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Amy
Sharkbait! Ooh-ha-ha! I’m the first to admit I would just as soon my death be delivered via shark bite than a car wreck or cancer. My friends say I’m crazy. But think- how cool would it be for y’all to say, “I know a girl who got eat by a shark.” And you would relish in it. The chances are pretty good it could happen, too. My preferred depth of swimming in the ocean is shoulders deep, because that’s right before where the waves break and I don’t have to get beat up by them. I like to be able to bounce off the sandy bottom when one is rolling in and then be able to stand flat footed the rest of the time. Evidently this is the prime feeding area for sharks. I also like to swim late in the day when the sun isn’t so intense. I’m sure it would be completely terrifying. And it might hurt if he doesn’t hit a major artery first thing. But what’s worse- the terror of being trapped in your car and being cut out while everybody stares or being eaten by a magnificent creature? Slowly wasting away, getting weaker and sicker every day and everybody forcing you to fight it when you just don’t have any more fight in you? Watching their eyes go all liquid and…
Last month for Book Club we read Karen White’s The Night the Lights Went Out. We were all enamored with the story of Sugar Prescott, about whom not nearly enough was told. So I decided to breathe a little more life into her. This one’s for my girls. When I won the election for mayor, my brother Harry very nearly lost his mind. He had always been a vexation to my spirit, but he became downright unbearable. I wasn’t about to bake brownies and call nice, he should be treating me to a celebratory dinner at the nicest steakhouse in three counties. But we all knew THAT wasn’t going to happen. He even tried to run a a smear campaign against me!! Like there’s any dirt to be had that he could tell on me without incriminating himself. And that mealy mouth ninny he married! Trying to get me, Sugar Prescott, kicked out of the Country Club? Foolishness. There wouldn’t have been a country club if it hadn’t been for me begging Daddy to donate the land so we could have a nice tea there every once in a while. Where else was I supposed to throw Willa Faye’s showers? The basement of the Credit Union? No, no, no. Anyway. Ten years after that nasty business with Curtis that we do not speak of, I somehow found myself in the thick of uncovering some…
Yesterday, I discovered another habit I don’t like in people. This should surprise no one. But not to worry, I’m gonna counteract it with something I do like. I don’t like these people that you’re having a conversation with, and after about ever two sentences or so, they say, “okay?” like you’re not smart enough to be following. It’s super annoying. I knew at his age he probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but I wondered how many other people had been angered by it. Yes, angered. It elicited that strong of an emotion in me. So much so that I stopped listening to him, which probably just enforced his opinion of me being an airhead. But it seemed extra condescending. I just wanted him OUT. He was asking me about taxes. Brother, I don’t even do my own taxes, I’m certainly not qualified to give you advice on yours. How ’bout you ask the accountant that you pay to do them? How ’bout that, okay? I’ve also found this type to pointedly sniff the air when it’s obvious what is cooking. Or if someone is painting their nails or doing a craft. Yeah, we get it. there’s an aroma. Now. On the other hand. Here’s what I like:when I’m gearing up to tell you…
{WP#858 Working nights has exposed you to a different view of the world} Now, this is true. Once upon a time, in a land about 200 yards from here, I worked “midnights”. It opened my eyes whereas before they had been most decidedly shut. When you work third shift, you get a completely different mindset. Everything about you changes. I’ve heard that working thirds for an extended period shortens your life. I believe it. It’s hard to make all the people around you become accustomed to your new schedule. You have to alter doctor’s appointments (well, any appointments, really), shopping trips, and of course sleep patterns. And when you’re off for more than a day, your schedule really gets warped. Suddenly you realize there’s a whole crew of people just like you out there, the night owls, either by choice or force. You may have already guessed, but this was during my time as a 911 dispatcher. 911 never sleeps. And our job was to wake the firemen, paramedics, rescue, and policemen to get to you. Typically when the phone rang between midnight at six, something bad was going down. Not so many accidental cell phone calls in those small hours. Not so many people calling saying, “I’m not sure this is really an emergency….” these callers were legit in a mess. I remember one night the phone rang at like two…
{WP #703 A poem about loss} Sometimes I want to tell himNot to bother locking the door behind himBecause the only person who could hurt meIs leaving…
