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Amy
Holidays, full moon, too much alcohol. What do these things have in common? All make for a busy night at 911 dispatch. So it was no surprise to me that I have two friends from that past life who made a little Facebook post about it. One relived a traumatizing suicide call and the other just cautioned us to be careful this weekend. I look for more posts from other former coworkers soon. You know, a ripple effect as we all think about our own experiences behind the headset. Holidays always bring out the crazy in people, and the call volume is definitely up. And therefore, the memories. Of course I have my own demons, and ghosts of calls that rattle in my head from time to time. If you could hear the screaming, you would understand why I’ll never swing my leg over another motorcycle. If you could hear the incessant ringing, you’d know why I exercise extreme caution at the Pleasant Hill and Chapman Highway intersection. And if you could hear the gasping sobs, you’d know why I am so adamantly against narcotics. You see, when you do something stupid, and you pay for it with your life, it doesn’t just affect you. That’s a very selfish thought. Of course it affects your family, your friends, the people you work with. But it also affects the paramedics who work your body, the police who have the grueling task of interviewing witnesses, the firefighters…
This is all my fault. It usually is, I don’t know why I’m surprised. See, I had been thinking I needed to write. My mind has been all jittery lately, which is a sure sign something needs to be cut loose. But I didn’t have anything I really wanted to expound upon. Until this morning. I had to meet my DC & company with a folder so they wouldn’t be late for a field visit. Since I was in my personal vehicle and wouldn’t be compensated for mileage, I figured I’d stop and wash Maggie on the way back. It surely wouldn’t be an issue if I were stopping for breakfast, what’s the difference? Ten miles for ten minutes, same thing. I was planning on cleaning her up at lunch today, anyway, so two birds with one stone and all that. Look how efficient I am. I stop over here at the carwash by Burger King. I like to hand wash, since I have a sunroof and I hear those automatic ones are hard on sunroofs, not to mention paint. Plus, I’m a pansy. I find them terrifying. Alright. So two of the wash bays are taped off when I pull in, which makes me a little apprehensive. I ease into the one on the end, noting it’s dry. I give myself a little optimistic word of encouragement. Maybe it…
I have wished forSkinnier legsPerfect visionClearer skinBetter math skillsA flatter stomachStraight hairLonger hairLess hairMore manageable hair all aroundOr at least no frizzI have wished forA less demanding jobA windfall of moneyA helicopterFor things I’ve already procuredI have wished forSunny skies And rainy daysA broken heart to mendDifferent endingsA dog to live longerBetter barbeque sauceNo speeding ticketAs I topped 100I have wished forIsland vacationsNo snakesMore comfortable shoesA meeting with Sturgill SimpsonA phone callAnd to simply go homeI have wished forPeople to changePeople to stay the samePeople to stayPeople to goPeople to disappearTo forgetAnd forgiveI have wished for many thingsSome I gotSome I prayed forSome I worked forSome that aren’t within my reachBut that never kept me from wishingFor one more thingAnd I hopeWishes are like pennies That they turn upJust when you need one…
I am finding itTerribly overrated To be an adultA responsible adult, that isBecause all we do isGet a job(Smile)Keep the job(Still smiling)Drive back and forth to the job(Don’t kill anybody)Go grocery shopping To buy foodThat has to be cookedWith other foodTo be consumedShave your legsFloss your teeth(So you can smile)Vacuum sweep mopDust dust dustMow the yard so the neighbors won’t talkAnd you won’t have snakesPaint patch plungePay bills on timeEvery timePick out insurance (Which isn’t nearly as fun as picking out pocketbooks)Separate laundryFold laundryMatch socksDry cleanersPut away laundryWeigh yourself Critique yourself Compare yourself(Smile)Don’t miss appointments Schedule more appointments Buy giftsAttend events(All the smiling)Understand politicsPick a sidePick a candidate Pick a teamFollow sportsFind a soul mate(So much smiling)Know how to sewHow to walk in heelsHow to tame your hairHow to change a tireHow to say thank youAnd I’m sorry Grieve with graceAnd dignityAnd never lose your coolBecause you may never come back To all this madnessIf you go crazy…
It would not doFor me to love you To the point of distraction As I am already distracted And barely rememberTo put on shoesNever mind tying themAnd anywayPoets are fluttery soulsAnd you don’t want thatYou should probably seekSomeone who is groundedAnd knows where the flashlight isIn case of a power outageI’d rather have candles anyway…
March is Women’s History Month. There are plenty of notable women out there. I would like to share the story of one who directly influenced my life. I’ll tell you about a strong woman in history. That would be the first woman to work in a farm store as a “salesman”. The first strong woman to do so at the Sevier Farmers Co-op was Tuletta Myers. I hope she doesn’t mind me writing about her; I didn’t ask permission. Women had been working at the Co-op, but back then they just wrote tickets. You’d come in to shop and one of the men would lead you around and assist you with whatever you needed- bolts, a new washing machine, rake teeth, fine china. They’d cart your purchases to the counter where a lady (dressed in heels and a skirt) would hand write your ticket on carbon copied paper, then total it up on an adding machine. Y’all just take a minute to picture that. I’ll wait. Yeah. But in the mid-eighties, things began to change with the introduction of the computer. And the Co-op evolved as well. I imagine it happened all over the state around the same time. And Tuletta was our hometown girl. She practically had to beg people to let her wait on them. Not the women, no, they were relieved to find a lady…
