysters. Fried chicken. Fruity, sugary, alcoholic-y drinks. Chocolate. Pasta. Rolls. Ranch dressing. Barbecue. Cream cheese. Brown sugar. Caramel. All of these things were mistakes that helped me grow…..around…
Ahhh. The one I would normally pick to write about is, “Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes,” but I’ve written about that before. It’s no coincidence that my favorite quote concerns travel. “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ~ Mark Twain I try to live without regrets or guilt. It’s not always easy. Balancing what is right for me, against what was ingrained in me what is the polite thing to do. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, it’s not easy being a woman in my beloved South. Travel got in my blood early, and I did it right. I never said no when Co-Op presented me with an excursion, flying me to Texas and St. Louis and Las Vegas. I practically lived in a Lance camper for six months, touring the southwest, flying in & out of Salt Lake half a dozen times and to Seattle once. I forwent communication with several friends and family during this time, but for the most part we’ve made peace with it. I was 25, and I would do it all again. And then I traveled alone, because I wasn’t going…
I just got this sweatshirt and it should tell you everything you need to know about me. Although I’ve made plenty of good decisions since then (and probably even more terrible ones), my last standout good idea was Charleston for Thanksgiving. My last two visits were less than mediocre, as I spent most of my time on the beach. That isn’t my cup of tea for more than a day. But love is about compromise. So anyway, this Thanksgiving dinner found me on an island, sipping something fruity, and eating lobster. I mean, what’s not to love? I was torn, sure. I love to cook, and had been making my own Thanksgiving meal at home for several years now. It sure cut down on the stress of having to be here and there. Probably a little selfish, but when I worked at Co-op I had to be back at work on Friday morning so it was exhausting spending the whole day running and the general mayhem. I didn’t have the usual crew coming this year, everybody seemed to be up in the air on plans, and I didn’t have any solid ones, either. There were several places I was welcomed, thankfully, but I wasn’t really feeling it. Additionally, I had several vacation days to burn. I couldn’t see rattling around my house for a week, even if it did mean having all the time in…
Many years ago, I could be found every Friday afternoon at a barn in Hamblen, Hawkins, or Jefferson County with twenty or so other like-minded rednecks of my own age. We were studying Farm Animal Management via the Ag Program at Walters State, under the direction and supervision of Roger D. Brooks. Farm Animal Management was a really good way to get killed. Perhaps I exaggerate. No, as I think back on it with a clear mind, really, I’m not. What would happen is we would all go to our morning classes, maybe skipping the last one in favor of some lunch at Sagebrush before heading out into the wilds. I was 18 (Farm Animal Management II was offered as an apprenticeship after completing the initial one the previous spring) but there were a few guys in class that were 21, because they were having too good a time to bother graduating and going to work full time. These were our apprentices. They had grown up punching cattle, riding horses, castrating everything from bull calves to the unlucky barn cat. They piled out of dented, scratched, and faded Chevrolet pickups with enough dirt in the floorboard and on the dash to send out for a soil sample. They dipped tobacco, they cussed, they wore starched Wranglers and sported belt buckles won at regional rodeos. They were boisterous, and witty, and quick on their feet. They wielded hot shots and shook paddles at aggressive cattle and scrambled up…
My Grandmother, even though I didn’t realize it until she was gone. Not really. She divorced her cheating lying husband, even though she had a new house to pay for and two kids to bring up. She worked night shift at a factory and still found time to go dancing in her gold shoes. She had her hair done every Friday morning, smoked Marlboros, wore Chanel #5, and caught her granddaughter a toad in the well house. She carried a .38 revolver, glued on false eyelashes every day, and raised Angelfish. She loved fresh long stemmed red roses but always killed houseplants. She cheered for the Vols and the Cowboys and cussed like a sailor when Alabama scored or she dropped food in the floor. She would drink bourbon while canning green beans. She was a registered Democrat that voted Republican most of the time. She nursed her baby brother to health and took care of her mother till the end. She counseled her granddaughter and made her stand up straight and become a well rounded woman through beauty pageants, guitar lessons, and clogging competitions. The only thing I ever knew her to be scared of was snakes. So here’s to all single mothers and dads. I really don’t know how you do it. I can barely feed and raise myself, let alone another human…
