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Amy
Wanna feel better about yourself? Here’s what I’ve done today: Read twenty pages of my book. Borrrring. Sprayed oven with cleaning kill-you-in-a-can chemicals. Put out one box of Christmas decorations before calling it quits. I’ve decided I don’t feel up to dusting this holiday season. (Don’t worry, I’m still participating in Christmas, just not on as grand a scale as we’re all accustomed). Wondered why Pandora was so long in the making. I believe it’s one of the best things to come into my life, ever. Had a two lively conversation with two old friends. Ate one platter full of leftovers. Retired to couch. Wondered how it got to be three o’clock with me not accomplishing jack squat. Bought a piece of Lularoe. A navy Sarah. It proved to be quite elusive in the finding. Played the addictive game “Two dots” until I ran out of lives. That’s the only reason I’m on here now, I can’t play any more. I even watched the three musketeers video to get a bonus life. Wonder if elves will come clean my oven if I take a nap. Now. Don’t y’all feel productive with all your running around…
J went to Nashville today for a good deed. I stayed home to decorate for Christmas in comfortable pants. I totally forgot the whole reason I got married was to have a boy around to carry all these mega heavy storage containers up thirteen stairs. #ithinkilljustlayheretillhegetsback This wasn’t really long enough to merit a blog post, but it was pretty funny, and, as I recall, true. I have mega decorations in casket sized totes. …
Mothers teach us all sorts of things. From the very beginning, they’re teaching us nonstop. They teach us how to walk, how to feed ourselves, how to treat the dog. As we grow older, the lessons get more complicated from the simple “No!” to how to read, write, & tie our shoes. We recognize danger, thanks to the values instilled at every turn (lots of treacherous stuff out there in the world). Before long, the complicated life decisions over which friends are suitable & what grades are passable are upon us. (Although Sevier County School Systems deem a “C” passable, the school of Jody did NOT). We might have to have several lessons more than once. We learn when to push our luck & when to say I’m sorry. They show us unconditional love. My mother decided to teach me about Indians early on. The only thing that separated our house from the school was our cow pasture & pine thicket. The band practiced relentlessly throughout the summer & when we were outside together, the drums would beat ominously & I would shiver & shake with the resonating thumps. Of course I asked my momma what it was. “The Indians are coming to get you,” she answered solemnly every time. This never failed to send me running back into the house, lest the Indians thunder in on their painted horses & scoop me up & carry me away…
Pageturner’s Book Selection November About a Girl by Lindsey Kelk I’ll admit I groaned when this one was announced. I thought I was above reading chick lit—British chick lit, at that—in my ripe old age. But obviously, I have forgotten how much fun it is! It’s pretty much the story of any up-and-coming girl in the city. Girl has entry-level advertising job, where she is desperate to advance. Girl is secretly in love with her best guy friend for going on ten years. Girl works her fingers to the bone with ad agency only to be made “redundant” & let go. Girl is now without purpose & is sitting on a park bench in London, all ‘woe-is-me’ when a Nazi sympathizer tries to rob her, only to learn she has nothing to rob. Not even a phone. Nazi sympathizer converts to Tess sympathizer & gives her the latest phone he’s ripped off somebody. At least now she has a phone. Girl goes home to the apartment she shares with Satan’s mistress, Vanessa, to drown more sorrows with her girl BFF, Amy, & biscuits (read: cookies. We’re in England, you knockers). The trio of besties go to Tess’s parents for a family function, girl gets blind drunk & snogs boy best friend…and more…& boy best friend morphs into a wanker afterwards. Girl’s mother is mortified that she lost her job, slept with Charlie…
A Book That’s More Than 600 Pages The Witching Hour by Anne Rice Well, I reckon. Coming in at 965 pages in my hardbound 1990 version, with smallish print, I do believe this is the longest novel I’ve ever read. Of course I’m proud of myself. This is like the New York Marathon for book dragons like me! Up till this point, my greatest literary accomplishment was Gone With the Wind, or maybe The Goldfinch. The heft of this book set it apart from either of those. I’ve heard wonderful things about Anne Rice’s works, & this seemed like the perfect spooky October read. Unfortunately, it took much longer than the two weeks I allocated. More like four. But it was so worthwhile. As lengthy books are wont to do, it sucked me right into the history of these Mayfairs. Upon learning this is a trilogy, I kinda wanted to poke my eye out because I knew there would be many mysteries left unsolved. And when you read a book of this caliber, you want to know ALL THE THINGS. Don’t let the size intimidate you. It’s sweeping in an unpretentious language. It provides a beautiful description of New Orleans. The middle third of the book takes place overseas, hundreds of years ago, so you don’t get stagnant waiting on things to happen. Mrs. Rice provides an entire rich history of these generations of women, who traded healing powers for demon worship…
