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Amy
A long time ago, I lived on Sugarloaf Mountain. On Sugarloaf Mountain, I had many things: time on my hands, a Saanan goat named Daisy whom I led around like a dog on a purple leash printed with daisies, a very long driveway, and a pair of Watusi cattle named Gus and Clara. I also had excellent neighbors across the ridge named Donnie and Alene. Alene was a fellow bookworm and we would trade paperbacks as frequently as we traded recipes. She started me some flowers and we would take them eggs. She was like another mother to me, so warm and inviting. They had a pond and many summer afternoons you could find me there feeding their catfish…or catching them. I walked with Alene around her yard as she pointed out various flowers and where they had come from. She had beautiful, thick, clematis vines climbing up her carport. It was a quiet life for a 26 year old. I felt like a homesteader, working in my lettuce bed and scattering corn for the wild turkeys. Flash forward twelve years. I had worked with Alene in the 911 building until she retired, and I moved off the mountain, back home. I ran into Donnie and Alene at the funeral home (that’s where I see everybody!) and I learned that they, too, had moved. It was so good to see them and catch up! I hugged their necks off. The next time I saw Donnie he…
And now I’m gonna tell you about Mike’s wife, Cat. You talk about fun. She’s a NUT. She has frosted hair and an honest-to-God beauty mark. She’s high energy and all giggles and she’s the pickest eater I’ve ever met. She loves Rod Stewart. That’s where I learned to love him. I think you become an adult and end up listening to whatever kind of music you grew up with for the rest of your life. Nothing will ever beat Michael Jackson for me. I digress. Cathy was always petting me and saying I was the daughter she never had. Of course, I ate up all attention like a mule in a corn crib, so that was just fine with me. She tells me that even now, every time I see her. I have never doubted Cathy’s love for me. And I hope she’s never doubted my love for her. As I mentioned before, she had a son that I spent a lot of time with in my youth. While the adults were inside watching Cheers, we were out exploring the creek and fighting off Indians. We had a great time. But long before we became teenagers, we drifted apart. When you don’t go to the same school it’s hard to stay in touch. And this was long before the days of Facebook and MySpace and…
I just thought giving up sugar was hard. Or dairy. Those are child’s play compared with forcing yourself to go the speed limit. This is virtually impossible. Or maybe it’s just me? Did you know the speed limit on Old Knoxville Highway is THIRTY?!?! Did you know that through the curves it’s TWENTY FIVE??? And downtown is TWENTY?!? Maggie doesn’t even idle that slow!! I do twenty in my driveway!!! I had to pull over on Boyds Creek this morning to let traffic pass. I refuse to be one of those people making everybody late for work. NOBODY drives the speed limit. I’ve held the opinion for many years that the speed limits need to be increased. That opinion was reinforced this morning. Old Knoxville Highway speed limits seem a bit severe. I mean, I get that it’s narrow and windy, but TWENTY FIVE?!? Maybe if you’re in a box van or a delivery truck, but for the average Joe that’s a bit restrictive. Anyway. My opinion. My job is just to follow it. Lunch was another challenge. Rubbin’s racin’ on 66. But I think I obeyed the law. I tried, anyway. I had other things to worry about. Like all the tourists on spring break craning their necks to get a peek at Dolly or maybe the nearest moonshine distillery. Luckily, I had board tonight so by the time I…
Funny how when you have your own agenda for the way things are supposed to go nothing pans out, you are met with a million obstacles, and you feel like you’re just spinnin’ your wheels. But when you put the God driven things back at the top of your priorities list, your shoulders ease, your breathing deepens, and your mind lines back up. And so it goes for me today. I’ve been behind since I woke up. I honestly applied my makeup at work today. Speaking of that, I need to go get all my palettes and assorted arsenal of brushes from my bag, lest I find myself in the same boat in the morning (highly likely). ‘Scuse me. Ok, I’m back. While I realize y’all would have no idea if I stepped away from my keyboard for five minutes or five hours, I feel telling you gives you a sense of personal….whatever. Call me crazy, but may I point out you’re still reading? Alright. So I’m a pretty sorry Lent-er today. I’ve cussed, I’ve dwelt on stuff out of my control, I’ve rushed headlong into things, I’ve been short tempered and an actual pain in the ass to several people today. Worst of all, I’ve not prayed like I should have, like I promised I would. Hey, y’all are my…
Lent is a time to reflect, take stock, and straighten up and fly right with the Lord. And that’s why it’s so hard. I mean, it’s really difficult to keep your thoughts pure and true and centered. It’s almost impossible not to worry and not to care what people think. It’s a struggle to love unconditionally and not judge. But oh, the benefits when you lay your head down at night and realize you did a decent job and you’re proud of yourself for trying so hard. And when you’ve spent the day in prayer for someone you love, just wrapping them in blessings and well wishes you feel so content and snuggly. Have you ever been prayed for like that? Where someone prays out loud for you, whether they’re physically with you, with their arms around you, or when they’re on the phone and they’re actively asking favor from the Lord to almost crush you with his spirit and love and you just feel warm and cozy and like every cell, crevice, and follicle of your body is being wholly enveloped and taken care of? I highly recommend it. I’m not that good of a prayer-giver, but that’s what I’m striving to do. I want y’all to know how much I appreciate and care for you! I want you to…
