I feel like I have done nothing but eavesdrop on people today. And it’s highly entertaining. First was at the bar at Firebirds. You wouldn’t believe the things people tell bartenders. Or each other at the bar. And just when it was getting good this dude sits down next to me hacking his guts out and I’m immediately disgusted. So his wife was already sitting there and had eaten and evidently he’d had a job interview at the restaurant. Not for the restaurant. I understood it to be an acting job, but I’m not sure. He’d ordered steak and dessert. She said, “Were you not planning on introducing me?” And he’s like, “No, should I have?” Which I’m kinda like him, why would he? That’s kinda weird. And why did she bring him, anyway? Can he not drive? She says something about she should have gone over and given him a kiss. In the meantime, he’s still coughing very vehemently and I’m thoroughly and visibly repulsed and thinking of moving down a stool but that would put me next to another character that I wasn’t sure about. I was stuck between a cougher and a thug. And the bartender, her name was Amy, too, had enough on her plate without me playing musical chairs. She’d already forgot my water twice. And we’re not gonna talk about how long it took me to get my food or my ticket, but I wasn’t in any great big hurry, so what did I care? All I can figure is the interviewer was a female and the wife was jealous.
Anyway, turns out the cougher and his wife had been at the HOSPITAL this morning. I kept inching further away and kept my head turned but I’m sure all the people staring were seeing me snarl my nose. Why was this man out in public? Shoo Lort. I wanted to ask for Clorox wipes when they finally left for Trader Joe’s to get apple juice.
The man and wife across the bar were semi regulars. He ordered a shot of some special Don Julio and they made sure everybody in the bar knew exactly how expensive it is. I also learned her mother had recently died, but I missed from what ailment, and that her crab cakes were so wonderful, even better than the ones she makes at home from stone crab claws she gets from The Shrimp Dock for some exorbitant price. But she wasn’t able to eat much due to her hiatal hernia, that she wasn’t going to have surgery on because of the side effects.
I’m telling you, it would be exhausting being a bartender. Or a hairdresser.
I visited the powder room before I left and there was a little old lady in there unfamiliar with how the doors worked. They had the red/green visible lock mechanism like on an airplane (or at Buc-Cees) and I started to go in the one that was unlocked when she informed me she’d been waiting. I asked her if there was something wrong with that one. No, she didn’t know it was available. So I helped her with that, and I hear her in there talking. The other one became available. I do my business and come out to wash my hands and the lady who’d been in my stall previously was evidently with the lady I had helped. They looked to be about the same age (late sixties), and fairly well to do, judging by their dress. But then I had to help my new friend with the water faucets and lining her hands up with the sensors to make the water come out. It was all very confusing what purpose her friend served, since I was the one in my teaching element to a stranger. I told them to have a nice day. I probably should have been them good luck. Who knows what modern technology would baffle them on their next stop.
Then it was off to the Nissan Dealership for the dreaded oil change. They’re revamping the showroom and service center, and I will admit it does look much nicer. It was in need of a facelift. There was a glass cube occupied by only one couple, and the lobby area was bustling, so I made for the cube. The couple were probably mid-fifties and the woman couldn’t hear it thunder. Her husband was trying to talk to her and she kept saying “huh?” I know some people develop this habit but I truly believe she was deaf as a Dalmatian. And she kept looking at her phone. I thought he was gonna strangle her, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him. He was carrying a backpack but never opened it. It may have been his go bag. If so, I admire his dedication to carrying it on his person. At one point, when he appeared close to explosion, he got up and left the cube. I don’t think his wife noticed. That’s when I began writing this. They were there for something other than brakes, but her brakes needed replaced, too.
Then a little old white haired lady came in with whom I suspected was her daughter. The white haired lady was complaining about the taste of the coffee. The daughter asked if she didn’t put any sugar in it or doctor it up with creamer. I didn’t hear the reply. She may have just shaken her head. A few minutes later she made another derogatory comment about the state of her beverage and the daughter exploded, “well, go pour it out!”
Laws. Y’all see why I travel alone? Nowhere is safe.
My car was ready in no time, and unlike last time, where I was presented with a list of things it was due for, this time I was told everything looked great, including my tires, which I had been agonizing over. So somebody’s trying to hoodoo me. This guy wasn’t too keen on my coupon but I pretty much forced him into taking it. I think I’m gonna just let Richard at the Co-op do it next time.
Went by John Alan’s after to do some drinkin’ thinkin’. I should have just went on to White Pine for the book satchels, but that gives me a reason to get out next week sometime, I reckon. I also didn’t make it by Trader Joe’s, but that was by design. I was afraid of running into Ol’ Whooping Cough and jealous wife.
Traffic was horrendous all day, from Boyd’s Creek to West Knoxville. I had to go get my glasses adjusted (me: “I’m sorry. I’m sure it would help you if I could tell you exactly what’s wrong with them, but all I know is they ain’t fittin’ right.”)
And I had some dude in my front yard this morning taking pictures and so here I go to confront him. I feel certain I was quite the vision, with my unwashed hair in a knot on my head and tromping across the field in my oldest jeans and tennis shoes.
