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Amy
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…
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…