When you’re seventeen, you don’t think about your best friend’s dad dying. When you’re seventeen, you don’t think about attending the funeral of your first boss. You don’t wonder whether the guy who owns the mountain where you ride horses is gonna die of cancer. When you’re seventeen, all you’re concerned with is boys, hair, and if you’ve got enough gas to run to Wendy’s. You worry about how you look in your swimsuit, and who is going to prom with whom. When you’re seventeen, you’re self involved with your own problems…and too young to realize they’re not problems at all, because they have zero bearing on the rest of your life. But when you’re forty-one, you smile through tears as your best friend delivers her father’s eulogy. You remember the times spent with him as he patiently taught the two of you how to drive in their subdivision. The silver van with the emergency brake lever in the console. You think about how many times he drove you to Walmart because there was nothing else to do…sometimes twice in one day! You recall him helping move furniture and building bookshelves and baking cheesecakes. You realize how much he loved his daughter and how he impacted your life, too. When you’re forty-one, you dress in black on a dreary Saturday and drive to a nearby church to pay…
To be a mountain girlYou must be cold as frost on the tin roofAnd hot as cinders from the wood stoveYou must be witty on your comebacksAnd sharp as grandpa’s yellow Case knife To be a mountain girlYou must be tough as a pine knot And delicate as a monarchs wings as they pulseYou must be soft as spring’s peach fuzzAnd hard as the fallen walnut To be a mountain girlYou must know how to sew with catgutAnd how to heal with aloe and plantainYou must be able to rise and bake biscuitsAnd rest in the heat of the day To be a mountain girlYou must know how to bait your own hookAnd keep up with who’s buried whereYou must know who married whoAnd where their children scattered to To be a mountain girlYou have to talk to crittersAnd go barefoot most of the yearYou must know how to plant by the signsAnd what made that track To be a mountain girlYou will appreciate each day as it comesAnd be grateful to the one who made itYou will prepare as much as you canAnd give grace at every turn To be a mountain girlYou should be capable of shooting straightBoth with a gun and your mouthAnd you should have casseroles in the deep freezeAnd a stack of cards to send in sympathy or thanks To be a mountain girlIs to know which way to the riverAnd where to dig sangAnd hold the note on…
My grandmother built this house round about 1960. She had beautiful #1 hardwood floors put in. After a time, she decided they weren’t worth the effort to maintain (she was under the illusion you had to buff and wax them on the weekly) and had them covered up with some truly horrendous mustard colored carpeting. When she died in 2008, my first priority was getting that God awful carpet ripped up. A friend helped me with the biggest part, and I was tasked with pulling up all the staples and nails and cleaning the wood from all the bits of carpet cushioning before putting down some nice area rugs. This was a JOB. I did it all with a claw hammer and my trusty needle nose pliers. I love needle nose pliers. Some staples came up easily, some I had to really fight with. And a very small number got left forever because they weren’t coming out, no way, no how. And once that was completed I went over it with a paint scraper, then some sort of cleaning agent, THEN the floor polish. Three bedrooms and the hallway is what I slaved over. I had to get done before my furniture was delivered so I worked way into the night through the week and every moment those two weekends to get finished in time. And it seems like I had to get my library painted too. And the walls had to dry. I had fans…
That title just looks weird. But it’s kinda like what I said about the fires here, you can find blessings wherever you look. That year I saw generosity and a community with a big heart and open doors. Through my divorce, I found friends that pull you close and guard your heart and will pray for you when you’re unable to pray for yourself. So I’m sure I won’t have any trouble coming up with a list of things for this year. I had to do some shopping today during my lunch break and unfortunately, it was raining. Rain is just an inconvenience, but you can’t help but dread going out in it. I don’t like my feet wet (even though I was wearing boots), and I had straightened my hair. And it got me to thinking. Four years ago we were all praying VERY FERVENTLY for rain. It couldn’t get here quick enough, and it couldn’t rain hard enough. This was during the Gatlinburg Fires, the very thing that kick started me into opening this blog. Rain would have helped immensely back then, and it did come, but it was just about too little, too late. Shame on me for seeing it as an aggravation today. Think of all the states and countries in perpetual drought. And here I was complaining. Rain is a good thing! Yes, I had straightened my hair. Well…
