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Amy
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 Customer Appreciation, also known as Open House. I don’t know why we call it anything other than Chaos and Free Crap, because that’s what it is. We’re open to anybody that has money or credit, it’s not like this is a sneak peek into everything you’re missing by not being a member. And as far as the “Customer Appreciation” title goes, well….they paid me to say “I appreciate everybody every day!” Ha. 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 & 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 hopes 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…
Have you ever seen one of those super cute, trendy boutiques in a fashionable part of town & you were too intimidated to go in? It just oozed “too rich for your blood” or maybe gave the impression it would be filled with snooty falooty types. I once knew of such an establishment, but I still couldn’t resist the urge to go peruse it, out of my budget or not. The boutique I speak of was housed in an old farmhouse on the Parkway in the middle of downtown Sevierville. The front porch had gigantic hanging ferns & two welcoming rocking chairs creaking in the breeze. I never seemed to have time to zip in, & plus, I was a little hesitant about the parking situation. But the week before my wedding, I was at wits end for two of my bridesmaid gifts. I was going to the post office & I had a minute. I maneuvered Patsy around to the gravel lot behind & cautiously stepped in the back door. “Welcome,” came a confident voice behind the counter. I smiled at the redhead who spoke. I’m sure she offered to help me, & before long we were chatting amicably about what brought me in. She helped me pick some pieces of silver jewelry out for my momma, & some earrings for one bridesmaid. But there was this cow picture on the wall that kept calling my name. It seemed strange to…
Have you ever seen one of those super cute, trendy boutiques in a fashionable part of town & you were too intimidated to go in? It just oozed “too rich for your blood” or maybe gave the impression it would be filled with snooty falooty types. I once knew of such an establishment, but I still couldn’t resist the urge to go peruse it, out of my budget or not. The boutique I speak of was housed in an old farmhouse on the Parkway in the middle of downtown Sevierville. The front porch had gigantic hanging ferns & two welcoming rocking chairs creaking in the breeze. I never seemed to have time to zip in, & plus, I was a little hesitant about the parking situation. But the week before my wedding, I was at wits end for two of my bridesmaid gifts. I was going to the post office & I had a minute. I maneuvered Patsy around to the gravel lot behind & cautiously stepped in the back door. “Welcome,” came a confident voice behind the counter. I smiled at the redhead who spoke. I’m sure she offered to help me, & before long we were chatting amicably about what brought me in. She helped me pick some pieces of silver jewelry out for my momma, & some earrings for one bridesmaid. But there was this cow picture on the wall that kept calling my name. It seemed strange to…
Almost exactly eight years ago, I was leaning against a shed at Sand Creek Farms in Shelbyville at sunset during the Walking Horse Celebration when my momma called. She told me my grandmother was dying of pancreatic cancer. I remember where I was because it was some of the worst news I ever received & I was helpless to it. Pearl Harbor attack. JFK assassination. Challenger explosion. September 11, 2001. These are events in America’s history that are so firmly ingrained & so important in our memories we know exactly what we were doing & where we were. We share these memories; we are not alone in our anger & grief. I wasn’t alive for Pearl Harbor or the assasination, so they are just images & bits of what I absorbed in history classes over the years. The photos are grainy & details are fuzzy in my mind, as they were just dates to memorize for the impending exam. I was five for the Challenger tragedy. I was in the floor playing & the tv was on. I remember sharp intakes of breath & cries of “What happened???” around me. I was wearing my magenta colored plastic charm necklace. September 11th was another scenerio entirely. I was grown, working, a voting American citizen. Details are crystal clear. It was a normal morning at the Co-op…until it wasn’t. A man came in on his regular errand & told us a…
A breeze from the river lifts a corner of my napkin where my sweating glass of sweet tea sits. The air is humid, carrying the scent of mud & pine trees. I look past the house to the geese squawking at each other on the pond. Richard Montgomery spears a meatball with a toothpick & plops it on his plate. “Can you believe how hot it still is? Did you get you some of these meatballs? Here, try ’em!” He proffers the blue casserole dish my way. My plate is already full from everything else Ann, his wife of 42 years, has persuaded me to eat. Their hospitality is overwhelming. Richard is, in the truest sense of the word, a good ole boy. He’s the current Chairman of Tennessee’s Board of Parole. He served as Sevier County’s House Representative from 2008-2012, & for eighteen years prior to that, proudly chaired Sevier County’s Board of Education. Richard is an institution in this part of the world, & chances are you’ve been in his presence at some point or another, if you ever attend any local fundraisers or social events. He’s an important voice for the local people & always has an ear for anyone who stops him. And boy, do people stop him. Bob’s Mountaineer Restaurant, that once anchored Seymour on its north side, was more a political gathering place…
