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Amy
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…
It is human nature to complain. I know this. But I have never seen the like of gripe-filled posts about this snow. And the majority are horse owners. I’m not sure if I see more from them because I’m friends with more horse owners than cattle owners (I think it’s a pretty even split), or if it’s because horse people are more vocal about things. But it confuses me. We live in the hills of Tennessee. Snow is a given. We never know how much, or how long it will last, but we know cold weather is coming for a good three months of the year. If you don’t like it, or are ill-prepared to deal with it, may I suggest moving to town? Or moving further south? Or simply just not having horses? Horses are a luxury afforded to few. They serve no purpose beyond making you happy. And if you’re this miserable taking care of them in the short winter we have, maybe you shouldn’t have them. I don’t have horses anymore and that’s about 50% of the reason. The other half is cost. Horses are outrageously expensive if you keep them in the manner in which you should. I liked the snow just fine. Thankfully, my heat stayed on or I would have been in a bit of a pickle, as all my firewood is wet and…
Once upon a time, in a land not so far away at all, lived a little tank of a blue brindle bulldog, who was very, very loved. In a land pretty far away, as far as dog travel is concerned anyway, roamed another dog, who was not loved at all, by anyone. Now this story has equally sad and delightful parts, so consider yourself warned if you read on. But, I will tell you: like all fairy tales, you get a happy ending. And so the summer went by, hot and sticky. The brindle bulldog was very, very sick but the Princess was taking very good care of him during this time. She would feed him half her meals and they would go through drive thrus and get him his very own roast beef sandwich and cups full of ice cream or whipped cream, depending on where they were. The brindle bulldog was very happy, but getting weaker day by day. He loved to go on trips and would lay peacefully in the backseat until they got to their destination. One time they were in the car for a very long time and every time they stopped and got out it was further from home and there were all new smells and sights. Even the trees looked different. And then…after traveling all day, they reached the ocean. And it was the best thing the little tank of a blue brindle bulldog had ever seen. He was beside himself…
There is so much I don’t know. And there is so much to be thankful for that doesn’t even enter my mind. I haven’t done the 30 days of thankfulness in several years but I think I’ll do one giant blog post soon to catch up.Once upon a time, I was scrolling Pinterest and saw these adorable curtains made from antique handkerchiefs. I have a friend that makes them from bandanas, but I don’t really have a Western theme at my house. I don’t think I have a theme at all, come to think of it. It’s just uniquely Amy.Which translates to haphazard pieces I find and buy.Anyway, I had a few hankies I’ve collected over the years and I thought, “hmm…I could do that, easy peasy!”Pffffft.First of all, I didn’t have nearly enough. Ebay to the rescue! And I even found some ready to be hung. “A simple whip stitch runs through the corner” the description said. I liked the simple bit, and I figured I could do it to my already acquired ones.Well.The lot I bought came with ten, and for it to look like anything I needed about three dozen to create my vision.So that’s how the hankie curtain made its way to my office. And I never got around to “running a…
