read more posts by
Amy
I want to drive on roads with no traffic. And if I do pass someone, I want them to wave out the open window of their pickup truck. I want to be able to apply eyeliner like a pro, not like a left handed raccoon. I want to be able to do all the yoga without quivering. I want to live in an old house in an old city on the ocean with a widow’s walk, though I am no widow. Although I sometimes feel like one. I want to always work at an honest job. I want to keep the one I have. I want to grow things and tend to them with my hands. Tomatoes, aloe, squash. Lilies. Okra. I want to sleep without dreaming. I want to listen to good music and lay in the grass and watch the clouds and hunt for four-leaf clovers all afternoon and not wear shoes at all. I want people to adore my accent, always. I want to be called Amelia by people who love me. I want to go on a trip and not come back until I feel rested and healed. I want to eat cupcakes every day. I want to ride fast horses and read good books and have the softest bath towels in three counties. I want my glasses to stay put. I want to admire trees the rest of my days, and listen to wind chimes and not the honking of cars. I…
I met her at the library, so I knew instantly she was good people. She looked like a mom, but turns out I was wrong about that. She looked like she knew about life, and I was right about that. We have gone on to be cohorts in crime, obsessive texters, and foodies from the get-go. We share book recommendations and pretty much the same taste in music. She does listen to a podcast about small town murders that I haven’t been able to enjoy on the same level. It’s pretty grim, Karen. 😐 We challenge each other to spin more, drink less, and not be assholes. We are known as sloth & honey badger. Baker is gazelle. We tell terrible (politically incorrect and inappropriate) jokes, modify our yoga poses, and share a common interest in dogs, cupcakes, and men. Probably in that order. I’m a problem creator~…well, that’s not precisely true. Problems gravitate to me and I think they’ll go away but they only get worse and then I have to ask Beth for advice and she just calmly untangles the whole mess and folds it up and places it in a Rubbermaid box. With a label. And an expiration date. She’s an accountant. I’m an artist, per se. She’s the closest person I’ve got to a ride or die, because Lisa has kids and lives two hours away…
Today, my prayers are for the lost. I should have made this day one. They’re the most important. Their time is truly limited. I can’t wrap my mind around not believing. It’s like, #1) are we here by accident? Then how did we get here? Ok, if you don’t believe God put us here because you can’t understand that, so you understand the science that some people believe in? I’d much rather just think we were created by a higher form. And that he created the Heavens and universe too. I can’t begin to wrap my head around the Big Bang Theory. Believing in the Lord is easy. And if you’re one of those people who look for signs, I am certain you can find plenty. Just like there is beauty in everything, there is God in everything. Because he created it. And #2) You have nothing to lose. Nobody should think you’re weird for professing a faith. If they do, they’re not very open minded, and does that really line up with everything else they say they believe in? I don’t think so. Just believe! I promise it’s a better life. It’s like having someone forever on your side, forever and always. Romans 8:31 tells us that! What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us…
Today I pray for one of the kindest, most understanding souls I know. I know she’s this way because of what she’s lived through. She was adopted at age 7. Think on that. I don’t know her all that well, really. But I know her husband and that counts for something. He has told me the story of her adoption, and how things came about for her. Today he shared a little more. She is in her late fifties, so if you think foster care and orphanages are depressing and underfunded now, imagine what it was like sixty years ago. Imagine being a little girl in one of these places. Imagine Annie, if you can’t imagine anything else. Luckily for this little girl, a Daddy Warbucks did come along. And he and his wife took the little girl to town and bought her lunch, and ice cream, and a trinket. Imagine it being the first time you ever had a notion of being spoiled. But really it was just being cared for. The sun was on your face and you walked hand in hand with a pretty lady in a flowered dress and hat and heels. And imagine your joy when you came back to the home and the big man declared he was taking you home, to go get your things. Home, as in his home. YOUR new home. That simply wasn’t done. But this was sixty years ago…
Today, I pray for the liars. That’s hard to do. Because, if I’m being honest (huh, the irony) I don’t wish them the best. I wish them the worst, really. Because lying is generally premeditated. It takes some doing. Liars, as you well know, come in all shapes and sizes. They lie to get attention. They lie as a cover up. They lie out of habit. They lie to give their life a little excitement. I don’t understand. It’s like they think they’ll never get caught. I’ve got news for them: the truth always comes out. They think their lies will only hurt themselves, if they hurt anybody. That’s not true either. For instance, if you were to meet someone that somebody you know has been telling tales on, you have a preconceived notion of this person. Which isn’t even true! You can’t give them a fair shake. It’s not fair. And that’s not right. Sometimes it’s not easy to detect a liar. Sometimes the liars seem so good, and the people they talk about are people you’re unlikely to ever run across. So they’ve created a well-laid trap. But eventually….the truth is exposed. And it’s a million times worse if it doesn’t come straight from the liar, with apologies extended for their…
