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Amy
A few days ago a friend posted about being at the vet’s office with her pet. In the waiting room, there was another lady with her pet…and three unruly children. She had shushed them several times as they made a ruckus & eventually took them out to her vehicle to watch a movie while they waited on results . Essentially, bribing them to be good for the duration of the visit, & rewarding them for their already abysmal behavior. These children were reportedly of an age to know how to act. When the vet had to go outside & summon them, the noise from inside the room where they gathered was loud, as the mother continued to shush them to no avail, while she tried to speak with the vet about their dog or whatever. The friend ended by saying she knows what would have happened to her if she’d acted this way- a busted hind end. Same here. The comments on this post were immediate. Mothers weighed in saying they sympathized with the woman having to wrestle with three little ones & a dog in a strange environment. Another said for important chores she enlisted a baby sitter for them. Well. Here’s my theory. And I know my opinion doesn’t matter, because I have no children. But before you get all huffy, hear me out. Children are spoiled. When I was little (and yes, there was only one of me…
“You know, you call a local store hunting a part for a lawnmower, & you expect to get a local person,” Crapbag is saying to me. Co-op, Wayne Blalock’s, & Cash Hardware are all closed today, so I’m not sure who he’s referring to, but I play along. “Oh yeah?” “And guess what I get? A damn Yankee!” He spits. He then chuckles without mirth. (Mirthlessly, it turns out, is not a word.) “I’m not sure he’s ever even laid eyes on a lawnmower, let alone sold a part to one.” The problem is, of course, he can’t wait for me to go to Coop tomorrow & pick up this wheel thingie. Must. Have. It. Now. He goes on to describe the entire conversation. I will spare you the details. Don’t ever say I lack compassion. It involves Home Depot. “So, do they have one or do you not know any more than you did before you called?” “I don’t know any more than I did before I called.” He’s looking online. “Yeah, here it is. And they’ve got one.” “You wanna run by there before we go to the hospital?” He blinks at me. “To Sevierville?” My turn to blink. “Oh, well, check Knoxville.” “Where’s…
I’m going to tell you a story. When my friend and I went to Jonesborough a few weeks ago, we were on our way back to Sevier County but I hadn’t quite satisfied my antique foraging itch. I was keeping my eyes peeled for the places along the road I had noticed on the drive in. I finally spotted the one I wanted–a white, well kept farmhouse. Sometimes with these places you just can’t tell. They look almost abandoned, & like spiders would be crawling just beyond your hand when reaching for something that caught your eye. But not this one. This building set off the divided highway just a bit, just enough to be private, & had a red metal sign –the kind that would creak a bit when there was wind–out by the road proclaiming, simply, “Antiques”. There was no wind that day, & the sign was silent. We traveled up the gravel road, split by a strip of cropped green grass, until we stopped at the end near the house. There was a massive, weathered barn to our left, on a little hill. A knoll. Another “Antiques” sign stood near the gray board barn. A small “Antiques” sign, up against the house, next to an obvious addition. A concrete walkway met us in the driveway that led to the shop. We followed it. Around the door, there were several placards…
I was waiting on the wife of one of my regular customers today. She’s always super sweet, & I’m invariably glad to see her. “Yankee,” I began, “her daddy was one of my regulars when I first started working down here. I didn’t know what to think of him. He used to say, ‘who’s your momma?’ All the time & tell me when I got married I was gonna hafta wash the skidmarks out of my husband’s drawers!” Yankee’s eyes got rounder. Clearly, she wouldn’t have known how to take him, either. I smiled at Miss Tammy, his daughter. “But I came to love him. He was a nice man.” She nodded. “Daddy was. I remember too, you & another girl from down here came to his funeral.” I paused. I had forgotten about that. “Yeah, me & Skeeter came. It was probably the first funeral I attended on my own.” (Meaning, without my family) I recall Shanea & I talking ourselves into going. We felt that we needed to. “My husband says I go to more funerals than anybody he knows,” I told Tammy. “But he understands now that my customers are like my family… They’ve seen me grow up, in a way. I don’t necessarily like to go, but I need to.” “…
I have just come from yet another funeral. Now this one was a little different. It was like others in the respect that the deceased was a senior citizen, and someone I knew through work, and there was no shortage of familiar faces paying respects. The difference was, I stood in line sniggering the whole time. I couldn’t help it. And yes, there’s a difference between snickering & sniggering. Snickering is when you’re laughing with somebody about something (or someone) but you’re trying not to. Sniggering is lower in the gut & deeper & knowing you shouldn’t be laughing & trying to stop. I thankfully got to Tuletta quickly & apologized, I didn’t mean any disrespect. I COULDN’T HELP IT. Tuletta’s mother was one of the biggest practical jokesters I’ve ever met & every picture they showed of her you could tell she was into some sort of trickery or meanness. Bows on her head, britchie leg yanked up, fluttering eyelashes behind Greta Garbo sunglasses. I kept getting tickled. The pictures made me think of my own memories…she was one of those ladies who carried her possessions in her bra. She’d embarrass Tuletta to death when they’d stop to get a biscuit before work & Hazel would whip out a roll of money from her cleavage. Tuletta was always afraid she’d go to diggin…
