I forgot how old I was today. I couldn’t decide if I was 43 or 44. That’s how it starts, isn’t it? This blog is work. It’s a job, and one I don’t enjoy when I’m struggling with subject matter or when I’ve left it for very last thing and I’m so sleepy and just want to go to bed. Or when my phone keeps dinging with texts and I feel obligated to answer, because y’all don’t know when I’m writing and when I’m just sitting around. And besides, it ain’t like I’m in the middle of some big scientific breakthrough or other Very Important Task. Today I went furniture shopping. We started at Big Lots, because it was on the way and you never know. The salesman there was very friendly and helpful. Then our journey took us to Knoxville Wholesale out Clinton Highway, where we met a nice lady by the name of Shannon, who carried a tape measure and wore dress pants with tennis shoes. I get it, lots of running around, but the men were still in dress shoes and slacks. Maybe she had a medical condition. Somehow we managed to evade all the traffic and made it over to Rooms to Go, where we encountered a guy named Wayne. It wasn’t Wayne’s first day, but I don’t think he’d been there long enough to have a birthday…

Good Friday, yes. I did not have to go to work at Co-op. Good Friday is Co-op’s Black Friday, and I saw proof that it was several other retailer’s, as well. I had some ambitious goals for today. They were as follows: Would you like to know how many of those were accomplished? Two. The answer is two. Well, technically, I did take the trash off, but I brought it back, so I’m not sure that counts. Here’s what happened. I lollygagged around here all morning, drinking coffee, watching birds, finishing my book and doing my New York Times puzzles and helicoptering over Chester, who was acting off. By the time I realized I was starving and sustaining life on a banana, it was nearly noon and I still hadn’t showered. Of course I will do yard work without being squeaky clean, but I didn’t want to go gallivanting around my hometown and run into every person I’ve ever known in my whole life home for Easter. So anyway, I get ready, load Chester up (I figured it’d either make him carsick and therefore purge whatever had him feeling less than perfect or perk him right up.), and headed down to Loveday’s. If traffic was this horrific on this end of Sevier County, I do not even want to speculate on what it looked like in Pigeon Forge. I whip into the last spot at the market and I…

Ok, this one truly is #88. I somehow managed to skip #87 and someone who pays attention to details caught it. I do not pay attention to details. I barely pay attention to the main attraction. Especially if there’s food. Or dogs. I am really truly looking forward to the long weekend. In a very selfish kind of way….which is obviously the wrong mentality, especially seeing as how it’s Easter. But still. I can’t help it. I just love being home. Even though I’m prollllllly gonna get out; I need to visit a garden center for mulch and some flowers. And if I go to Loveday’s I can get one (ONE!) of them little hand pies. Oh my stars they’re so decadent. The lemon is my favorite. I want to try the chocolate, though. And blackberry is really good too. And of course the peach is always gonna be a hit with me. Great balls of fire, I wonder what time they open? I just ate a half of a sleeve of thin mints like they were going out of style, and now here I am thinking about Dutch girl pie. Anyway. I came home and knocked out the key players of housework which leaves my weekend fairly free. But I do want to go ahead and spray and work on my flowerbeds since I neglected them last year. Hey, not my fault. I was dealing with that massive tree that had fallen…

My day began with dry rain. That’s a term I’ve made up, but I’ve been told it makes sense. It’s the kind of rain where it feels dry between drops, instead of an all encompassing wetness. I thought today was gonna be a total wash out, but it ended up being pretty spotty. I had a Foundation meeting at 7:30 this morning. I’ve always heard successful people are the ones out stirring before the rest of the world wakes up and I guess it can be believed if you go by this group. It’s basically Sevier County Royalty, if there is such a thing. Excluding me, obviously. I’m just a representative for the library board. My report went like this: “oh, we’re just rockin’ along. No news is good news and I have no updates.” But it was good to see everyone, and to reconnect with a sweet girl I haven’t seen in too long. She has one of the best laughs. It just bubbles out of her, nearly unprompted. I feel like she was a sprite in a previous life. But she’s definitely one of those if she gets tickled, I get tickled, and we’re both getting thrown out of the funeral home. Dangerous for us to be together for long. On to work for a few hours, to send an email saying I never got the email (this has happened twice in the last month— important…

