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Amy
November Writing Challenge, Day 3. Clarity. I gained the clarity of sight in fifth grade. I didn’t realize I was squinting, but one of my teachers did. Nobody in my family had connected my debilitating headaches to poor vision. But what a relief it was to be able to read road signs easily and distinguish cows from…well, blobs. The migranes disappeared, never to be repeated in my lifetime thus far. And believe it or not, I prefer myself with glasses even though so many people feel the need to tell me I’m so much prettier without them. These are the same people who like it when I have straightened hair. #sonotworthit Shopping for glasses every year is both a blessing and a curse, as so much of my life is. It’s a blessing to be able to afford high quality lenses and the ability to have them so quickly and *almost* effortlessly, compared to many countries that have no availability to them at all. And the selection! It takes me forever to narrow it down to just a few pairs. I always make the saleslady pick, as I am a hopeless Gemini. But contacts are out of the question. I nearly have to be hog tied to get eye drops in (I’ve found rolling them off the side of my nose is almost endurable) and I can barely get an eyelash out without crying or melting down from an anxiety…
November Writing Challenge Day 2 Wind. Once upon a time, in a land full of dirt roads and gently rolling hills, there was a cabbage plant. And under its largest leaf quivered a small winged grasshopper. The grasshopper wasn’t sure what had happened for him to be separated from his 392 siblings, but here he was. He was scared, but he wasn’t cold. He was lost, but he wasn’t blissful. He was green, but he wasn’t jealous. His yellow eyes darted anxiously as he chewed his bottom lip. He flicked an antenna and waited. Pretty soon he heard the chirrups of friends and neighbors 40,000 strong and he ventured out from under the cabbage leaf. He stretched out a leg and eyed the sky for swooping sparrows. The golden wheat rustled and he warily watched the high grass for other uncertainties. He climbed a stalk and munched thoughtfully on a tender sprout he’d found on the way up. It was green like him. The stalk shifted slightly. He gently swayed in the wind. He spread his wings to shake the dust out. And he remembered being lifted, the sensation of being weightless, and this was it, it was wind. It was wind beneath his wings. And he was flying away, to the next cabbage patch, on the next wind. I never gave much thought to wind until I went out west. It’s not like…
Instead of doing 30 days of Thankfulness I’m switching it up this year. I think it will be good for me. All twelve months are listed on Pinterest. I need to get back in the habit of writing. Time is so hard to come by, though, between working, keeping house, cooking dinner, my own maintenance (which seems to grow by the day), reading my self imposed goal of sixty books this year, and catching up on social media. But anyway. So. Day One. Heartbeat. Well. The obvious is when your heart starts beating, you’re here, and when it stops, you’re not. But I’m not normal and the first thing that comes to mind is Brian talking about wood fences that don’t lay with the land and have “heartbeats” (bumps). But for the sake of a good story, we’ll track back to the customary usage. I see more hearts stopping than I do starting. My heart stopped the first time I laid eyes on Johnny. I know it did. I’ve seen heart stoppingly gorgeous creatures; horses at play in fields and working cattle, their muscles rippling and manes flying away from their necks as they turn on a dime (my heart has stopped when I became separated from said equine in a grand fall). I’ve witnessed panthers pacing and stalking prey, their gorgeous shining coats showing…
It terrifies and saddens me that I almost lived a life without Neil Gaiman. He is most wonderful and gifted and unique and I was thisclose to never knowing. If you need a vacation for your brain, if you want to slip into something more comfortable, if you’re tired of the pretentious books with parallel meanings and readers’ guides (why can’t they just say what the want to, for the LOVE), if you can’t stand the thought of another book hailed as a “gripping suspenseful novel with a twist, the likes of which have been unseen since Gone Girl” THEN READ NEIL GAIMAN. On second thought, just read him for the love of reading. Read for the childhood you think you’ve lost. It’s just there, around the bend. Step in. Step through the wall. Perhaps you’ll meet your hearts desire. Maybe you’ll catch a star. Buy it here I don’t know why it’s not showing the picture….it’s a pretty fantastic cover. There’s a unicorn in this book, for Pete’s sake. A UNICORN…
Here are a conglomeration of Facebook Birthdays to my reliable pickup I bought on Friday the 13th, 2000. That’s right, almost twenty years ago. She has been my everyday vehicle for the duration. She’s only had one set of brakes in her lifetime. She’s seen me through two wedding dresses (but only one wedding, think on that), three speeding tickets (all THP), and I don’t know how many French fries and fishing trips. When the finance manager at the dealership asked how long I intended to keep her, I answered firmly, “Until the wheels fall off.” I bet he would be surprised to learn that I’m still behind the wheel. 2014: Happy Birthday to Patsy, my beloved Chevrolet. She was bought 14 years ago today. It was Friday the 13th. That has proved to be exactly the opposite of a bad omen. She has been an excellent vehicle. I had $2500 in the bib pocket of my overalls for a down payment that night. My salesman was like, “you would bring cash…” Like it was a bad thing. She has hauled hay, saddles (there’s one in the seat right now), wedding dresses, bookshelves, & @$$!!! I’ve got the speeding tickets to prove it. But truly, everyone said I couldn’t afford it, I would hate being in something so big, I would go broke on the gas mileage. Gas was…
