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Amy
November Writing Challenge Day 22 Distorted sounds. When you’re sitting at work and there’s a crash-boom-bang and it’s 50 pieces of toprail rolling off the pile after the guys cut the band. Or you’re there by yourself and something keeps popping and you think somebody is messing with you but it’s just the metal roof contracting as the sun melts the frost. Or you’re home alone and something falls in the closet and you jump out of your skin and belatedly reach for your pistol, even though you would be dead by now if someone was coming in. Distorted sounds will make you crazy if you let them. …
November Writing Challenge Day 21 You, again. Do you have someone in your life that keeps turning up like a bad penny? Someone you’d love to forget and never see again? Someone you wish would move to the other side of the planet? But yet, there they are. Every time you turn around, someone is mentioning them, or you see them, or you run into them at the bank and the grocery store and the courthouse? It’s like you can’t catch a break. And you’re reminded of them every time you drive past the road they live on or see a dog the same breed they used to have or some song you know they would love? And you hate it. And you snarl and think, you again. It would be nice to be able to block people from our lives like we do from Facebook. But I guess that’s asking too much. …
November Writing Challenge Day 20 Hello. So much better than goodbye. Hello is full of new beginnings and happiness. Goodbye is fraught with tears and you’re left with memories. Make your hellos while you can. Don’t be afraid to say hello. Most people are friendly. You might discover they’re also crazy, but at least you tried. They might have been needing a hello. Most of you I met through the Co-op, and my hellos began as simply that, “Hello.” Which eventually morphed into a “Hey!” which may have become a hug and “Where have you been? Tell me all about yada yada yada, and when can we go out?” in a few years. I’ve said my goodbyes to many, too. The most painful ones are the ones they couldn’t hear as I stood there snuffing into my Kleenex next to their bright and beautiful flowers. It’s so hard when they didn’t say goodbye before they left. It’s impossible when you don’t know why they’re gone…even if they did tell you goodbye. Never be afraid to say hello first. You might really make a difference in their life, or more likely, a difference in yours. I’m so glad you all said hello back…
November Writing Challenge Day 19 Rules change. Yes, they do. They change so quickly that sometimes I can’t keep up with them. The unspoken rule for Southern Ladies is: school, university (which you’re allowed to drop out of if you meet the right man), token job, marriage, babies, volunteering, and then you wait on death. Laugh all you want, it’s true. Look around you. How many women stray from that? And how are they regarded? Maybe the rules changed in other parts of the country, but not in well-to-do circles. Not in Appalachia. Rules change for what you fight for. The right to vote. The right to drive. The right to wear pants! Or no pants! Rules are made, followed for a time, then people begin slacking off until it’s no longer an enforced rule. And that generally benefits me, because I’m not much of a rule follower. But I don’t know that I’m a breaker, either, unless I feel justified. Rules about running in halls, no skateboarding on sidewalks, stop for pedestrians and school busses, clean up after your dog, be kind-rewind…how many rules pop into my head. It’s so restrictive. But what else? We could be an anarchy nation, no governing bodies to keep us in line. And then what? Murder and mayhem, that’s what. So yes to adaptive…
November Writing Challenge Day 18 Her husband. Her husband was suave and polished and wore a tie to work. He regarded football as a Neanderthal sport, preferring polo or maybe an occasional tennis match. Something more dignified. Her husband drank red wine and knew which fork to use and talked about hedge funds. Her husband sat on the hospital board and the foundation for the historic district. Her husband was an alumni from Brown. Or was it Cornell? All those Ivy League Schools blended in my mind. Her husband was a total bore. And here I sat, listening to him drone on, while I swirled my French 75 and wondered if it would be rude to drink it as fast as I wanted. I glanced around, noting the cornices and architectural details that set this house apart and screamed wealth. Or rather, quietly drew your eye to the next lavish design or painting. Her husband was still talking about his uncle’s bird dogs in South Carolina. I watched the diamonds flash on his watch. I then watched the diamonds dance on my bracelet and wondered how long it would be before I could take off these ridiculous shoes. My husband didn’t have a college degree. My husband had to rent a tux for a yearly event. My husband loved hockey and beer and nachos. My husband was eyeing the caviar with distaste but I knew he would have to try…
