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Amy
Guess what? No, I didn’t hit the lottery. Y’all goobers really think I’d post it like this? No. You’d see a picture of me with my toes in the sand & a drink my hand. Guess what? Guess who your newest blogger for Sevier County Public Library System is? ME!!!! *picture me holding my arms out, head tilted towards the sun that is shining directly on me, much like a spotlight, eyes squinched shut, spinning* Miss Rhonda pitched a reading challenge at me last week & it was 40 books. Combined with our one a month for book club, that makes 52, which is perfect because my goal is one a week. So she said since I basically write a review on Goodreads anyway, would I care if they shared it on the library’s media sites? Well, heck no!!! So, that’s the gist of it. The way I understood it, anyway. Follow me! Follow me! I’ll be harping along as usual. P.s. Coming home tonight, I stopped for supper to bring home. Most women my age have children, & when traveling, if they have to slam on the brakes, they instinctively reach an arm across their kid’s chest. You know, like a backup seatbelt. Me, I sling an arm across my bag of food to prevent it from hitting the floor. Priorities…
I hear songs in my head all the time. I’m sure many of you do. Different circumstances provoke a line or two. If in conversation someone says a familiar phrase, it’s sure to remind me of some song that was popular ten or twenty years ago. For instance, Yankee & I were standing at the counter several weeks ago, & one of our regulars walks up with a part in his hand. We both greet him & reach for it simultaneously. He waffles between us, shuffling from one foot to the other, indecisive. “I guess I’m just gonna dance,” he laughs at himself. “You can dance if you want to,” Yanked tells him innocently. She’s only 21. Me, on the other hand…I immediately burst into song. “You can leave your friends behind. Cause if your friends don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine,” I sang, hopping around in accompaniment. (Sometimes you get more than you were shopping for at the Co-op. Sometimes you get a song AND dance for FREE). Anyway, I haven’t worn my wedding rings all week, except for a few hours yesterday, & my ring finger still has a smooth, pinkish colored indention. They’re not too small, they’re just snug enough not to slip off when my hands are wet. I guess it’s just because I…
Day 11: Your Current Relationship. If Single; Discuss That Too I check the status box that says Married. Finally. I mean, 33 isn’t exactly old maid age in the grand scheme of things, but in the South you might as well be dead & buried. I won’t bore you to tears with “our story” But here’s the high points: • It was love at first sight for me. He came in to buy dog food & I was smitten • Our first date he picked up hitchhikers who were hiking the AT & we dropped them off in Gatlinburg Then we went hiking (no makeup, no painful shoes, no fancy clothes= AWESOME) & to Texas Roadhouse, where I told him that if he was expecting me to be the type of girl who orders a salad, he was severely mistaken. I ordered barbeque chicken • I don’t call him Shug because he’s sweet. It’s a brand of chardonnay. • When I was losing my mind over all the wedding details, he didn’t understand what the big deal was. His exact words: “Just find you a dress, & get your girls, & we’ll find someplace to get married. It ain’t no big deal.” Which really caused me to go ballistic. • My family likes him better than they like me. My uncle says if I divorce him, he’s welcome to come live at his house. He can have the whole downstairs. Uncle Dale refers to him…
I used to really like shopping. It didn’t matter what for… shoes, fishing tackle, rugs, groceries, books, shirts, horse tack, whatever. But that all changed a few years ago. I can’t really pinpoint when it was, but now if I can’t get it from Co-op or Sam’s Club, it comes from Amazon. I just don’t do crowds or digging through crap. But in 2012, when I was shopping for bridesmaid gifts, I wanted to get each of my girls a present that was as individual as they were. No matchy-matchy necklaces for them. This proved to be no small feat. I was in downtown Sevierville, I think on my way back from the post office, when the cute little boutique in the old white farmhouse caught my eye. I’d been meaning to stop since it was the Common Good but just never got around to it. I was down to the last few days before the wedding and grasping at straws for a few of my girls. I had nothing to lose. I whipped in. I opened the back door hesitantly. “Welcome to Loralei’s!” A red haired girl behind the counter greeted me warmly. I returned her smile. Before I could help myself, I was telling her how I’d thought about stopping a hundred times but never had an opportunity. I was gazing at all the shiny baubles that…
We all serve a purpose. For some of us, it’s something dignified, like, you’re the voice of reason in a family crisis. You don’t take sides. Or you’re the one who gives out advice on retirement in your family without having to consult the aloof bank people. Or you’re a healer of sorts, with your special teas and ointments. Whatever it may be. For ages, people called me when they saw horse loose within a ten mile radius of my house. Everybody knew I had horses because I was forever out front riding them. Those days, for the most part, have passed. Then came the confusing phone calls from friends who had too much to drink and knew I was home, sober, tight in my bed, because I had a job that required my presence early in the morning. I was the responsible, dependable one for a long time. Then came the calls that I was paid to take, not really expected, mind you, but the ones with true emergencies: car wrecks, fires, seizures. Lord, at the seizures. I had a friend who called me once, freaking out because her baby was coming early. I was at a loss, no checklist chart in front of me, instead, enjoying a sunny summer afternoon tending my flowerbeds. But I got her through it, talked her down as she drove her panicked self to the hospital. Not two years…