Have you ever spent time wishing someone would die? I don’t mean an ex or an enemy. I mean, someone you know and love and are in so much pain they can’t think? Or maybe they’re lost inside their mind and causing you to lose yours. It brings to mind one of the most heartbreaking stories I ever knew. It was just a few years ago, right here in my hometown. This vibrant, active little boy of twelve was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer. It was simply awful. It was a blindsiding, because he’d always been so healthy and now was so, so, sick. So the community gathered and prayed and surrounded the family as the young man fought and battled and tried to get well, to beat the odds. He underwent countless treatments of radiation, chemotherapy, surgeries, and many therapies to keep as much of his body functioning as possible. Everyone rallied, Regen fought, but ultimately got worse. As Christmas drew closer, this Christian family was quite obviously pushed to their limits. On Christmas Eve, his mother wrote on Facebook that she hoped the Good Lord would call him home soon, he was suffering so badly. Now you think about that. A mother, praying for our Heavenly Father to take him only because she loved him so much and couldn’t stand to think of him in any more pain for another moment, even if she felt…
There’s a legend that states Ernest Hemingway once submitted a story to a newspaper that was holding a contest for the saddest six word story. Supposedly it read: “For sale. Baby shoes, never worn.” He won.This has never been proven, and while it is indeed depressing, I know a sadder one. I depend on Chick-fil-a. I know I will never be disappointed in my lunch if I get it there. They are to be depended on for the best chicken, fries, peach milkshakes, chicken tortilla soup….the list goes on and on. I know that I can count on them to not screw up my order. When I desire perfection in fast food, I go to Chick-fil-a. They are so much more than chicken.They are the embodiment of the American Dream. I don’t know how I’m expected to do without them for five whole weeks. I’ll go crazy. I nominate myself to oversee construction and if I notice anybody slackin’, I can crack the whip and yell on my megaphone. I’ll run a tight ship for sure. I can push a wheelbarrow!! I can spackle! I can call for loads of concrete and drag wire. We can get this done in like, four days, tops. I am so SAD…
I got a little emotional the other day. Sometimes you have those moments where you just know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. An epiphany, if you will. About a month ago, my friend Rhonda, the director of the library (don’t tell her I idolize her job just a little bit), called me up in the wee hours of the day. Obviously, she was trying to catch me while my guard was down so I would agree to her little plan. I hadn’t had my coffee. Something about a Seed Swap, that wasn’t on the National Holiday, but it was close enough, and could I say a little something about soil? Why sure because CLEARLY I’m qualified after seven months at a job. But I agreed because namely, it just sounds like a day we’d have snow. January 19th. When I went to write on my old school blotter, I discovered it was a Saturday. That sly wench! Nonetheless, I assembled 27 folders full of valuable literature, soil sample boxes and forms, several posters, and my ever-present blue board. I loaded up Maggie for my presentation. Presentation. Snort. We’ll see about that. I didn’t want to get in over my head, so I just printed some Fun Facts About Dirt off the NRCS website. Fortunately, she had me paired up with my good friend Jim from the City, and he…
Because I ate two containers of Mayfield Caramel Toffee Ice Cream in a week, I forced myself to spin on Monday. Let’s begin with Friday, when my good friend Rhonda brought me some rice pudding. It had to be refrigerated, and it was one of them good ole Tennessee 60 degree January days, so when we made plans to meet for dinner I decided no harm would come to leaving it refrigerated at the office over the weekend. But then, here comes Monday after my seven days of indulgence. I had to spin. It was still 60 degrees, so I thought, I’ll just swing back by the office afterwards and pick it up. We had a new-to-me instructor Monday night, and she had a different way of going about getting us to achieve our goals. She wanted us to envision pedaling up a hill to our object of affection. The only person I could think of that I would really want to see was Peyton Manning, but I didn’t want him to meet me all out of breath and sweaty, so I just concentrated on barreling over whoever happened to be at the top of my mountain once I got there. And I watched the time go right out the windowTrying to grab hold, trying not to watchI wasted it all on the hands of the clockBut in the end no matter what I pretend The journey is more important than the…
I don’t have much of a heart. Most of y’all know this to be true. It’s not that I don’t have a heart, exactly, it’s that I’m stingy about who I feel compassion and empathy towards. A lot of people out there aren’t truly grief stricken, or sick, or poverty level, they are simply desiring attention. I have no patience for these people. I also strongly dislike the ones who take advantage of the system. Able-bodied individuals who seek out funding through good-hearted folks or the government. I see it regularly, people looking for handouts in parking lots, gas stations, walking into random businesses, begging at churches. And these GoFundMe pages are panhandling via internet, plain and simple. NOT that I’m saying there aren’t plenty of deserving citizens out there-but the ones who are taking advantage make it that much harder for the truly deserving crowd to get the help they need. My office is situated directly across from a low-income clinic. I’m not precisely sure how it works, but I know its purpose is to serve the needy and uninsured. All day long, I watch as a parade of young people in souped up cars jounce in and out. They seem to get around just fine. Not sure what they go there seeking, as it is not a pain clinic, but whatever. I tell you…