I realize the picture is a wee bit weird, but I admire the symmetry. Here’s the thing about the ocean: It’s weird. There’s slime, and seaweed, and sticks, and fish that nibble at your toes. Not to mention all manner of man-made trash that washes up. The difference is, in the Gulf you can actually SEE what’s touching you, rubbing against your leg. Whereas in the Atlantic, you just visualise the worst & hope that if it is death coming for you, he’ll make it snappy. I had seaweed & God-knows-what-else tangled in my hair every day this week, but I just pretended I was a mermaid & went on. The waves knocked me down, flipped me upside down, drove me to my knees and skidded my elbows across the gritty sand. I got back up for more, pushing my seaweed infested hair out of my eyes, snorting and snotting from the salt in my eyes and up my nose, making them water and burn. It was a constant struggle against the current, fighting the waves crashing into me. They fizzle out but there’s more behind it. Sure, you can stay in the shallows where the danger is minimal, but why would you want to? Where’s the fun & adventure in that? It’s a battle I will never win, me against the pull of the moon. Something drives…
I had two write two mock ups as an interview of sorts when I thought I was going to take a paid writing job for a magazine. The people are real, the names and story are not. I wrote it without ever visiting their home. Driving up a residential, slightly sloped, tree lined street, sprinklers whir behind black fences on immaculate lawns leading to large brick homes. You can picture the inhabitants: petite blonde women compensating with 4″ heels, rushing to get out the door, briefcases under their arm, packed with papers. Their husbands stand over the sink slurping the last dregs of coffee from a mug they got at their last conference with the Wall Steet Journal quartered in their hands. The house is quiet, apart from the clattering the missus makes on her way through the foyer, adjusting her scarf where it is tangled in an earring. But step inside THIS one, & you’ll find quite a different scenario. Meet the Millers. Hubert is an investment banker, & he’s sprawled across the polished hardwood in his sock feet playing with his daughter, Hazel. She’s a very proud two & a half. Don’t forget the half. The other little one is Magnolia, who’s busy modeling her brand new LL Bean backpack. It’s monogrammed, not for stature, but so it doesn’t get confused with anyone else’s. She shows it to…
Is there a YouTube video for my life? Because I have to refer to them for so many other things (sd card, most recently). How did we make it before? Oh yeah, instruction manuals. It doesn’t help that I spend way too much time online, anyway. I logged into etsy last night to check the shipping status of something I ordered & thirty minutes later found myself looking at wind chimes made of spoons etched into fish shapes. ??? Why? I hate wind chimes & have no covered porch to hang them from if I did like them. “The amazing thing about jellyfish is they eat, poop, & procreate from the same orifice.” While at Food City… “Ma’am? Did you buy coffee & Oreos?” I barely refrained from sticking my hand out & saying, “Hi, I’m Amy. We’ve never met.”…
Aren’t my tomatoes beautiful? They’ve had a hard life. After selection, they got sqooshed down in my buggy, then repacked on top by the cashier. While I was wheeling my cart across the main thoroughfare in front of Sam’s, they took a plunge off the front end and were scrambling in all directions like escaped convicts from Brushy Mountain. I just stood there and watched it happen and eventually threw a hand to my forehead, the very picture of Southern Damsel in Distress Mode. A gentleman in overalls assisted me in the round up of scattered orbs. Little troublemakers. I’m gonna devour them with much more zeal now…
According to some, I’ve lead a semi-charmed life. And I’m sure compared to others, that’s true. But lemme tell you something. I cry at the drop of a hat. I cry when I’m sad, when I’m angry, when someone else is crying, when I’m happy, when I stump my toe. I’ve cried like no other for the past week. I told Johnny I understand now why depressed people have a hard time. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous I sound, I don’t have problems. I have options. But you get on a crying jag, your eyes swell, it wears you down, you can’t concentrate, your head pounds, & then there you are. The next day, you aim to feel better & more at peace, but you’re still all screwed up from the previous day. It’s a vicious cycle! I’m so glad I didn’t have a lot to cry about because I would have never dug my way out from that black hole. So today, I wanted to use up my HSA money before I lose it. Don’t judge, you’d do the same thing. I’ve been meaning to get to the eye doctor, but that’s about as much fun as laying on an anthill while eating a popsicle & letting whatever happens happen. But…
