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Amy
Today, I sat on the porch. Now, if I were being proper country, I would say I “set” on the porch. But my Grammar Nazi can’t take it. So I sat. And I didn’t do much of nothin’ for one solid hour. I watched the dogs, and I enjoyed the breeze, noting how it lifted the flags and gave motion to the flagpole. I listened to the windchimes and took note of the boldest birds (blackbirds and turtle doves, followed closely by robins and mockingbirds). I watched the cars rush by, and I reflected on how nice it is to have a yard, and a porch, and a home. I admired my flower beds (wildly out of control), and smiled at my redbud trees. I’m proud of them all-two I planted, one I tried to kill because I thought it was a weed. I’m pleased to report it persevered. I didn’t have a book, or take my phone to scroll Instagram (still on Lent, no Facebook). So there are no pictures to commemorate the occasion. But I can tell you, Lightning Bug is restless and pees a lot, and Sugar is the most laid back, easygoing, patient canine on the planet. Bug plops her in the ear and face with his tail, she just scwinches her eyes shut and pays no mind. He walks across her front legs, she barely looks his way…
There’s two things I can’t ever seem to get enough of: books and margaritas and… Well, nevermind. There’s lots of things I’m a greedy little hog about. But two of my great loves are tattoos and oysters. And I was past due for both. I’ve been eyeing pretty heavily some tattoo designs on Pinterest. I want to be sure, you know? Like, really sure. It’s so permanent and all. I haven’t regretted any of my other selections, but that’s because I agonized over them for months, or years, even. I am prime real estate, & He ain’t makin’ no more. I’ve been hung up on swallows ever since Hannibal Lector was schooling Clarice on them. (However, my recent Google search showed that it was roller pigeons, not swallows. Dammit. But swallows are the same concept:they dive for their meals. For the sake of my story, we’re going to continue on like it was always swallows, because that’s what I’ve been envisioning all these years). And I was researching the meaning of swallow tattoos, and the birds in general, and found that I liked everything I was reading about them. They symbolize coming home, true love, the arrival of spring, and a host of other wonderful homey things. The blue ones signify optimism. They eat sixty mosquitoes an hour. Hello…
Buy Me on Amazon (But if I were you I’d rent it from the library….I am a horrible salesman) One thing’s for sure…I would have been a crappy secretary in 1952. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not the greatest in 2017. My typing “skills”, be that as they may, is my left hand does almost all the work, and I peck with my right index finger occasionally. And I have to look, unless I’m typing STRAW or “Thank you for your interest. Please see the attached quote Brian prepared for you. Don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions.” because I have typed those words thousands of times. My hair is constantly a mess, no matter if it’s tied up in a knot or down. The only time I wear gloves is if it’s in the single digits. My back is rarely ramrod straight, and it would never occur to me to cross my ankles. Demure is not in my vocabulary. The only thing I would excel at is my telephone etiquette, as I’ve never had trouble with volume 🙂 The deafest customer never had a problem hearing me at Co-op. All that aside, this book had great premise, but came off reading like a sixth grade romance novel. Neither story was plausible, as she strove to hard for parallelism between Darby in…
There’s this wonderful place you can visit. It doesn’t cost a dime. And once there, the places you can go are literally limitless. This magical destination is the library. I know, I know, I’m the biggest nerd. But seriously. So tonight was the board meeting. And it was typical in all aspects, other than our chairman was absent so the meeting was conducted by my lovely friend (and recent partner in crime), Tracy. Things were clicking along, we were approving budgets for consideration of the county, approving fundraisers, discussing projects that are coming up. I reached for my regional report and found it stuck to the glass topped table. No worries. I’m sure it’s just barely tacked on there. I didn’t even have anything sticky on my plate. What is going on? I finally ripped it free, leaving several bits of paper essentially glued to the conference table. The director had to dribble water on it and scrub. I don’t know how I constantly find myself in these clean up positions. I’m like a three year old. Someday I’ll tell y’all about the gallon of Red Cell I dropped at the Co-op. Or the case of Hearty Hoof that I dribbled from one end to the other. Now, see, I am obviously not a prototypical board member. Especially one you would picture on the local library board. I’…
You like twisty plots? Warped characters? Page turning suspense? Then this is what you need to pick up. Right freaking now. You can’t figure it out, I promise you that. What an insane read. Unbelievable. This is the best book I’ve read in forever. And it’s drawn out and it makes you want to scream at Louise for not handling things differently; a kind of “Don’t go in the basement with the guy wearing the hockey mask” type of helpful advice, but you won’t be able to put it down, I assure you that. And you wonder…as far fetched as it sounds…could it happen? Don’t the best books make you wonder that? Make you second guess all the things you think you know? I mean, if it rocked Stephen King’s world, isn’t it good enough for you? And look, the author is wonderfully private: Everybody’s talking about the ending. Don’t you want to know?? Buy it here NOW  …
