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Amy
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…
And then there’s today. I’m a little grouchy. Monday has nothing to do with it. My back hurting has a lot to do with it. And a dull headache. And, you know, the lack of CHOCOLATE. I didn’t think I was dependent. Well, turns out, I was wrong. I was all prepared to glug my big Starbucks mocha this morning when I thought I might ought to check the label. You know, to be sure. Cocoa. Huh. Who knew? Where did I think mocha came from, anyway? A mocha plant? I don’t know. So there went that, and I couldn’t have regular coffee, either, because I have that funny chicken creamer that is chocolate flavored. I’ll just glower here with my boring 2% milk, thanks. I had one million and six people come by work today. Something about Mondays and Fridays. I don’t know. It was deceptively cold out, the wind would flat cut you in two. But oh! It looked so clear and pretty and the sun was shining and it was just enticing you to come out and freeze right to death. Dirty redbud winter. Shame. But enough about all that. I’m here to pray for my friend. She recently had surgery and has been suffering through some complications with that. I really feel for her, because she is so active and upbeat and one of those people who just shine the…
I can’t seem to get my act together. I woke a little late for my taste and had to bounce to get to work on time. Luckily, it’s all of five minutes from the house 🙂 I didn’t have much time for thinking what with all the icing to be done. Food City keeps me hopping, and I like it! My back doesn’t much care for it, though. I don’t know how I stood ten hours a day, five days a week at the Co-op all those years. I remember my feet giving me the devil and being nearly crippled there at the end, but not my back. Never my back. But I’m older now, and whether or not I like to admit it, heavier, too. It takes a toll. And I’m standing in the same spot virtually all day, and putting pressure through my hands and arms. It’s all connected, according to my yoga guru. I guess it makes sense. I’m just tired. Around three o’clock I was really starting to hurt and I would have welcomed a fifteen. I didn’t want to ask for one, since my coworkers were doing inventory and busy too. I guess I could have just went, nobody would have said a word, but I was right in the middle of all those carrot cakes. and it was time to start cleaning…
I ain’t got no lies to tell. I didn’t really “do” Lent yesterday. And I didn’t really do it today, either. I am a lazy slacker. Yesterday, I started out with good intentions. As is my new custom, before I got out of bed, I concentrated on who my person was. I had her. I prayed. Then I thought…what am I giving up? She never said. Well, I knew it wouldn’t be toilet paper, so I set about my routine activities for the morning. And all I drink is water for about the first hour I’m awake, so I was safe there. I sent her a message and waited for her reply. I knew she wouldn’t give me virtual farming (that would be cruel and unjust) so I went to town on my game. I started a little laundry. I poured me a giant glass of chocolate milk. And that’s where I went wrong. I had just sat my glass down when she answered that I could fast chocolate…or if I wanted to be really hard core: sugar. I wrote back no thanks, I’d done been down that treacherous road once this Holy Season, I would pass on a second day of it. And of course I couldn’t do chocolate since I’d just downed a big glass with bunny powder. So here we were…
A year ago, when I took my new job, I began working in conjunction with a girl who’s about my age. I suppose “girl” would be a stretch, as we’re much closer to 40 than 16. Much, much closer. We also have the same last name, and almost the same first name. It could be very confusing to people who have never met us. While we maybe even favor each other a little bit, she and I could not be further apart when it comes to personalities. While she plays close to the vest (I still don’t feel like I know her that well, despite all the talking we do), and follows the rules to the letter, y’all know me–if it goes through my head it generally comes out of my mouth. Or at least onto this screen. And rules? Who needs them? I’ll read them after the fact if I need to. One thing we do have in common is being particular. Although she hems and haws about speaking up about the way she prefers things are done, I say “do it like this, or just let me do it”. She’s an excellent, patient teacher. I would really be up a creek without a paddle if she weren’t around to explain things and show me how to navigate. She has a decent sense of humor, which is uncommon in…
I sometimes think I don’t deserve the friends I have. Y’all are way too nice to be hanging around riffraff like me. A month or so ago, after Rhonda had met a few members of my extended tribe, she remarked –totally out of the blue– “You have the nicest friends!” I usually meet the nicest ones through work, where they can’t run and have no choice but to hang out with me. Does that explain it? I thought so. Or, I give them money for providing me with a service, so it’s like I’m paying them to be my friend. I’ll name no names, but I bet you’re smiling 🙂 Or, you might just be family and clearly, you have no choice. So the girl I write about today falls into one of these categories. I’m protecting the innocent by not naming any names. She’s fairly introverted, but she talks to me. We have a similar set of bad nerves and it is therapeutic to share notes. She’s just a small town girl living in what passes for a big city to her. I know it must be hard adapting, moving away from everything you’ve ever known. It’d be like packing me up and moving me down to Atlanta or something. I’d be shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm! Fortunately…