This deplorable, gun-toting, educated, working white Southern republican female is having chicken-n-dumplins and sweet tea tonight with her middle-class, patriotic, white Southern Christian husband. There should be something for everyone there. If you’re mad about the outcome of the election, you’re probably not still reading this. But I will say this: those of us who grew up in church are accustomed to hearing the church isn’t a place you go. Church is withIN us. Same with the government. Government starts at home. Get educated. Get involved. Per Ghandi, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Or if you want to get out, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way…
This deplorable, gun-toting, educated, working white Southern republican female is having chicken-n-dumplins and sweet tea tonight with her middle-class, patriotic, white Southern Christian husband. There should be something for everyone there. If you’re mad about the outcome of the election, you’re probably not still reading this. But I will say this: those of us who grew up in church are accustomed to hearing the church isn’t a place you go. Church is withIN us. Same with the government. Government starts at home. Get educated. Get involved. Per Ghandi, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Or if you want to get out, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way. Oh, and…
Our weekend: Our water line has had a gradually worsening leak for several years & Wednesday it finally showed up in the middle of the driveway. So we’ve been turning our water on & off at the road since then. Johnny rented a ditch witch & dug almost 200′ this weekend. He is bruised & sore from wrestling that thing through rocks & hard end-of-summer ground. I helped fill the ditch back in after we laid the line & that was plenty hard enough for my tender constitution. I woke up with my arms aching this morning. If you have an old water line, I STRONGLY encourage you to replace it. Like, now. Completely disgusting what we were washing our clothes & bodies in…and cooking with *full body shudder* Paid $6.79 for a gallon of milk at White Star. I don’t know if it’s been that high for some time, but I hadn’t noticed it. I guess because when it’s with the rest of my groceries I just don’t pay attention. I started a 900+ page novel set in New Orleans. (The Witching Hour by Anne Rice, if you’re curious, & yes, it’s wonderful) I cooked a pork roast, corn pudding, green beans, mashed potatoes, deviled eggs, rolls, & sweet tea for the laborers (Johnny & his two friends, including Scott the Plumber) for helping get us back…
Why I take Boyds Creek/Gists Creek/ Indian Gap for my commute instead of the treacherous Chapman Highway: #1) Because if I’m gonna do 45 mph, it’s gonna be on a road with people who are used to it & most don’t have a death wish #2) Because it’s only a quarter of a mile longer #3) Because you never know what you might see. Tuesday I had to brake for turkey vultures dining on a coyote, Wednesday it was a chicken crossing the road, Thursday an unsure border collie, & today a multitude of squirrels. #4) Because that route is still populated by people who wave when they pass you #5) Because it feels like home twenty years ago…a slower pace…less Yankees…more trees I encourage you to try a different route yourself once in awhile. You may break from a mundane commute. #6) it gives me a chance to unwind & enjoy the scenery after work, especially beautiful this time of year. I see something different every day. ***disclaimer*** This particular trek is not for the faint of heart in the best of conditions, due to narrow, winding roads. It is not to be attempted in sleet or snow. Here’s something else I’ve noticed. The road names on Boyds Creek: Golden Harvest…Boyds Creek Meadows…Rippling Waters. Those are features long gone with the addition of these…
While there have been stretches I have missed the Co-op ACUTELY, Saturdays are not one of those times. Especially this particular Saturday, the second one of October. Because today, just like the second Saturdays of Octobers for decades past, is Open House. It is madness, pure & simple. Unaltered mayhem & chaos & all of the things I seek to avoid in my quiet existence. There are running kids and raffle ticket bickerers, bargain shoppers and lounging sales reps, dogs (of both hot and furry varieties) and drunks, locals & tourists, friends & competition. There are retired Co-op employees chatting over beef & grain prices, rain or lack thereof with the farmers who tenaciously hang on. The wives eating popcorn while surreptitiously looking at clothes her husband will tell her to buy but hope she doesn’t, their children chasing each other around the racks & down the aisles, a drippy ice cream in one hand & a hot dog smothered in ketchup in the other. I would be there, amongst them, taking pictures, directing them to the bathroom, shouting a price or item number across the store before heading outside to the microphone to award some lucky people a door prize. And hopefully I would be wearing a smile for you. Some of my former co-workers were sweet enough to formally invite me, so I wouldn’t miss the sales & general overall merriment. While I appreciated the gesture, I simultaneously shuddered & laughed…