When I was in seventh grade, I had a teacher who could be described as a feminist…or as close as you could be to one in the hills of Tennessee in the early 90’s. She made us watch “Not Without My Daughter” starring Sally Fields. Long story short, Sally is married to a Persian man who wants to take his family to his homeland for a few weeks for a vacation. Sally has her reservations, but eventually caves. Once they get there-Surprise!- he reveals he isn’t leaving, which was his plan all along, of course. She has to wear the head scarves and submit to his every will or risk beatings and all the worst things imaginable. She tries to leave and finds it impossible to take her daughter. High drama. So this book is set in the same type of environment: strong women trying to escape brutal, illiterate, powerful men. And they will do ANYTHING for a few moments’ reprieve…including, but not limited to, dressing like a man. And who can blame them? These girls are frequently sold-that’s right-SOLD to the highest bidder (often their first cousin) for a sum of a few thousand dollars or some desolate dusty desert land by the time they are fourteen. Earlier, if they achieve puberty. And many of them try to hide that little nugget from their family in fear of what comes next: you are…
This time last week, I was prone in the bed, down with the flu. I don’t mean I was cool with it, I mean I was unable to be up and about. I was down. Typically in my life, when using that term, it’s been to describe the ailments of some sort of livestock. Indeed, I felt like a cow ready to be put out of misery. You see, I’ve never had the flu. I am one of those disgustingly well people everyone loves to hate. I suffer from an occasional bout with allergies, which have abated since my unvaried use of antihistamines. Drugs are amazing. But I have mistakenly believed that the flu was when you were throwing up, congested, feverish, and in the bathroom with the other. While this is partly true, if you have the misfortune of having both the flu AND the stomach flu, mine was of the coughing and elevated temperature variety, which is plenty bad enough. It started on Tuesday. I blamed my bad decision of leaving the window open the previous night during the thunderstorm. I had a little cough. Nothing serious, just a short *cough, cough* into my fist every now and then. By Wednesday, it was a little more frequent with a little more force. My attitude was disintegrating, as I evidently picked a fight with Shug over dinner. Thursday afternoon found me with my head on my desk, hoping I had…
I have a skewed system of favorite holidays. Thanksgiving has been my favorite for a few years, because it’s low maintenance. Oh, I cook. I cook my ass off. I cook for Johnny & I only, after some drama with his momma a few years back. In the interest of remaining Switzerland for him, I don’t visit my family, either. For the first couple of years running here, then rushing off to there definitely dampened my spirit-especially since I had two days of retail hell to look forward to immediately afterward. But now I stay in comfortable clothes, and the wine is open by eleven, music -just a little this side of loud- throughout the dining room and kitchen, and I’ve got the turkey in the oven. We may eat at two or we may eat at six. Last year, we had some friends stop in to help devour what I’d prepared and I felt like a normal adult, doing the thing. It’s the one time a year we eat at the table. My next favorite holiday is our anniversary (I get lilies delivered to work and dinner wherever I choose). Then my birthday (again, because I don’t have to cook), then…then… St. Patrick’s Day. Not Christmas. I love Christmas, I love the meaning and I love decorating for it but I don’t love how people tend to…
Buy it here I’m finished, I’m finished at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m finished at last. I can scarcely believe it’s true. Weeeeeeeks I have struggled with this book. Here was my first problem: I bought it on a whim, slightly intoxicated, while on vacation in Florida at an utterly charming and whimsical bookshop called Sundog Books. The proprietor was friendly, even though it was nearing closing time. I felt encouraged to stay, to linger, to peruse. I chatted with a local, thinking we were going to form a long distance book club, only to find out she was drunker than me when pressed to tell me her media handle. She had no Goodreads or. Facebook account. So that ain’t gonna work. Anyway, the book is beautiful, the cover persuading me. I hadn’t given full price ($28.95!!!!!!!!) for a book in years, so I felt due. I was on vacation!!! Seize the moment and all that. I had it in my head this was a book about the military of days gone by, so I looked on here and Amazon for a synopsis. And opinions. Because the one star reviews are always honest. But I must have somehow skimmed over them, because I paid for the book and it rode in the backseat the duration of our vacation and journey home. It sat in my library, beautifully silver in tone, for months. I finally picked it up…
All Grown Up <<<your link to buy. Why can’t I DOOOOO this like everybody else??? Book of the Month finally got one right. So I loved this. It’s written in a conversational tone and you feel ~or I did, anyway~ like you’re having mimosas at brunch on Sunday with one of your single girlfriends. It’s refreshing in a way that it makes you feel okay to be in your thirties and not have your shit together. Usually chick lit is about girls in their twenties that don’t have their poop in a group and that’s okay~nobody expects them to. They only ask that you remain bright and opinionated and slightly slutty. In your thirties you get to be mad about it. “Her life is architected, elegant and angular, a beauty to behold, and mine is a stew, a juicy, sloppy mess of ingredients and feelings and emotions, too much salt and spice, too much anxiety, always a little dribbling down the front of my shirt. But have you tasted it? Have you tasted it. It’s delicious.” That’s me. That’s SO ME. {I changed my rating to five stars but wanted to include this. It deserved five, just because fours are seen as So. Much. Less. It’s not fair} It’s kinda written in short story form, which may have…