Me: “Hi.”
Him, speculatively: “Hi….??”
Me, instantly irritated because he thinks it’s strange I’m approaching him on my property where he was taking pictures. Vest or not, that don’t mean squat and you have no right. “Who are you?”
Him: *supplies me with his name, which I couldn’t tell you for a million dollars. Does not tell me the name of his company.
Me: “And what are you doing?”
Him: some crap about fiber optic installation on light poles
Me, appraising: “I thought fiber optics were underground.”
Him: “not always.”
Me: “well, I noticed your vest but I didn’t see a work vehicle and I don’t particularly care for people taking pictures on my property uninvited.”
Him: “I understand. They dropped me off and went to pick up the other guy.”
Me: “Yeah, I just saw them go by when I was walking down here to you.”
Him: staring like, “will there be any further interrogation, Medusa?”
Me: “ok, have a nice day.”
Him: “You too….”
I go back to my dog, who was patiently waiting at the gate, appearing relieved that he did the right thing by barking for once.
It’s always the right thing. Because if it’s deer, I wanna see them, too. If it’s a person who doesn’t belong, I definitely need to see them.
I guess I’m a little leery and suspicious, but if I’ve got something worth protecting I intend to defend it, whether it be my personal property, my life, my friends and family, my dog, or just my heart. It’s mine, and I won’t relinquish it until you prove your worth. It may not mean much to you, but to me it’s everything and it was won by hard work and perseverance.
Love from two couch taters,
~Amy
Well, here we are. Or, rather, here I am, since it’s just me. There is no we. Unless I count y’all, which I guess I should, since you’re reading.
Another weekend gone, but I get a bonus day, so that only means I procrastinated from Saturday what I will now need to do tomorrow. Namely, an oil change. I’m gonna make it worthwhile, though, and treat myself to lunch somewhere good.
So I come to you tonight, begging grace and forgiveness, because I’m afraid y’all are gonna revoke my Southerner card. Because, look here now, I made instant potatoes.
And they were goooooo-ooooood. I’ve got no lies to tell. They’re already on my list for next time. Why did I ever spend time peeling, washing, boiling, draining, mashing, seasoning, and working in butter and milk for *real* mashed potatoes? For just me? These are real, too, it says so right on the bag. And they took maybe five minutes.
I really don’t know what else to report on. I have got to finish my book tonight, it goes back tomorrow. White Noise, if you’re interested, by Don Dellio or something like that. I’m too lazy to look. I’m sure I’ve got the spelling close enough and you could find it. Lester recommended it and I liked it at first but now it’s just weird. I’m at 83% and truly nothing much has happened. It’s a National Book Award winner, so I should have known better. I swore off those back in 2015 because every one I picked up sucked. But it was too late for this one, I was already several chapters in when I realized it and I thought it was gonna be different. It is not. But I’m this far, and I’ve only finished one book this year 😳. They’re all just dragging on with me. I used to read two or three a week. No longer. It’s more like one a month. I don’t know what my major malfunction is, as Cynthia would say.
I could eat something but nothing too big. I had an early supper and now here it is, 9:30, and I’m wishing for like, a tiny taco or two. Maybe some guac. Better to go to bed slightly hungry than overly full, I suppose. I did pilfer a slice of bacon bound for for bacon bits, three grapes past their prime, and two buffalo crackers. We’ll say it was a personal charcuterie. I was too shiftless to carve me off a chunk of cheese.
I wanted to write a poem, but poems are a little tricky. It’s about a girl, in love with a guy, but of course he’s the wrong guy and he knows it but she doesn’t.
I can see
From the outside in
Knowing him
He will break you
Effortlessly
Do not love him
The less attention you give
Is better
Run free while you can
He is not the one
He forgets you exist
Do you not see
He does not think of you
He will not help you
He does not care
Callous
Already tired of your adoration
He is that way
You will never be
Young enough
Pretty enough
Strong enough
Tall enough
Worthy
In his eyes
Don’t bother
He wants one
To do it all
Welcome to the show
Now stand back and applaud
And try not to get run over
As he steps off the stage
All smiles
For the bigger
More important
More lucrative
Fans
He twirls his cape
Elvis in his mind
A legend
And you are not even Priscilla
And why would you want to be
I have GOT to finish this book.
Goodnight (or maybe good morning) from Appalachia,
~Amy
Good evening. Or good morning, I suppose, if you’re reading this tomorrow. Or maybe it’s good afternoon. Whatever you please.
A simple hello would have sufficed, but I now have all that typed and I’m not erasing it. I really just wanted to jump in with what I’m wanting to ask y’all, but I’m constantly reminding my coworkers of Teams etiquette and so I felt I should practice what I preach.
Whew. Now that all that is out of the way, even though I’m not following Southern protocols and asking after your health, and how your momma’s doin’, and how the kids are coming along and if little Suzy is going out for soccer this spring…isn’t that the trending sport these days? Soccer? I just wanted to ask y’all if someone would please tell me with Bath & Body Works puts their 3-wick candles on sale. Because I’m not sure if the online store follows the same sales as brick and mortars. And I sure as shit ain’t driving to Five Oaks once a week to check it out in person. Although I do need to go in Clarks. My black flip flops will not live to see another season.