Y’all are gonna crack up. I’ve really challenged myself today. My dear friend Rhonda, who is the director of our tee-totally fabulous library system, is who I am honoring and praying for especially today. Rhonda and I could not be more different. She has spent her life serving the poor, the needy, and last but not least, her children….who are also poor and needy, come to think of it {looking at you, Miss Caroline!!}. Rhonda is a levelheaded and terrific friend, a wonderful cook and homemaker, a Disney Aficionado, and a stalwart leader of many. She has a ready smile or a cocked eyebrow, depending on the discussion. Baker, Beth, and I are just a little bit scared of her. So anyway. It should surprise no one that her prayer request, first and foremost, was for her children. She has sent them both off to college, and while Logan has completed his degree and returned home safe and sound and created a family of his own, Rhonda worries. There is no end to the worrying. While she dotes on her little princess of a grandchild, she worries about things that are not even in her control (she also thinks about bows, but that’s neither here nor there). Caroline, on the other hand, has gone off into the big dangerous city of Knoxville (insert derisive snort here) and has left Miss Rhonda with a bit of empty nest syndrome. It’s…
Namaste. I’ve had this eye twitch for some time now. It’s really an aggravation. Everybody asks what I’m stressed about, and while I could give you one big reason, it’s not really a reason at all. Time marches on. And as Dolly says, you’ll soon realize it’s marching right across your face. About a year ago, I attended a book signing at my favorite library. Well, that’s a bit of a lie. My favorite library is my personal library here at home, followed by Biltmore’s library. So, my third favorite library. But don’t tell Rhonda!!! I picked my seat next to a friendly looking stranger. I pegged her as a mom, stealing a few hours away from her kids. She seemed intelligent and normal enough. Turns out, I chose wisely, even if I didn’t read her life right. Today, I count her among my three closest friends. It’s amazing how you can bond with people when they’re open and honest and quite literally THERE for you. She is zero drama, 100% no judgment, and so funny I almost pee my pants every time we go out. She looks at me over those red rimmed glasses with her hair back in a knot, like, “Are you shittin’ me, Smalls?” I can quite clearly read her expression through text messages. I know by her pauses…
Sugar has never tasted so good. One thing for certain, I would never make it in a survival situation. This morning I couldn’t wait to down my white chocolate mocha Starbucks drink. And then I fixed me a big cheesy omelet. I would like to say I enjoyed every bite but my eyes were bigger than my belly and I got a little carried away with peppers and bacon bits. So anyway, you’ve probably deduced that today’s fast isn’t sugar or dairy. Praise be to God! Today it’s merely liquor, at the request of my Uncle Dale. He stipulated that it must be done on a Saturday. Clearly, he doesn’t know me at all, because I rarely drink on Saturdays; I clean. Today was no exception. But I also had a hair appointment. I was about to have to start wearing a hat everywhere I went because my gray is REALLY BAD. So I’m at the salon, and I go to throw something away and notice what looks like bacon in the trash can!! See it? There at the bottom? And I’m like, who throws away bacon?!? And I turn to Christy and ask her why there’s bacon in her garbage can. I am thoroughly baffled. And she’s like, “I threw away my gloves from when I mixed your hair dye, that’s probably what you’re…
Sometimes I dream of moving. Living elsewhere. Like the Oregon coast. Or the forests of Idaho. Then I laugh and know I can’t– I’m southern through and through. I talk southern, I cook southern, I dress southern. I love horses and God and football. Lord, how I love football (SEC football, that is). I love beer drank on a tail gate and sweet tea sipped on a porch swing. I love cotton fields and apple festivals. I love Dolly Parton. I love magnolia trees and pearls and swimming in the lake. I love old stately homes and hound dogs and athsmatic preachers. I love old ladies who wear hats and whose pocketbooks match their shoes. I love flamingos in the front yard and rusty mailboxes and picking squash. I love taking the long way home and giving directions that include “turn right where Charlie Maples’ grandson used to live”.I love barn cats and pocketknives and flipping over rocks to hunt for crawdads. I love novels set in the south, movies set in the south, and people who come here searching for the real south. I love butterflies and bluebirds and barn swallows. I love fishing from a riverbank with worms you just dug from under the apple tree. I love blue tailed lizards and groundhogs and counting the stars. I love tomato sandwiches on white bread with Duke’s mayonnaise and a dash of salt. I love knowing summer’…
Real estate is expensive. A plot of undeveloped land, a parcel of floodplain, a mountainside you can’t even reach by road, all these will still set you back several thousand dollars. … A trailer, a camper or boat, a shack on a hill. A little more… …. A modest house in the suburbs, a small, old home on a few acres, an apartment in town, these cost even more. … A tiny home in town, to call all your own, or a McMansion in a subdivision with just a patch of grass… we’re getting up there, now. … A fancy apartment in a city, a big house on the lake. A nice getaway from the hustle and grind. A seaside cottage, a perfectly appointed five bedroom showplace of a home. Hope you’ve got a good job or a rich uncle. … All these can be destroyed, no matter if they’re made of brick or concrete or wood. Wind, fire, flooding, overall devastation. You can try to protect them, investing in fancy security systems and strong fences. Heavy gates that lock by password protection. You can try, and you might succeed, from being a victim of theft. Mother nature doesn’t recognize the precautions, but you may do some good against humans who intend to bring destruction. You protect the valuable things in your life with locks and keys and codes. … But the most expensive real estate you cannot…
