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Amy
November Writing Challenge Day 11 Walk the dog. I’ve never lived in a place where I had to walk a dog. I did, as a child, have a Greyhound that I entered in the dog show at the fair because I couldn’t enter my Chow Chow; he was a little temperamental. So I walked her in a circle and won a Purina dog bowl and a blue ribbon. She won best in class because she was the only Greyhound anyone had ever seen. Sevier County in the days of yore aren’t like today with all these rescue groups. The majority of dogs spent their life on a chain. The good life meant they had a fence to run around in. One that lived inside was a novelty….and people whispered behind hands not to eat what they brought to dinner, because “they had a dog in the house”. ☺ Now you’re weird if your dog lives outside, and hated by your neighbors if it’s tied. On the other hand, my momma is a yo-yo queen and she can Walk the Dog. All I can do is get tangled. …
November Writing Challenge Day 10 Used tea bags. Are you kidding me with this? What weird little topics they’ve come up with. Well, I do have one thing to say: I do think about reusing them. It seems such a waste to just use them the one time. Especially since I buy the big pouches for the gallon size container. But I also know that tea will mold if left out of the fridge….although I guess I could put it in the fridge but that’s too much aggravation. Then it would be like the half-onions that accumulate in there that grow things after a time. I’ve also heard they’re good for under eye circles but I haven’t tried them. I liked those little fabric cucumber slices that you could keep in your fridge for that. I don’t think anything works but Rodan + Fields, honestly. Their lash boost has made a believer out of me. So. Used tea bags. Hmm. That’s about all I’ve got to say about that…
November Writing Challenge Day 9 No, you don’t. This morning I had a conversation that has haunted me all day. I have the feeling it’s going to last a lot longer. I knew part of his story, but not all. This is the story of a man who changed his life twice. He was a young man with a good job, working as a team lead in the receiving department of a sizeable company. Benefits, decent wages, and a workable schedule. He had a girlfriend with a baby on the way. Not a glamorous life, but an honorable one. And then, as things do, something happened. He met the wrong people, went to the wrong places, and began to do the wrong things. He started selling drugs, which led to doing drugs. He lost his job. He sold a sports car for eight pills. (The equivalent of $200). He lied. He stole his momma’s laptop to hock for drug money. She let him come back. He fleeced her for $350.00. She let him come home. He stole his daddy’s pistol, and that was the end of coming back home. He had changed his life. His path was no longer clear. He lived under a bridge off Broadway, where the KMart used to be. His mother came every day and picked him up and took him to the Pilot to take a hot shower for $7.00. He got so cold at…
November Writing Challenge, Day 8 Dot, dot, dot… I have approximately 779 stories bouncing around in my head right now to elaborate upon. I know that it’s not necessary for me to only tell one, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome. Not everybody has hours upon hours to loiter online reading ramblings of the resident redneck. So let’s get down to it. First of all, I have several prayer requests on my mind. And I know y’all count on me not to get all religious but one of my very-good-oldest-friends in the world lost her dog today. Well, technically it was her husband’s dog first, but she knew Buster from his earliest days. Emme and Buster were buddies when M&M’s relationship was blossoming. (This is also poignant-Emme had a last visit today with her old friend. And this is getting complicated, but the reason she doesn’t live with them is because she was a little short on patience when the girl children came along, so Emme relocated the grandparents farm). Anyway, the children are understandably upset-it’s their first close death experience, I’m sure MBM is distraught, he’s had Buster for like, fifteen years, and M is quite miserable with her own grief plus dealing with the girls’ trauma. So there’s that. Next is a lady I…
November Writing Challenge, Day 7 Sculpted. Meet Oliver. Oliver hails from Newport Bay, Oregon. He was bought on a windy, rainy June day in an art gallery housed in a hundred year old building. I loved him at first sight. (As opposed to Johnny’s reaction when I trotted him out for their meeting: “Cool. Where’s the pot go?”) Oliver was promptly named after the acquisition and I was terrified his tentacles would break off if I left him packed up and stored in my checked baggage, so he endured a cross country flight nestled in my lap. He was sculpted by Michael Hopko in 2005. He has several brothers and sisters I would desperately like to acquire so I could have a whole octopus family here in Appalachia, but alas, I can’t hardly justify that kind of expenditure. Oliver is one of the coolest and most beautiful things I own. I wouldn’t say I’m into art, but I do love gorgeous pieces as much as the next hillbilly. Sometimes you need something perfectly weird to offset the mundane…