I made a balsamic roast in the crock pot today. It smelled so very delicious cooking. That is the trouble with cooking in crock pots while at home. I feel sorry for my dogs over the years.
It’s been an altogether pleasant day, which is more than I can say for the poor lady who wrecked in the curve in front of my house this morning. I hope she’s going to be alright. Her car was totally demolished. I heard a big crash and knew instantly what it was, but I was watching traffic and three or four cars from each direction kept whizzing by so I figured somebody had merely run out of the road and took out Jenkins’ mailbox and nothing was worse for the wear. Except, of course, the mailbox, but he’s designed a breakaway style, so usually it’s just a matter of collecting it, knocking a dent or two out, and tamping the post back upright. But not too set. You know, to prepare for the next time. But anyway, this Mustang came down the road, acting like they were making their mind up whether to stop, and they did, in my aunt’s driveway, and two guys got out and ran through our yard and just past where I couldn’t see. Then my phone rang. It was my aunt, checking on the commotion. I watched someone pacing in the road, on the phone, and other cars stopping. I decided I probably needed to go check it out when one of the concerned citizens went to frantically ringing the dinner bell at my neighbors. I haven’t really gotten excited about a wreck out here in eons, because people were constantly wrecking when I was growing up. Our curve wasn’t banked right, and also the asphalt wasn’t roughed up like it is now, so when it rained it was just a free for all. Who needs NASCAR? Once, we were sitting on the porch, probably breaking beans (I feel like 90% of porch time was spent breaking beans. That’s why I go out there and loaf, now. It’s seen its share of hard labor). Anyway, we were sitting on the porch, and this car lost control, and went all the way through the front field where the garden was and never let out. Can you imagine? People were heathens back then, too. Of course, it was the eighties…..But by-passers weren’t stopping today because it was hard to see her the way the car had landed.
I still haven’t watched the Super Bowl halftime show, nor have I hunted up the Budweiser commercial, which is honestly all I care about. I ain’t done much of nothin’, besides cook and wash dishes today. I’m glad nobody relies on me for much of anything. They’d be hurtin’. I did vacuum dog hair, but that goes without saying. It’s a daily battle.
Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life. I spent so many nights out in my twenties I guess I thought that’s how I’d always be. But I truly have zero desire. I’m quite content right here. Although I do wish Chester would give me a little more room on the couch. This dog really pushes his luck sometimes 😉
A three day weekend that’s only a third of the way in. It stretches before me, limitless. And I’ll probably spend it right here. Wait. Ugh. Oil change. I have to go do it. Monday’s problem, it appears. And I do wanna go to White Pine and get this book bag.
The shop owner is catching some flack over it and she’s basically told them to bugger off, which I love. So I absolutely have to show support. Prolly get Lisa one, too.
I guess that’s it for today. All you people who have mistakenly thought I had some big exciting life are finding out much different, aren’t you?
Read something good that isn’t on your phone. Oh! I’ll tell you- I read Shania Twain’s story today and it’s fascinating and repulsive and I have a much greater respect for her now. I also read a bit about Mindy McCready, which is how I ended up reading about Shania and my LANDS what a train wreck. Sounds like she got it honest from her momma, though. Anyway, check those out if you can’t find anything else.
Love and dogs who defy personal space from Appalachia,
~Amy
Do not let these warm sunny days
Of February
Trick you
It is not summer
It is not yet spring
My summer was filled with
Three trips
To two different rivers
Where I did not fish
Sunflowers & morning glories
Beer drank in the barn hall
Over tears
And sleepless evenings
Endless conversations
With friends I thought
I already knew
But raw with emotion
One relaxing day on the lake
Poetry
And looking at the stars
Because I couldn’t hold it in
Fire trucks at the fair
As we posed in our tiaras
There was coffee cornhole charcuterie and caves
There were plenty of laughs
And some really big surprises
Summer was perfect as usual
And unforgettable
So February needs to get in line
And be winter
Because I want more cozy days
Before I’m a sweaty mess
On a sweltering day
Parked directly over the air conditioner
Set on 65
I want to eat more chili and soup
And roasts and meatloaf
Before I turn to salads and avocados
And ice cream
I want time spent curled in my blanket
With a book on my lap
And a candle flickering
And the wind howling beyond my windows
February should be itself
Everything else is taken
Just like you
To blog or not to blog…there is no question.
The question is what am I gonna write about? This was so far removed from my brain today, when someone asked me this evening what I was gonna blog about, I almost answered, “what blog?” At least, I don’t think I did.