Book Club meets on the third Wednesday of each month. Oh, I remembered to go, it wasn’t that. I just misplaced the location. It wasn’t where I thought it was, but I was within a hundred yards, so I guess it counts. The book up for discussion was What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty. I read it a couple of years ago, and thought I would be good to go after reviewing my synopsis on Goodreads. Notsomuch. So I set about rereading it in the three days preceding Wednesday. That didn’t work out so well, either. I got pretty far, seeing as how all the underlining was already done (ha), and her books always read quick, she writes so easy. Sure, it’s chick lit, but it’s quality. Oh, here’s your link, before I forget- https://amzn.to/2BVbajw I loved Alice. That is, old Alice, circa 1999. Who wouldn’t love her? She is absentminded, easygoing, and perfectly kooky. She’s a bit timid and naive but everything has that new, unaltered, fresh feel of young love and your whole life ahead of you. See, Alice bumped her head when she fell over in her fitness class. She’d been this driven overachiever mom of three angels, pushing herself to be perfect at everything, and going through a divorce. She was 39. So the question was poised: Would you go back? Hell yes I would…
It’s been said there are two varieties of people that tell the truth: drunk people and little kids. While that’s true, I know someone else who tells the truth, and she ain’t drunk and she ain’t little. It’s Barb. Some of you know Barb. She spent more years at the Co-op than I did, and it’s only people with Very Thick Skin that can endure a decade + in that place. I don’t even know where to start. I guess I should introduce you since you might not know her. She’s tall, with skinny little kildee bird legs (you can thank Gary Hicks for that particular detail). She’s got a grin a mile wide and dancing eyes behind gold rimmed glasses. We never ran out of things to talk about (sometimes it was a contest who could talk the most), because we were forever recommending books to one another. And chattering about places to eat. We shared a similar attitude about road trips: open the door and you’ll find us parked in the front seat. We love the beach, especially Charleston, and we constantly reminded each other of how much time before our next trip. Barb doesn’t sneeze once or twice-she sneezes five or six times in a row. It’s remarkable. I’ve never met anybody that customarily did that. But Barb does. Once…
I didn’t stop for a doughnut this morning. I didn’t go out for lunch. I won’t be picking up barbeque for supper. No, I’m not on a literal fast today (talk about making me HANGRY) but I’m not buying anything. Zip. Zilch. Nada. No nothin’. I’m out of eyeliner. Too bad. Should have popped by Belk yesterday. I would sure like a slice of cookie cake. Oh well. Good thing I don’t need gas, ’cause I guess I’d be begging y’all for a ride to and fro. No using Uber. No books from the online retailer I use with frequency. No new socks or body wash or any number of vital items. Granted, I’m only fasting for one day, so it’s no big deal, but it does make one conscious of all the things we buy. Maybe that will be my thing next year: limited amount of groceries, no excess anything, including gas. Who picked this for me? Somebody that knows me well- myself. I’ve been in prayer for Christy, my friend of nearly twenty years, the Christy who does my hair. She couldn’t think of anything and told me to pick something that I would benefit from. I chose this sacrifice, because Christy is frugal and thinks through every single purchase she makes. Unlike me. I need to be more like…
I once had a job where it seemed nothing I did was right. Even if it had been right that morning, by afternoon it was wrong. And it wasn’t just me that was wrong, it was all of us. But it wasn’t our fault. Our boss was under a lot of pressure and it affected his reasoning ability. We loved him anyway, because he had one of our best interests at heart- a job to depend on. But that was a little hard to remember on occasion when you’re racking your brain wondering what you could have done differently. It was during this time I met someone whom I came to depend on for my own sanity. She was easy to talk to, she understood seemingly all aspects of my life. She constantly told me it wasn’t my fault, just to roll on. Rock steady. So I would. This gal had experienced her share of being misunderstood. For her part, she’s nearly covered in tattoos, head to foot. People judge. So when she opened her mouth to reprimand her son in the store instead of just letting him run rampant, it gave people pause 🙂 She’s the sweetest soul you can imagine; she has a soft spot for creatures. Especially her old pug Herman. She has a gorgeous, elegant, long-haired, grey-tipped cat named Shakespeare. She has a weakness for beer and tacos, and to counteract that, she…
