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Amy
It’s hard to be a woman. To be a fashionable woman, that is. First of all, hoop earrings. I didn’t know so much stuff came in contact with my ears until wearing hoop earrings. And they’re not even that ostentatious size that could double as bracelets. Just, like, nickel size. My fingers, my hair, my bracelets, keys, my shirt…I don’t know. Then there’s scarves in summer. Some women are able to pull off this accessory flawlessly. I am not one of those women. I am one of those women who just look sweaty and uncomfortable. And vaguely strangled. Because I AM. I live in Tennessee. It’s barely cold enough in January to justify them. This brings me to dresses and tops without zippers. That doesn’t sound so bad until ….dressing rooms. And then it’s too late. They slide on easily enough. Just pull them over your head and slither them over your pudgy skin. Maybe five minutes ago would have been an opportune time to try the Spanx shaping garments because now you can’t get it off. You tug, you pull, you cuss, you pray. You sweat. You panic. You wonder who is near the mall that could dash to your aid. You finally give up and hold your breath and jerk and hope you don’t hear a rip. Because then you’re either going to…
For the Mountain People I’ve been whittling on this since the day after. It seems I run a full mill of emotions as I work through it. It’s disjointed and twisty and repetitive but I’m leaving it as it is for now because that’s what it’s been like here-confusing and excessive and unsure. Maybe one day I’ll come back to it and get it right, but for now it will have to be enough to get it out. It’s been seven months and five days since the sun rose and illuminated what remained of Gatlinburg. Seven months and five days later…it is raining. And rain is appropriate. We’ll still take all we can get. Even on the Fourth of July. I say hooray because it will put a damper on fireworks activity. Fireworks start fires. I never TRULY believed that until my days at dispatch. Here’s what happens: It’s high summer, which generally means it’s been fairly dry. People drink all day, out in the sun, then they play with fireworks. They may possibly even hurt their fool selves, or the kids who don’t obey orders to “Get back!” (or maybe the kids were never even warned, or maybe it’s just bad luck). The dogs are barking, or howling, or quivering in the corner. The cattle and horses are…
About a week ago, there was a post on the Sevierville Speaks Out Facebook page. A gentleman was requesting local writers message him their word rate to write a local article, 2000-4000 words, twice a week. I was tagged by four people. So I thought, I’ll humor them. “Good morning” I wrote, using his name. “I was tagged by a few people on your post in Sevierville Speaks Out. I’m a native Sevier County resident. I worked at the Co-op downtown for 13 years, and now work as a secretary for {I’m not publicly announcing my location to potential stalkers}. I’ve met a lot of local color…some might say I AM the local color. š I’ll be completely honest, I don’t have a rate per word. I have a blog that I started last year. Please feel free to check it out and you can get a clear idea of my style. Amysappalachia.com I have written two articles for our local fair book, an article for 911 magazine, and the feature for the first installment of Sevierville Living. I would be interested in learning more about your position. Thank you.” The message I got in response five days later was clipped and standardized. “Hello. We offer 3 cents a word. If you are still interested, please send you name, address, and a sample writing the 3rd person…
āI’ve learned a few truths in my 38 years on this spinning blue-green rock. When you’re little, you spend your money on toys and candy. In your teens, you spend it to impress the object of your desires, on clothes and other frivolities. In your twenties, you’re driven by alcohol, teetering stilettos, and fast cars. You’ll live in a hovel to have a nice vehicle and clubbing necessities. (Obviously, some of us have a hard time letting the fruity fun drinks go…) The thirties, I’ve found, are for upkeep: home repairs, wrinkle creams, and inspecting what else needs fixing. Massages, hair coloring, and pedicures are vital upkeep to your aging body. In your youth, you are driven by the need for attention. If someone repeatedly rejects you, you learn to survive without them and if they make an appearance later in your life, you resent their presence. You’ve learned to be independent and comfortable in your own skin and need no approval. Be confident. Be assertive. Don’t be scared, be smart. Try to pick a partner who compliments you for more than your beauty, because beauty will fade, guaranteed. If you want the tattoo, go for it. If you’re tired, take a nap. Don’t vacation in the same spot every year. It may feel comfortable, but you’re not learning anything. Spend…
This post is not going to win me any popularity contests but, eh, my mouth never has. Is it just me or has this graduation business gotten totally out of control? Sure, Kindergarten graduation is kinda cute, their little mini-everythings, I get it. But 5th grade graduation? And 8th grade graduation? Give me a break. You have no choice but to go on. You haven’t really done anything. You’re proving you’re getting older…that you did, indeed, learn your multiplication tables. I am not convinced that the majority learns the difference between to, two, & too. Or they’re, their, and there. Or then and than. Or through and though. But I think these are just personal peeves and it doesn’t bother anyone else nearly as much as it gripes me. Am I just jealous? I only graduated twice-high school and college. And they were treated with the proper amount of importance and pomp. But I just can’t get on board with this crap. I think it’s a money racket, just like Valentine’s Day. A complete and utter waste. Totally over the top. Enough with the graduating. Celebrate something else. Like Nobel Prize winners. Or Watermelon Seed Longevity Spitters. Or Most Moon Pies Consumed During A Full Moon. Or Best Behaved Sibling. I mean, something with sustenance. Go on. Slay me. …