So I could tell you about how I’m a snob. No, really. People truly think that. And I guess I am. I don’t go out of my way to talk to strangers (I just hug them). I am not going to tell you how I adore your {clothes/ shoes/ hair/ eye makeup/ jewelry/ food/ house/ car} to make you like me. You know people do that, don’t you? They’ll just gush and flatter and go on to make you feel good about yourself but it’s all hogwash. I will tell you if I truly do like whatever it is. I’m also a snob about quality. I don’t want cheap toilet paper, Kleenex, or paper towels. I guess I’m a snob about paper products. Funnily enough, I don’t like eating off paper plates 🤔 I mean, I get it, for cooking out and you’ve got a passel of drunks in your backyard plus you don’t wanna do a bunch of dishes. Or if I make a sandwich or get pizza, a paper plate is fine. But if I’m eating a meal- meat and three sides- I want an honest-to-goodness plate. I guess it’s because I never had kids. Kids break stuff.
Speaking of food, I have eaten all day but I’m still thinking I could eat a little something else 😏 I had my oatmeal this morning for breakfast. Then my strawberries had ripened sufficiently so I dipped them in white chocolate and had to sample a few to make sure I was doing it right 😉 then I had a meatball sub for lunch…then I had a whole bunch of white chocolate strawberries…then I came home and ate my leftovers from last night…and a great big Honeycrisp apple…then some club crackers with cheese. I mean…..it was primarily fruit…you can’t really get full on chocolate covered strawberries. You can about make yourself sick, but you still ain’t full. That’s some wisdom from Amy, right there.
Chester woke me up sometime after one last night with a Level II Bark. Level II usually garners my attention enough for me to come check things out but I was so warm and cozy and sleeping so very well. I listened intently for sounds of robbers. If I played my cards right I wouldn’t have to get out of bed to shoot them….but nah, just coyotes. Sounded like at least two dozen, so there were probably three.
Chester has about five barks. They’re rated the opposite of hurricanes:
Level I: the most intense. This means, “Something bad is going down and I’m gonna take charge of the situation by eating their face off if you don’t get in here.” I’m not sure what actually happens when I’m not home and he barks like this, but it’s mildly frightening to watch when I am. My friend’s dad dropped some papers off the other day. He stuck them inside the screen door. “What kinda dog is ‘at?” He asked me when I got home. “Probably pit and chocolate lab mixed, best anyone figures,” I told him. “Well, all I knew is I wasn’t going in the house!” 🤣🤣🤣 that’s the idea.
Level II: something ain’t exactly right, but it’s probably nothing. But I should probably check.
Level III: Nyla is outside and I must goooooooo frolic with her. Often accompanied by whining.
Level IV: Scott is home.
Level V: I’m actually asleep and dreaming I’m barking.
I am so glad tomorrow is Friday. I get to see Sweet Cynthia and that’s always a treat! She thinks I’m a hoot and a holler.
My friend’s mom called me this afternoon to see if I was going to the forum about the school board. “Nah, I already voted anyway,” I told her. “Oh, and your election was today, wasn’t it?” Me: “No, it was Tuesday.” Her: “I thought today was Tuesday. *sigh* Amy, I’m telling you, I’m not the girl I once was.” I tried not to laugh too hard. I have those days right regular and I’m merely forty something.
I guess I’ve covered all the bases for now. I’ll let ya know if anything transpires. It better not, I am very sleepy. And I need to go to bed before I decide to eat anything else.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
This should be fun, as I am still about 10% lit.
So I was still mildly grumpy this morning: residual from yesterday. I was trying to just live in the moment, as I’m constantly encouraging y’all to do. My commute wasn’t even strenuous; I came right on up the road, jamming to Whiskey Myers. I love me some Whiskey Myers. Anyway, I got situated at work, ate my breakfast, and as it goes, I started to feel altogether better about life. It’s just a matter of prioritizing aggravations where they belong and knocking out chores.
So after awhile I decided to return my steel voting box and see if I could get in to cast my vote in the primary, and even more importantly, the heat for school board. There aren’t many things I like better than voting. And since not a one of y’all jerks brought me cupcakes, I needed a boost. So off I went.
The commission is forever friendly. They didn’t have much going on, and gladly relieved me of my steel box burden. The little feller who showed me to my machine was ever patient and knowledgeable about how to cast my votes. I told him I was very familiar with the process; I vote early and often 🤣 but he was just doing his job, and it’s a lot to memorize, so I let him rattle on. He did ask if I was having a nice Valentines. Sure, buddy.
On my way out, I enlightened the men working the exit proceedings that it is historically bad luck to go out a door you didn’t come in. David McNabb would have fought you over this detail. I didn’t push the issue, but that’s not to say I liked it.
Then, while I was on that end of town, I decided to brave the “little Walmart”. As a rule, I don’t like Walmart, but they are cheaper on vegetables and canned stuff, so I bought a few things. $100 worth of a “few” things 🙄 it sure doesn’t take long. Especially if you have to have a bottle of wine.
Let’s see. After that I came back to work and scarfed down my Caesar salad and was perusing Facebook when Blackhorse’s dang Valentines ad came back up. I am such a sucker. I simply cannot resist crème brûlée. The more I thought about it, the better idea it seemed.
So off I went.