November Writing Challenge, Day 6 The carpet. The carpet was ugly, and it would have to go. The sooner the better. The living room carpet had long since been torn up and thrown out, exposing golden Clear Grade oak hardwood flooring. It wasn’t beautiful and perfect anymore, though. After almost 40 years of being suffocated by a truly hideous parade of carpeting ranging from a puke green to what was once a burnt orange shag, the hardwood was marred by spots where the rubber backing had stuck and countless staple holes. But it cleaned up okay, and until I could afford to have it refinished, it would have to stay. Strategically placed rugs were lain. The first rug was almost as bad as the carpet-a blood red rose design knockoff Oriental that what it lacked in beauty made up for in size. But it would have to do. I had been promised that the hardwood floors ran the length of the house, except in the kitchen and bathrooms. I was fixing to find out. Next was the bedroom I was taking over, due to it having an en-suite bathroom. I had stayed in the master bedroom for years, but there was no discernable difference in size. The closet was the main attraction in there. I enlisted some help and it didn’t take long to rip the decades old carpet out. We got the hallway while we were at it. Indeed, the same hardwood greeted…
November Writing Challenge, Day 5 Holy. How fitting that it’s Sunday. But then, not everybody worships on Sunday. Not everyone worships at all. I’ve fallen out of church, myself, I’m sorry to say. The reason isn’t because I’ve had second thoughts on religion. No, nothing like that. More like laziness. And I guess the best way for me to keep today holy is to stay away from other people. Because, face it, people annoy me. So anyway. I’ve known holy rollers and I’ve known spiritual people who have more compassion in them than people who are self proclaimed born again Christians who go to church every time the doors are open. Of course, we all know sitting in church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car. Of course I should be witnessing to readers instead of bashing people who are probably doing more than me to get right. So. I’ll tell you about the time I was baptised in the Spirit. Never heard of it? Neither had I. (Mark 1:8 touches on it, along with a few other passages). We were attending this little church in South Knoxville-in Vestal-to beat all…Shug likes the tiny churches. And I will admit to feeling more in touch with the Lord in them little places where your…
How many times can one have a mishap in the kitchen in two weeks’ time, I ask you? Well, I’m gonna tell you about three…that happened to this girl I know. You might say a friend of a friend. A perfect stranger, really. Scenario One: You sit at work daydreaming all day about what you’re going to have for supper. You have the menu all planned out and you’ve starved yourself nearly to death by 3:00. You come home and begin making the supper you’ve carefully thought out, in this case broccoli and cheese soup and Red Lobster cheddar biscuits (buy yours HERE, they’re fabulous). You’re reading the back of the box to make sure you’ve got your butter/ cheese ratio correct and see a plug for their new Parmesan-Rosemary blend biscuits. While they sound appetizing, it’s not something you would pick up. Or maybe, but not in the bulk box the first time. They’d probably be tasty with pork chops, or herbed chicken. You begin to mix the water and dough mix. Something doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell bad, it just doesn’t smell like it normally does. You turn the box around slowly. Sure enough, you have accidently bought the parmesan type. Crap on a cracker. You’re not having chicken, you’re having cheddar…
I‘m a hopeless optimist. Ask anyone who knows me well. I stay to the bitter end, hoping against hope things will get better: my jobs, relationships, food. You name it. Don’t fault me for wearing orange. I have no more say in the matter than I do over my skin or eye color. It’s game day Saturday? Bet your best watch Amy’s wearing orange. It’s almost indeliberate and automatic. If we’re not in attendance, we’re watching from wherever we are (including the Walking Horse Celebration and a bar in Florida) and looking for the checkerboard with every play. Sure, I’ve lost hope several times this season. It’s depressing. I’ve said for a long time-it’s hard work to be a true fan. Anybody can root for a winning team. But to support a program when they’re down and out takes a special kind of loyalty. Some may call it stupidity. But Rocky Top does something to me. And orange is never wrong. Additionally, you can always cheer on whoever is playing Alabama or Florida. Lots of ways to keep occupied as a Vol fan. If nothing else, I can be proud of our band. Pride of the Southland never makes a false step. They’re the majority of the pageantry: the Power T that the team runs through, the…
November Writing Challenge, Day 4 Tweeting I have never tweeted in my life, save for singing that old tune “all the little birdies on Jay Bird Street, love to hear the robin goin’ tweet-tweet-tweet”. I once Facebooked that I was too long winded to tweet, which was ironic, since that was one of the few posts that could have been tweeted. I think our President has no business tweeting, but maybe that’s over since the disgruntled employee evidently deactivated his account. A wise move for all, I say. My cousin collects Tweety Birds. I can’t whistle. Maybe there’s a parallelism there. Didn’t they call Conway Twitty Tweety? I don’t know. I was young. I don’t know a thing about Tweeting. I’m really out on this subject, if you couldn’t tell. I kinda dread sharing it, but I’m committed now. And it will keep me accountable to improve. (See? I almost wrote “do better”) Sorry to disappoint you with this one. Not much to draw on…