I like fountain cokes and mountain dews in cans, I like sweet tea that crunches and Snapple because of the satisfying plop sound it makes when I open it. I’d recognize that sound in the furthest galaxy. I like cold milk with any dessert and I drink lemonade when I think of it. I like coffee flavored sugar milk when it’s below 50°. I like ice cold water first thing of the morning. I like bats and swallows, because they dine on mosquitoes. I used to like okra. I like bumper stickers (saw one yesterday that said “do you follow Jesus this close?”) I like people who drive fast but talk slow, and barbeque with cole slaw on the side. I like standing at the tide line and feeling the sand getting sucked from under my feet. I like sea turtles and sea otters and sleek seals. Simply put, I like the sea. I like trucks that aren’t afraid to get muddy. I like my tattoos, and don’t care if you do. I like eating crab legs and oysters outside on a wooden deck with never ending bottles of beer. I like fishing. I like slobbery, happy, goofy dogs who make no apologies for being glad I’m home. I like it when the tv is off. I think everybody needs a fence 🙂 I like witty church signs that make you think the congregation has a sense of humor…
I spent one of the final days of summer on my porch. My porch is nothing fancy. I know this shocks some of you to your very core, seeing as how I’m such a fancy cat myself. But it’s utilitarian, concrete, with no handrail, no screening, and no paint. However, it does boast a rocking chair and two slobbery companions. The view is alright, far enough from the road to be apart from the action with a wide expanse of grass in between. I sat there and took note of an irregular breeze that caused a few leaves to rustle and spiral downward. I watched a few birds come and peck out sunflower seeds. I started a new book, and put it down to pick back up one I’ve been trying to read for a few weeks now. But neither one held my attention. At least the neighbors were nowhere to be seen, nor their constantly barking dogs. I relished the quiet. I watched Lightning repeatedly invade Sugar’s space. She didn’t act like she noticed. I think she’s past caring. I’ve cooked everything this weekend. I feel like I spent all my time at the sink or in front of the stove. I made bacon wrapped pickles, crab dip, and stuffed mushrooms for the game yesterday. Johnny declared it “weird” and barely touched it. By 8:00 I felt sorry for him, since all…
It’s a little embarrassing how much I loved this book, most especially after I was so sure I was going to hate it. Nothing like being wrong. First of all, THAT COVER. *stars in my eyes* I haven’t figured out how to do all the fancy italics and emojis on here, so you’ll just have to inject your own enthusiasm and implied meanings. This book took me by surprise by how good it was and, of course, the sexual overtones that popped up out of nowhere that ended up being the entire premise of the novel. If you make it through the first chapters (which seem totally out of sync with the rest of the book…not sure what purpose they served) you’ll be gone up the river with them by page 50. I suppose I’ve never given much thought to anthropologists and what their work encompasses, besides being completely filthy all the time. Ick. Not for me. And a struggle for Bankston, our male protagonist, as well: “‘And I am bad luck in the field, utterly ineffective. I couldn’t even manage to kill myself properly.’” But he does get sick, as he says this. It’s almost like he brought he omen on himself, as no mention has been made to his poor health. “The spangles returned at that moment from all sides, and my eyeballs ached suddenly and painfully. The…
I didn’t want to go to work today. Sometimes I have an ominous feeling on the anniversary of September 11th, those are the days I keep my bug out bag within arm’s reach. Sometimes I’m despondent, dwelling on the lives lost starting with this fateful day through the War on Terrorism. And sometimes I’m just mad. Today I was dejected, thinking about how useless it all is. And the hurricane, on top of all that. And yes, it could have been a lot worse, but is that how we’re going to live our lives? It was going to be dreary and wet and cold. So I just wanted to loll in bed and read, and kinda forget the rest of the world existed for one day. In short, I wanted to be selfish. On this day. This day. THIS day. The day when selfishness was banished from society in one of the hardest cities on Earth. When strangers kissed on rooftops, thankful for their lives. When emergency personnel rushed into burning, tumbling buildings just to save one more life, knowing they probably couldn’t save their own. When the President of the United States of America kept reading to kindergarteners after receiving the worst news possible whispered in his ear. So yeah, I could get out of bed. I could do this. And so I drove to work, thinking about people in New York City and Washington 16 years…
Oh, football weather is once again upon us. And I’m happy. I’ve got veggies, bottles of ranch dressing, and all the fixin’s for nachos. I also bought some sushi, but that can be our little secret. So anyway, the preparations have been underway. We’re flying the colors and sporting our best orange. Mom has been out to the graveyard to get Grandmother ready, too. I approve of this, mainly because it’s cool and I couldn’t do it if I had to. I can still see her, perched on the couch, her back ramrod straight. “Hold ’em boys, hold ’em.” She’d be puffing away on that cigarette and probably wishing for a shot of Jack Daniels. Grandmother was a big Vol fan, as we all are here in big orange country. Knoxville is a sight to behold on game day. Not sure if you can make it out or not, but the little football says “Go Vols” on it. My contribution was the “live, laugh, love” part because Grandmother wasn’t very religious and all the scriptures just felt wrong. She was all for laughing and loving, though. So that’s her little piece of Big Orange Country, about ten miles from Neylabd Stadium. I’d say she can hear the cheering and feel the stands thundering as 100 thousand strong…