Did it occur to me that the funeral for fallen officer McCowan would be traveling the same path as me? Of course not, because I hadn’t done my research and thought that all that had transpired in the middle of the day today. Did anyone have the foresight to warn me? Well, yes, sort of, but it was too late and I was like a fly in a spiderweb before I knew I was upon it.
But truthfully, I did not mind. I felt an odd sense of gratitude and remorse as I sat in traffic to honor the man who gave all. And I also had the wayward thought that if one wanted to commit a crime in Blount County, now was your opportunity.
I saw officers, rescue squad personnel, and firemen from all neighboring municipalities. There was a cavalcade of privately owned motorcycles bringing up the rear after the cruisers. All I could do was turn my headlights on, my radio off, and weep silently. I couldn’t begin to imagine the grief and anger behind the wheels of every car. It stretched for literal miles, and I only bore witness to the tail end.
It took me over an hour and a half to travel the same distance I can typically make in 45 minutes, and that was with turning around and taking a side street. But I am not complaining. I would not be an officer of the law for any amount of money. Someone posted a live video yesterday of them bringing down the convict, and I had to stop watching. The blatant disrespect and complete rudeness of this videographer was enough to make me want to crawl through my phone and mash her mouth. Against concrete. Over and over until maybe brain matter leaked through her nose.
Anyway.
I finally made it to Blackhorse, and my hopes were dashed about sitting at the bar with all the fun singles. Two barstools remained, one was being saved for a girl and the other was staked out with some roses, a beer, and a “reserved” sign for Officer McCowan.
“Table for one, then, please,” I said to the perky hostess who couldn’t conceal her quick flash of pity for me, alone on the commercialized love day. I flashed a winsome grin and dropped a wink as she showed me to table sixteen, where I was quickly greeted by my bartender from last week. I ordered the gin and elderflower. Once it was placed before me, I warned him, “I’m gonna knock the bottom outta this’n, and you’re gonna bring me another’n.”
I delivered my half of the promise, and when he came back by, he said, “I looked and you had just took a sip, and I looked again and it was half gone!”
“I told you I wasn’t messin’ around. I ain’t kiddin’.”
“I can see that.” And he had another one delivered.
When he asked if I wanted a third, of course I did, but my eyebrows weren’t acting right, so I decided I better get the trout on the way, too.
I love making my dreams come true. The last time I had done something this rash and outwardly selfish on a holiday was Thanksgiving 2019, when I took myself over to The Boathouse on Isle of Palms and had lobster and steak and sweet tater casserole at the bar with the locals. We sat with bare feet dangling off barstools and passed homemade liquor around and talked about how crazy our families and exes were. I loved it.
I stole a glance at the bar. Most people, surprisingly, were coupled up, as was the rest of the restaurant. There was a table of four guys who kept looking my way like I was an aquarium exhibit. Maybe I was and didn’t know it. I basked in my knowledge that I was happier than 9/10s of the people in the dining room. Most were on their phones. Several had children in tow. A few just looked patently miserable. I was the only mermaid, and the only single diner.
I sipped my third drink and smiled. If anybody asked, I was a travel blog writer on a mission. Nobody asked, but that’s still what I was, instead of a single girl with a penchant for fish and flaming custard.
The sweet honey kept trying to bring me cocktail #4, but I knew I had overindulged as it was, so I sipped my coke and scraped my bowl and watched as the night wore on.
I had the sweetest guy waiting for me at home. He wasn’t even mad I didn’t bring him a to-go order or flowers or bling bling. He simply wagged his tail in a circle and gave me a very wet kiss ❤️
I sure hope y’all have someone who loves you half as much as mine does. I hope you got flowers, candy, and jewelry, if that’s what you wanted. I hope you know what love is really all about. Love doesn’t always say “I love you”. Usually, love asks if you if you made it home okay, and if you had a good day, and how you slept. Love will check on you through the day and wish you luck in your endeavors. Love is interested in you and your activities. Love wishes you the best, all day, every day. Love is protection and security and awareness. Love is forehead kisses and teasing and holding hands when nobody’s looking. Love looks out for you. As first Corinthians tells us, it does not boast. I know you want to sing from the rooftops when you’re loved, but another loved us first, and loves us best. Furthermore, love yourself. ❤️
Valentines. Still a racket. But I sure am glad I got my favorite dessert today.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
Postscript: I said in a text yesterday to my friend Stacy and I meant to include it but I forgot and now I don’t see a good place to work it in: it’s a waste of money and shallow and thoughtless. Love me the other Wednesdays, the other 364 days a year. Love me when I’ve had a shitty Monday or I’m sitting in traffic mad. Love me when I’m unloveable, not when the calendar tells you to. Love me with effort.
Today was Fat Tuesday. In other words, the pinnacle of Mardi Gras. And I would have MUCH rather been there than putting on an election here. I honestly got a call from a woman who was mad she couldn’t vote online.
Because nothing could go wrong there 🙄
People vote BLIND. People came in, voted for one person, then asked what they were voting on. They asked what we did. A few asked these questions simultaneously while I was still answering the first question they had asked.