Talking with a friend today about this lady we know of who recently took her life. I asked what she did for a living because some careers have a high suicide rate. He didn’t know, but asked me if I’d looked her up on Facebook. I hadn’t. “She looks….kinda…different. Like a writer. You know?” I thought immediately of my hair, springing out all over my head in 16 million directions. I thought of my eyeliner, that I’ve never managed to conquer, and even if it looks decent when I leave the house manages to be smudged by the time I get to work. I thought of my glasses, that are perpetually spotted from who knows what. I thought of my clothes, how some days my pants are dragging the ground or my socks are inside out or I’ve wound up wearing two different shoes. Or earrings. “Yes, I know,” I replied dryly, flipping my hand to indicate my current appearance. “WAS she a writer?” “Well, no,” he backpedaled. “Well, I don’t think so. But, like, she just looked…I can’t put it in words.” “Unkept?” “No. Just…plain, I guess. Maybe homely.” “Was she a poet?” “No, I don’t think so.” “Because poets are tortured, you know.” He…
Sometimes you meet people & think, “Wow. They are so nice. I could never be that good hearted.” This also brings to mind the saying, “Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” That sums up my step dad. He is humble, soft spoken, & good natured. He is gentle, kind, & loving. Not at all like me or the woman he married!!! I still can’t believe our good fortune! Haha. Now, he’s not perfect. He’s slow as molasses in January…slow as Christmas…slow as a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter…but good things come to those who wait! Love ya Scott. Happy Fathers Day. Happy Fathers Day to all the DADS out there. Happy Fathers day to the MOMS who have to be both. Happy Fathers Day to all the men who helped me grow: Uncle Dale, who patiently explained to me about fish guts & species of trees, Carroll Adams who claims me as his, Richard Montgomery for not killing me & Megan when we used his golf balls for creative purposes…and stole his convertible Mercedes to drive to a class in Morristown…and the old gentlemen I’ve met at work who counsel me day to day. There are many. And Johnny, who’s a disciplinarian to our naughty naughty dogs. Lol. I’m also thinking and praying for the fathers overseas who would like more than…
Today, this woman walks up to the counter & asks for someone to help her with fencing. She gestures vaguely. Whitney & I are standing there, & I let her take point most of the time because it’s good for her to learn & I’m right there if she does need help. Whitney says, “Okay. Whatcha need?” Standard reply for any of us. The woman gets a sharper tone. “I need help with fencing.” Whitney hesitates. I look up. She is a replica of Peach in Lonesome Dove, bonnet, red-faced demeanor, plumpness, & all. My mouth drops, but I recover. “Yes, ma’am, we’ll be glad to help you. But are you building a fence? Do you need pricing on barbed wire or vinyl or wooden…???” She sighs like we are her cross to bear. “I need help BACK HERE with your fencing, I want to get some sticks out of the ground,” she enunciated each word clearly as if I were a stupid hillbilly. Not appreciated. But I had time on my hands, as it were, & could humor this…old wet hen. Normally I would call for one of the guys but decided I could handle this swiftly. (Plus they were all at lunch). I followed her back to the wall where we have a few pieces displayed. Most of the stuff is in the warehouse, & in order…
So, yesterday I got to go back in time AND be a snake. I don’t mean I was a snake in a past life. And I know you know I’m scared of snakes. But it was really a good time. The good thing about having the same job for so long is I travel in the same circles & get to know a lot of people. So when I go to meetings, I see at least one familiar face. This is both a blessing and a curse, because I’m comfortable enough to chat with people, but also, I get called on a lot & made an example of, because the speakers know me by name. As was the case yesterday. Minor, Whit, & I went to a meeting in Morristown to learn about sales skills from Purina. You may not know it, but Minor & I go way back. To Walters State. Like, twenty years we’ve known each other. There’s another girl in the Co-op system we went to college with, Mandy Hicks. And Mandy was at this particular meeting, too. You know how it is when you get around people you’ve known that long. You regress to the good ole days, & reminisce about that time in your life. It’s a great deal of fun catching up. And the three of us haven’t been to a meeting together in a long, long…
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple. The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures. As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn. The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud. This family was loved…