I have had a busy day. Lots of traffic at the office. I like it when my customers come prepared with necessary paperwork. I like it even better when my coworker leaves early. So, Food City tried to rob me today. They wanted $12.99 (or was it $13.99???) for a 24 pack of Mountain Dew. I am not that desperate and I pass Dollar General on the way home, just like everybody else in the south. Granted, it isn’t a shopping experience without hazards, and I do feel the need to bathe in hand sanitizer and get a tetanus booster upon leaving, but you can save quite a bit of money there if you’re in the market for certain products. Well, today, it was Mountain Dew. You could get three twelve packs for $13.98, then download their digital coupon for two more dollars off. So that’s precisely what I did, quite happily. Take that, mega conglomerate. Do better. Here’s a lesson in southern cookin’. If the recipe calls for olive oil, use bacon grease. If it says butter, double it and salt it. If they start talking portion size, assume they’re stingy Commies and you should prolly make a double batch. There is no substitute for lard. You can almost always add some vanilla to any dessert to improve it. I’m just sayin’, is all. Don’t blame me if you’re still hankerin’ for a double cheeseburger after you make…

To catch you up: The dog next door is still wild and free. He’s been relatively quiet today until the sun set. Now it’s nonstop again. I did try to catch him, or at least put him back in his fence, a couple of times today and he wasn’t having it. He’s one of those that will bark while he runs away from you, looking over his shoulder. 🙄 I’m not scared of him, but I don’t want to frighten him worse. I have not contacted the owners because I don’t want to cause undue worry. And I have tried what little I know to do. At least he’s staying out of the road. Yesterday I switched my closet from fall/ winter to spring/ summer. I told myself I would get rid of lots of things. I never knew I was such a liar. I threw two things away, have one put aside for Angela, and six more items destined for thrift. I am unable to part with any more Lularoe, even though it makes me mad to look at it, since each pair of leggings represents, bare minimum, $25. I also cannot bear the thought of throwing out two pairs of grey stretchy pants, even though they both have multiple holes. One pair I am wearing right now. It’s not like I wear them out in public. Why throw them away when they’re clothes for home? I might decide to…

I absolutely, positively, cannot think of a thing to write. My world is filled with barking and howling dogs. And has been since 3:00 this afternoon. The neighbors have evidently, accidentally, left their doodle outside. I say accidentally because this has never happened before. Maybe he let himself out and now he can’t get back, like some sort of wormhole. I don’t know, all I know is he’s been barking since three o’clock. It is now 9:30. That is a LOT of barking. He is tireless. And when he really gets to feeling sorry for himself, he gets to howling. At which time, Chester gets empathetic and pitches in. Several dogs in the neighborhood beyond also accompany them. It’s truly a cacophony and I’m about to pull my eyebrows out, one by one. Yes, I could text my neighbor and make sure everything is ok. But I don’t want to worry them if they can’t get home, or can’t send somebody to check. And I don’t know how to put it nicely, “please come home and shut your dog up, he’s driving us all crazy”. I’m not known for my warm bedside manner. Because I feel certain Chester barks when I’m gone. Surely not nonstop like this, but really, who’s to say? And I don’t have a key, so no, I can’t go put him up myself. Lalalalala…..my aunt just text…

“He was one of them guys.” He looked at me to see if I understood. I did, and I willed him with my eyes to continue. “…one of them guys…you know, one of them guys you can’t get away from and you don’t want to.” There was more, but he didn’t say, because he knew I knew. But probably also because I said, “keep talkin’, you’re soundin’ like a blog post.” We all know “them guys”. They worked a job that required skill of their hands and strength of their back. They wear plaid shirts with snaps and the left pocket carries a small spiral notebook, a Bic pen, and a pack of Marlboro reds. Their dark denim jeans show a little wear in a spot or two, maybe a frayed hole from battery acid, maybe some stubborn grease streaks. The pockets bulge with keys, five dollars in change, a lighter, and a yeller three blade Case pocketknife. These men have arms that are tanned and sinewy, scratched and scarred from countless battles with brush, machinery, barbed wire, and their oldest son, who went through a biting phase. They wear a gimme cap from the feed and seed or tractor dealership without fail, not to cover up the grey but because they always had. They were naked without it. And their boots. No fancy doins there, either. Scuffed, muddy, worn, heavy, and brown. A low heel. No pointed toe. Boots that have…