I maaaaaaay have gotten a little short with one of Sevier County’s self-labeled “elite”. A smartass is a smartass, I don’t care what you own or what you’re worth. Most of them I’d like to buy for what they’re actually worth and sell for what they think they’re worth.
38 people is a lot for one day in my little office. Jake Right Now kept saying, “I can’t believe we’ve had this many people.” 🤣 He was amazed. But then, it doesn’t take much. I shouldn’t knock him, he helped me with Annual Report folding and stamping the last two days.
In other good news, they caught the cop killer. I’m quite disappointed they took him in alive. So now we’ll be financing all his healthcare, food, and weight training for the next forty years. Unless they cook him. I’d pay to see that. I’m not very nice today, am I? But I don’t see a place in society for straight up cold-blooded killers, ESPECIALLY cop killers, and MOST ESPECIALLY REPEAT OFFENDERS. He was a straight thug, and that’s all he’s destined to ever be.
So. Mardi Gras. Since I couldn’t go to New Orleans on a whim 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I met Angela for supper. She’d been craving Cracker Barrel’s pancakes and enticed me by way of their biscuit beignets. And oh my Gawd, were they heavenly.
But before we get to that, lemme tell you what I done.
So I’m going into Cracker Barrel. Double door system. An older couple is exiting through the first set coming out of their gift shop. I’m outside, fixing to go through my set. And I see that it’s Hugh and Helen Manis! I get so, so excited. Last time I saw David, their son, he gave me the impression they weren’t able to get out. And here they were! Walking unassisted out of Cracker Barrel!
I gave a few little hops in my heels, mouth stretched into a big smile and sort of awestruck expression and all but screamed, “I AM SO GLAD TO SEE Y’ALL!!! YOU LOOK GREAT!!!”
And they’re looking at me, all smiles, and I’m just bombarded with memories of these two, waiting on them at Co-op, getting their cattle vaccines and dewormers together, sitting with them at First Baptist Seymour, talking to him on the phone at my current job. I was moved to give him a big squeeze.
As I moved in, and was maybe 6” away from him, I realize it’s not Hugh and Helen. His face was too small, and where were his glasses? Her hair was too big and this wasn’t them at all….oh dear Lord. But it was too late. I was done leaned all the way in. So I followed through with the hug.
Let the record state, the poor dear man did not hug me back. He probably thought I was crazy, even though I was dressed nice and had made a concerted effort with my hair today. Oh well. Best roll on. I gave not-Helen my most dazzling smile, bid them a good evening, and with my face blazing, went off in search of Angela and biscuit beignets.
When I regaled her the story, I had went ahead and called another close friend to get the telling out twice with one stone. I get to the end, head in my hands, and wailing, “I can’t believe I done that!!” And both of them at the same time were like, “why not? I’m not surprised at all. You do this kind of thing all the time!”
They’re right. I do. I hope David or Helen reads this and gets a big kick out of it. ‘Cause it sure was funny.
Of course that’s not all that happened, but I’m quitting here because it’s almost tomorrow. I should never say, “Ehh, today is over for the most part. I’m just going to Cracker Barrel, what could possibly go wrong??”
Plenty. Plenty can go wrong 🤪🙄
Love from Addled Amy in Appalachia
Procrastination is the name of the game over here. Things I am actively not doing:
- Washing my face
- Washing dishes
- Sleeping
- Thinking about a serious plot for my blog
- Otherwise preparing for bed or my day tomorrow
Things I am doing:
- Watching dog reels on Instagram and sending them to friends
- Drinking chocolate milk
- Rubbing Chester’s ears while watching dog reels and drinking chocolate milk
- Procrastinating on this evening’s blog
- Wondering what’s wrong with me
- Trying to find a date for Valentines that’s not a real date. I just wanna go eat trout and crème brûlée and drink gin at Blackhorse
So more on that last part. Here’s the menu. Can you blame me?! I’ll brave the lovestruck crowds for crème brûlée! And yes, I am aware I could go by myself. And normally it wouldn’t even be a blip on my radar. But it’s VALENTINES. That would make me look pathetic. Even if anybody who bothered to meet me would quickly ascertain I am anything but. I’m just a single girl with an appetite.
And now I’m out of things to talk about again. I refuse to talk about the rain. I’m sick of the rain.
I refuse to talk politics… yet.
I refuse to talk about the Super Bowl or Taylor Swift, because I didn’t watch it because I didn’t care.
I met the new Agriculture Agent for our county today. I asked him if he was like John Dutton. He doesn’t watch Yellowstone, so he doesn’t realize what a compliment I gave him. He just shrugged and said that’s what everybody says. And here I thought I was original. What a disappointment. Nice guy, though.
I dunno. I don’t wanna talk about nothin’, I wanna go to bed.
I think I will. This is all you get. Yesterday’s was lengthy, they can’t all be Pulitzer material 😁
Once upon a time
I was a young girl
I would dance and I would twirl
But now my hair is gray
And wrinkles grace my face
Firmly rooted in the rat race
I sit with my dog
My candle and book
Reading and writing till I must cook
The rain has come and gone
The conversation has dwindled
Come to find out the money was swindled
I must rest my eyes
The hour is late
And I still don’t have a Valentines date!