December 7th, 2015 A much different day than December 7th, 1941. As I type this, I hear the distinct hum of an airplane flying over my house. That’s a bit unnerving. I’ll admit, growing up, Pearl Harbor Day was just another bit of history, another date I was supposed to remember & give observance to. Like Columbus Day, or Washington’s birthday. But, September 11th, 2001 changed the way I feel about it. I was 22 years old & hadn’t seen much of life. I certainly hadn’t known fear of flying or traveling in general. I hadn’t been scared to drive home, afraid of what I might see, or what I could run into. I hadn’t ever wanted to stay at work, to simply be in the company of other familiar people before. I hadn’t ever wanted to watch the news to learn of something beyond my line of vision, to prepare myself for the evil that was no longer lurking, but actively seeking to destroy life as we knew it. 1941 was 38 years before I was born. So it’s sometimes hard to understand why we should hold this day in reverence. But then I think of September 11th & remember. And I think to all the people I know, that were alive on that day we were attacked, but how few memories they retain. My primary emotion when…
December 7th, 2015 A much different day than December 7th, 1941. As I type this, I hear the distinct hum of an airplane flying over my house. That’s a bit unnerving. I’ll admit, growing up, Pearl Harbor Day was just another bit of history, another date I was supposed to remember & give observance to. Like Columbus Day, or Washington’s birthday. But, September 11th, 2001 changed the way I feel about it. I was 22 years old & hadn’t seen much of life. I certainly hadn’t known fear of flying or traveling in general. I hadn’t been scared to drive home, afraid of what I might see, or what I could run into. I hadn’t ever wanted to stay at work, to simply be in the company of other familiar people before. I hadn’t ever wanted to watch the news to learn of something beyond my line of vision, to prepare myself for the evil that was no longer lurking, but actively seeking to destroy life as we knew it. 1941 was 38 years before I was born. So it’s sometimes hard to understand why we should hold this day in reverence. But then I think of September 11th & remember. And I think to all the people I know, that were alive on that day we were attacked, but how few memories they retain. My primary emotion when thinking back on…
Our big shindig for the Co-op was last night. We’re a pretty mild sort, but we always manage to have a good time. I really wasn’t sold on going this year, as it was on my day off & I like to hermit up, but J enjoys it more than me. He says we’re “a good crowd”. He doesn’t see everybody daily like I do, so I put our names on the list. Just about everyone always shows up. And we all try to dress up, even if it’s just our best boots, jeans, & a button up or sweater. Last night was no exception. In the past, we’ve had our picture taken (by yours truly) in front of the Christmas tree wherever we were, played a game, sang a song, or just had general merriment & fellowship. We have had our annual get together in several locations over the years, from the back room at Golden Corral, to Cowboys on the lake, to the Legion building, to River Plantation’s meeting hall, to right here at the Co-op. We’ve been so poor some years that the Christmas dinner has been a potluck. And that’s ok. The food isn’t what’s important. The catching up with your coworkers about non-related Co-op stuff is what counts. And to see their families growing. I remember the year of our renovation; we didn’t really even have a Christmas…
The big tree is standing proud at the Johnson Plantation. So far, it has only been bedecked with 1,000 lights. I’m thinking it looks pretty good & that might be all that happens to it. Kidding! Sort of. Here’s how it happens every year: Me: “Are we doing a live tree or a fake one this year?” J: “I like the live ones. Don’t you?” Me: “Yes. Can we go cut one down at Hal’s?” J: “Why can’t we just get one from the store?” Me: “Because it will be fun to go cut one down.” Silence. He wears me down over the next few days & I start scrutinizing the ones at the store, & he comes by to pick up my selection. I always have eyeballed the biggest, tallest, fluffiest one that’s still under 12′. “That’s huge!” “No, it’s not! It’s perfect.” Then he calls me Clark & tries to steer me toward the piddly 5-footers. Eventually we compromise & get a very full 7′ one. And I come home & it’s all set up & ready to decorate. And I put on It’s a Wonderful Life or Home Alone or National Lampoon’s & get to it…
A new white F250 pulls up to the front doors. I get excited like a puppy. “Is that Shannon? Do you think he brought me food?” Shannon is a horse customer of mine who hails from New Orleans. He is an amazing cook of all things Cajun & occasionally brings me treats. “No, he’s wearing a cowboy hat, it’s not Shannon.” Another one of my regulars comes through the door. “I like your brush guard,” I tell him, then realize how ridiculous this would sound at any other job/ store. So I had to share. You can giggle, ‘s alright…