Get it here. You’re gonna want to, trust me. Of course I’ve known of Rebecca for years. I’ve had it on my TBR (that’sĀ “to be read” for those of you not down with fanatical reader lingo) list forĀ over a year. I was going for it last year when I changed my mind to Jane Eyre for whatever reason. They’re similar, in that they’re both that of the Gothic Fiction variety, but that’s where the similarities end. This book gets right down to it, and there’s less of the fawning over the dashing Maxim de Winter, thanks be to God. Not that there’s less love, there’s just much more compelling drama andĀ livelier characters. Mrs. Danvers took shape in my mind immediately as a former coworker of mine, Judy. I won’t go into that here. I don’t want to say too much, you should read it and wonder as I did. I had no trouble at all envisioning Manderley, the author is quite talented (obviously) at spinning a vivid portrait of the glorious estate. I wanted to sit under the chestnut tree, and walk along the shingle beach, and eat a scone in front of the library fireplace while rubbing Jasper’s silken ears. Yes, I would like to send for a new frock from London. And freshen those flowers while you…
In the South, everyone has at least one snake story. I guess they probably do up north, too, but I don’t make a habit of drawing Yankees into conversation if I can help it (Jeannie, you are excluded). And it’s that time of year, snake season, where everybody and their brother is telling about having one in their yard, house, or car. Anyway, here is mine: I had bought my new bedroom furniture and it was delivered and set up while I wasn’t home. I didn’t know that the frame legs and hardwood floors didn’t go together until a few months later. So I had to call the store up and tell them about their faulty installation and make plans for my uncle to accompany them into my home since I couldn’t be there–I had to work to pay for said furniture. The day they scheduled I also had a riding lesson, so I didn’t get home till dusk-thirty. The first thing I noticed amiss was my grill brush lying on the far side of the porch. Normally it’s on the grill stand. My old dog, Crockett, wasn’t acting like he was the culprit, so I just continued on my way up the sidewalk. That’s when I saw it. On the backside of the concrete step was a long, slender, black tail…
Well, it took me a month but I did it. I listened to all the people who said I would love it, and indeed I did, once I got past the initial hump. These big books…they gotta hook you and drag you under. I channeled my reserves, like when I committed to The Goldfinch and The Witching Hour. This book literally has it all. While I would still probably classify it as chick lit, there’s something for everyone, if you keep an open mind. Time travel, sci-fi, fantasy, suspense, war and adventure, romance, and religion. It’s a lot to put yourself through. I read the majority in three days’ time, and I’m feeling the exertion. But I’m glad it’s behind me and i can gush with the rest of the population, “It’s so good!!” Because it is. And Jamie Fraser is most definitely worth sacrificing hot baths and penicillin for…
It didn’t start off as anything spectacular. Most of those larger than life days are ones you’ve been planning- you know, your wedding, your baptism, your birthday. Today was just another day, technically. It started with this gigantic crow. I was driving to work this morning, noting the shape and texture of the mountains, and reflecting on why everyone loves this area. I mean, think about it. We get hordes of tourists that eventually retire here, artists who just want to paint the scene in all weather and seasons, and then the local people who can’t fathom moving away. So there was this crow. I noticed him because he was swooping and looked like a vulture for a fleeting second. Then I noticed he was being chased by a mockingbird. An extremely irate mockingbird. If you’re not familiar with our state bird, allow me to introduce you. They are roughly the size of a blue jay and not nearly as vibrant but every bit as loud. They were made famous by Harper Lee’s novel, To Kill A Mockingbird. “Mockingbirds donāt do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They donāt eat up peopleās gardens, donāt nest in corn cribs, they donāt do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. Thatās why itās a sin to kill a mockingbird.ā And that’s true. Have you…
I was starving. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was reaching for my phone when I should have been reaching for the Cheerios. I wanted to eat my avocados before I forget about them, like I have the last two or so dozen that I’ve purchased. I even went so far as to lay one on the counter last night to speed ripening and remember that’s what I needed to consume. Johnny had gone camping, so I needn’t worry about him saying how gross they were (mind you, he chows down on guacamole). I logged onto to that curse of so many women, Pinterest. And of course I see these “Avocado Nests” that look delectable and easily prepared. If those teenyboppers over at Buzzfeed can do it, so can I. Perhaps I should have let my avocados ripen a bit more, but no matter. I freed the nut and dutifully scraped a larger hole out. I pondered the possibility of only a pair filling me up. Best make two. Then I cracked the first egg and encountered my first big problem. Evidently everyone else uses ginormous avocados with micro eggs. Because my egg went everywhere. I frantically scooped it up and tried to make an extra large egg fit into an average avocado. Repeat times four. I’m not at my brightest at seven in the morning. Luckily, I only busted one yolk. Then the…