I think I just lost my last two readers. And I don’t blame you. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe not. I never promised you a dang thang! I’m merely honoring a promise to myself. Three hundred and twenty-some-odd days to go!
Love and perseverance from Appalachia,
~Amy
I have a friend who recently set sail on her first cruise. She was so excited, as I was for her. I was talking to another mutual friend and he was issuing all sorts of concerns and disbelief that she was going while news circulated of the murders and various crimes that were happening in the vicinity. “Wait, where is it, exactly, that she’s going?” I asked him, thinking I had missed something. After all, I don’t watch the news, but I do tend to get wind of major events one way or another. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Well, where were all these killings you’re talking about?” “I dunno, my wife was just telling me, she saw it on the news last night.”
I rolled my eyes and tried not to blow air too obnoxiously through my nose. “When you go to these islands, they tell you it’s not safe to leave the resort. I don’t know how cruises work, but surely if there’s a bunch of calamity, the don’t de-board. Or they take you elsewhere. They don’t want you killed, it’s bad for business. Word gets out.”
For the record, my friend had an absolutely FABULOUS time and wants to go back. There was no scalping, stabbing, or purse snatching, to the best of my knowledge.
Almost all my life, every time I’ve went on vacation alone, I had a naysayer in my life, telling me to hold off, there’s a hurricane coming. Or maybe take someone with me, there’s a killer on the loose. I don’t mean to be ugly, but I feel like I’m better off by myself most of the time. Not everybody is as vigilant as me, and careful about not sharing certain details to strangers at the bar, like how long I’m in town and what my plans are, and where I’m from, and where I’m staying and who I’m with (Lisa. I’m talking about Lisa. She tells everything she knows to everybody we meet and I pinch her under the bar and she says “ow!”). I think most people would slow me down in the event of an emergency because I’d have to save their ass, too. Because nobody wants to carry a gun; it’s too much trouble. Nobody wants to stay sober enough, it’s not much fun. It’s a whole lot less fun being dead, I can promise you that.
People will tell you that you shouldn’t go wherever for one reason or another. They will try to stand in your way with what seems to be reasonable explanations. But love and adventure cannot be stopped. It can be thwarted but you must overcome any fears and most cautionary tales from people who rarely leave the safety of their hometown. It’s worth it every time, at least in my experience. It’s hard to grow in knowledge if you live the same life every day. And even when I’ve done things that when I look back I realize weren’t the smartest, I still don’t have regrets. Maybe I’m a narcissist, but I know that I gained something from every choice, wrong or right. And for the most part, I’ve had a really good time with very few regrets. I’ve seen some awesome country and had some breathtaking moments that I would have definitely missed out on if I had listened to some people.
I’ve had a few conversations this week with various people where we’ve talked about perspective. Nearly twenty years ago, Lisa had a job as the Activities Coordinator at a local nursing home. The job is self explanatory, and largely thankless. During this time, she had to have surgery on her feet and was in a wheelchair for a month. She said that certainly gave her some insight into why certain activities weren’t feasible to the participants and she knocked these exercises off the rotation. You would think in order to be on the list of things to do they had already been vetted. Clearly that is not the case. Because nobody cared enough to put their self in that position.
I can complain about traffic here and you’ll think I’m exaggerating until you drive in it. The sitting is the easy part. I’m talking about the multitudes of idiots manning their machine, oblivious to others and the rules of the road. That’s what’s scary. All I’m saying is it’s easy to make assumptions and think that people exaggerate until you live it. I’ll use Lisa as an example again, because she doesn’t mind, and we have lots of life experiences together. Back when I worked at Co-op and the fencing company, I spent the vast majority of my day on the phone. Lots of you witnessed it. Lots of you contributed to it 😁😉❤️ and that’s fine, that’s what paid my bills. But it’s harrowing, and it drains the brain. The last thing I wanted to do when I got home was talk on the phone some more. No matter if it was to my bestie, and not someone needing a delivery or advice. I was just mentally fried and wanted to be left in peace. Lisa didn’t—and still doesn’t— understand. She only knows that she was cooped up at home with three kids, two dogs, and a parakeet and wanted to tell me how she succeeded in keeping the house from going up in an inferno yet again. I hadn’t lived her life (and didn’t want to), and she hadn’t lived mine. So we were often at an impasse. But if she had spent a week or two in my Justins, or if I spent the day in her Old Navy flip flops, maybe we’d get it.
I was watching the Golden Girls today and was struck by something so simplistic, so normal, so commonplace. Dorothy made a date with a guy she was smitten with in high school. Who did she rush to tell? She whizzed past Rose and blew past Blanche to get to her mother. Not everyone has that. Not everyone has a mother who is their best friend, with gentle advice and non-judgmental observations. (That doesn’t describe Sophia, either, but she did call Dorothy “pussycat”, so I guess that’s something). Or the daddy who always has time for their child, whether it be fixing a bicycle chain or listening to complaints about how “Mom just doesn’t understand”. Not everybody has boundless, uncomplicated, unconditional love from traditional sources. Not everyone’s sister is their best friend, and not everyone’s brother stuck up for them. And the people who are fortunate enough to have it rarely understand it in those who don’t. They say things like, “Call them, they’re the only one you’ve got.” Well, sure. But why would you want to? You don’t miss what you never had.