November Writing Challenge Day 17 Grass cuttings You know summer is on the way in the south when you smell wild onions. Most people have Kentucky 31 fescue with a healthy heaping of weeds. People will build half million dollar homes and then slap two bags of grass seed on their plot and call it done. It was quite the joke at the Co-op. And some people cut their yard so short, grass has no choice but to die. Growing season is March through October, fescue prefers the cooler seasons and will go dormant in the hottest part of the year. Or will get brown patch disease and look like hell. But heaven forbid you suggest Bermuda to anybody. That’s a weed. Gets in the flower beds and you can’t pull it out. Sigh. It’s hard out there for a seed salesman 😉 But anyway. I remember as a wee tot I’d gather up all the grass cuttings and go to town, covering up my tomcat, Sylvester, or making a nest for my Greyhound, Candy. Sometimes I’d go make a bed for the rabbits or feed it to the cows through the barbed wire fence. I really felt industrious. I was a primitive grass catcher. I guess that’s about the best I can do with this topic. Why can’t they give me something I can relate to, like cornbread? Then I…
November Writing Challenge Day 16 Just another day. What’s “just” another day? Today? None are exactly the same…the all have a general theme of aggravation and reminding myself I’ve actually got it pretty good. But my day? My typical day starts between 5 and 5:38, depending on whether I get up at J’s alarm or mine. Today it was his. First things first, a quick shuffle to the water closet. I mean, this is full disclosure, right? If I remember, I take my vitamin, my allergy pill, and my blood pressure pill. I generally forget. And although some people think I’m lying, I make the bed. Ask Shug. With all 300 throw pillows (that he says he despises but secretly loves). If it’s chilly, I pull on socks and my robe and stumble my way to the coffeepot. If it’s summer, I just yawn and make my way to the couch. I scroll a little Facebook, maybe glance through emails while I try to wake up. I check the weather to see what to wear and if we can go forward with staining jobs or what have you. I think about how good Chick-fil-a would be for breakfast…or a doughnut. But maybe I should concentrate on the present and grab a Snapple and some Nabs (tip of the hat to you, Southwest Virginia readers. To the rest of the…
November Writing Challenge, Day 15 Just Walk Away I don’t know about you fellers, but I say this to myself a LOT. Sometimes it’s driving away. But seems like there’s always somebody trying to ruin my peaceful aura. Ok, that might be a bit of a stretch, but I do like to maintain a distance between myself and other individuals, whether it be in line at the grocery store or in traffic. It’s like, if I’m trying my hardest to give another person their space, the person behind me is determined to be taking up the slack between me and them. If I’m maintaining a safe following distance (two Mississippi’s) then someone else sees that as an opportunity to zip in. Jerks. So I have to breathe out Satan and walk/ drive away. Or hit them with my elbow and/ or purse, as I did in Kmart last week. And Panda Express two years ago. Can’t. Stand. It. If I flip my hair in your face and you don’t back up, prepare to become bruised. And as far as the driving goes, you’re very likely to be treated to a single finger salute and a trumpet from Patsy. I’ve heard that normal people use their horn only twice a year. I’m surprised I don’t have to replace mine with every oil change. Hey hey…
November Writing Challenge Day 15 Just walk away. You ever had one of those conversations that you knew was heading south (and why do we use south as an adjective for degrading??) and there was no way to redeem it, you were too far gone so you just had to walk away? I had a friend for over twenty years and I would get in these train wreck derailing conversations with her weekly. You couldn’t fight her. It got worse after we had said conversations over alcohol. I can’t tell you how many restaurants and bars I had to just walk out of. I’m surprised we remained friends as long as we did. But sometimes walking away is the only responsible thing to do, the only way to preserve your dignity. In retail, it was hard to employ this rule, so often I could be found behind the counter, slit-eyed and gritting my teeth. It was the closest to walking away that I was allowed. It’s surprising how many people are oblivious to pure hate. I love this meme. You can always walk away…
November Writing Challenge Day 14 The test results. When you’re little, it’s all about what the U.S.S.R. stood for and the capitals of the 50 states. Then it was what value did x stand for and please list thirteen characteristics of a positive neutron. {The first actual life changing test is taken at 16…some of us had to take it a couple of times. Stop signs are overrated.} And it all boiled down to what you scored on the ACT that would determine the rest of your life. Or so we believed. Oh, how our naive minds believed. What we didn’t know is that these were the easiest tests to pass…the ones we actually had some control over. On to college, the days of relentless testing of the essay variety. What did this particular poem mean to you and what is the most significant symbolism in Dante’s manuscript to his mother? And all for what? So we can get a job where they don’t even glance at our GPA or ask for verification because they’re gonna give you the bottom of the barrel position and tell you you’ll have to make your way up the food chain…or if you’re a girl in a man’s world you may get lucky enough to be told the truth: “There’s no ladder to…