I have asked several of you for prayer requests multiple times. I will not ask again. I understand that sometimes it’s uncomfortable voicing your problems. Even to a friend. I can see where that would be even more difficult than talking to a stranger. I won’t pretend to know all your worries and fears and struggles, but I know a few of them. And don’t borrow trouble, I’m not going to type them out here. Maybe that’s what concerns you, that even though I don’t have to use your name, someone could figure out who I was writing about. I get it. Thomas Wolfe was ostracized from Asheville after he wrote Look Homeward Angel. He didn’t use their real names, but the descriptions were so blindingly obvious (and accurate) people talked for decades. I haven’t read it (yet, it’s a book club selection later this year) but I say maybe the folks of Asheville should have treated him with a little more respect if they didn’t want their faults and realities trotted out for all to enjoy. I mean, read. Anyway. No matter. Some of you struggle with family issues, or career issues, or health issues. Some of you struggle to simply believe. Trust me, I get it. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You just talk to the Lord and work it out. It’ll be…
Out my window, I gaze upon a church, a pink house, an alarming number of squirrels, and a yard that is often in need of a cut. I count the rabbits that frolic, and pray the stray cats aren’t nearby. I keep a close watch on the weather, because I seem to serve as the local weatherman, and look for my buddy, the black lab, that lives two doors down. I can’t complain about the temperature yet, we’re hovering at a stable 73°. Pollen is present, but it’s raining frequently enough to keep it beat down. The redbuds are in full bloom, the dogwoods are just beginning, and the daffodils are quickly expiring. The birds sing all day long. It’s quiet, for the most part. I’m near the library, and the school, and the police station. It feels safe in my cozy space. It’s not a town where many walk, but I do. Not necessarily to get anywhere in particular, just to enjoy the day while I can. Away from my backyard where I look out at a church, a pink house, and a multitude of squirrels. I go to see the cherry tree, and the red tulips down the road, and the old man at the corner sitting in his lawn chair with his wooden cane and mesh back hat. He always speaks and remarks upon the weather. There goes a rabbit. When the phone…
I have taken up a stranger for my Lent today. So therefore I had to set my own sacrifice. For the day, I chose to face challenges. My first challenge was getting out of bed and without hitting snooze. I used to be really good about that, getting up right away. But I’ve progressed to a more slug-like existence in recent years. My second challenge was opening mail. I hate going to the mailbox. First of all, it’s dangerous on my road! Second of all, I rarely get anything fun. Just a bunch of crap. Thirdly, there are spiders. But to be honest, I still hate email worse. There aren’t even spiders! And it’s not dangerous, other than I will be presented with lots of ways to spend money. I usually don’t even bother opening it. It languishes in my inbox for all eternity. Right now I’m sitting on 7,723 unopened items. That’s just one of my accounts. Anyway. Today I’m praying for a mother of a child she birthed very recently, prematurely, and lost quickly. Is there a greater pain? I doubt it. Lord, we don’t know the reason. It may not be revealed in this lifetime. All we know is the heartache of losing someone that wasn’t ever ours to begin with. Please be with this mother in the coming days, months, and years, as she…
The Montgomery Vindicator was a newspaper ran out of Sevierville, Tennessee from the late 1800’s through the 1960s when it combined with another local newspaper. I am told it operated in the Hatcher’s Cleaners building downtown. My intention when I set out on this particular blogging journey was to tell you that bit, and then turn it into several stories, the first being a fictional newspaper story, then in recurring posts, the Montgomery Vindicator being the name of a firearm passed down from generation to generation since the Texas Revolution, then whatever else came to mind. Perhaps a Judge whose nickname was The Vindicator. Or something. I first learned about the Vindicator during a side conversation at library board the other night. It immediately intrigued me and set my mind a-swirl. Early this morning I thought I’d start the telling of it and Googled “Montgomery Vindicator Sevierville” to get all my facts straight. One of the first links was for “some death notices from 1897-1901”. In case you didn’t already know it, I am a sucker for obituaries. They frequently let me down. I need more details! I assume the worst anyway, you may as well appease me. I’m already thinking it. I am also a fanatic about local history. Well, really, any Southern States history. Okay, okay, any history. Except maybe China’s or something. But lemme tell you, I have been…
I’m sitting on my couch, hungry. I can barely concentrate to type. It’s not even that I’m hungry, per se. I have a craving…lots of cravings…for cheese. For ice cream. Ice cream sandwiches, to be particular. I haven’t had an ice cream sandwich in years. Haven’t even thought of them…but….oh….how dreamy one would be right now. I’m driving myself crazy. Of course I would want all the things I can’t have right now. I’m repeating no dairy day. The person I’m praying for didn’t have a request, so I thought this would be a good a time as any to re-do this sacrifice. I was better prepared this time around. I had purchased an almond milk mocha Starbucks frappucino in lieu of my regular milk based one. I thought it would be okay. That’s what I get for thinking. It tasted like watered down chalk dust with a tablespoon of the cocoa baking powder stirred in for “flavor”. It was so bad, I poured out half of it. $2 down the drain. Lunch was better. I had all the fixin’s for a loaded salad with Italian dressing, just hold the cheese. I didn’t miss the cheese, but I was hungry an hour later. I think it’s in my mind…