It’s all of us, all the time. Am I constantly thankful I can walk around, unaided, on my own two God-given legs? No. Am I appreciative of my eyeglasses, my lightweight corrective lenses so that I can see to read and write and admire sunrises and sunsets and how precious my dog looks when he’s sleeping? (See below) No, I am a total snob and self-centered when it comes to so much. Clothes to wash? A chore. A porch to sweep? A burden. A car to take for an oil change? Ugh, why did I remind myself? Even getting up to go to work is sometimes a dreaded activity. But what if I had to walk to a grueling job I hated? What if I didn’t have anything good to eat in my refrigerator, or no means of cooking it? What if I was supposed to be on a special diet and couldn’t even enjoy food? I ain’t thankful for hardly nothin’, until it tears up. Then I’m just aggravated.
It’s all in our perspective.
So as we start a new week, I hope that for everything we dread, we can name at least five things we’re looking forward to. So it may set in to raining again, but we know that we need the groundwater reserves. We know we need moisture in the atmosphere. We know it won’t rain forever. Rain makes corn…and corn makes whiskey…you know the rest.
Love and trying to remember grace in Appalachia,
~Amy
What a cozy little day I’ve had. The rain didn’t arrive till the afternoon, and I had my house presentably clean by then so I was able to stay curled up and enjoy it from the warmth of my couch. It’s so nice to be snug at home, free of responsibilities and places to be. I mean, apart from still needing an oil change. Who in their right mind wants to drive to West Knoxville in the rain on a Saturday? For that matter, who wants to drive there on a sunny Wednesday? Not this girl. If you do, see me for keys. Maggie’s fun to drive; I’m just lazy.
Lonesome Dove and Nilla wafers are much more my speed for dreary February Saturdays. I also had meatballs marinating in the crockpot and I threw together my famous oatmeal casserole that I haven’t made in over five years. It smelled so delectable baking. Cinnamon must be one of the most comforting scents known to man.
You ever know somebody really well in a specific capacity, and then you see them somewhere out of the normal and it’s like seeing a whole new person? For instance, one of your closest coworkers and then you unexpectedly run into them at Dollywood in shorts and sandals and wiping their child’s face free of ice cream and it’s this whole other persona you weren’t even aware existed? Like, you didn’t even know they owned shorts? Or you and your friend have always gone to restaurants together and had a big time, but then you invite them over for supper in your home and the whole atmosphere is different? Isn’t that the kookiest thing? I have people in my life I would definitely call on if the chips were down but that have never visited my home, and I have never been in theirs. Can you truly know someone without seeing where and how they live? I think so, if they’re open about their life, but I also believe you get a much clearer idea after seeing them in their natural habitat. It’s hard to hide the kind of person you are in your own home. Especially if you’re caught unawares. You catch me with dirty dishes in the sink, you’ve embarrassed me the equivalent of catching an old farmer without his pocketknife. (For those of you not in the know, old farmers will carry their pocketknives into the funeral home. So if you catch one without it, they’re basically nekkid.) I think it’s good to be surprised by people you love. I wouldn’t want an acquaintance dropping in on me and catching me looking less than my best, but close friends are always welcome. Especially in times of crisis. It’s so heartwarming to be in the presence of a well loved and cared-for home when you feel like your world has shattered. And your friend putters around, baking cupcakes and making you coffee or tea and occasionally giving you a reassuring hug. You don’t get the same sense of well-being in a magazine showplace home with purposely purchased knickknacks from the Hobby Lobby. Give me junk collected from vacation travels and antique stores any time. Give me stained recipes hanging from tattered cookbooks and magazines piled way out of a basket intended for blankets. Give me dustbunnies behind the refrigerator and a wilted plant in the windowsill over aesthetically pleasing white shiplap walls and plastic succulents. Give me a plain ol’ vanilla stubby candle and not a pristine “pressed linen” Pottery Barn creation in a stained glass jar, a replica of the windows at the Vatican. Give me ratty sweatpants and hair in a knot over Gucci accessories and contoured makeup.
How did I get here? Anyway. I’m looking forward to another day like today tomorrow, and I hope you all have a wonderful one, as well. Give yourself some time to relax, and not rush to the next thing, and carve some time out just for YOU. Turn off your phone if you have to. Go hug a tree. Sit in the floor. Work a puzzle. Cook something. Bring it to me. Everybody’s happy! But seriously. You only get one life. You only get one Sunday, February 11th, 2024. Spend it wisely. Make sure those you love know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Use the good lotion and eat all the butter. You’re not promised Monday.
Feeling nostalgic in rainy Appalachia,
~Amy
