I have inadvertently celebrated Valentines Day today. I know, I’m confused, too. I assure you it’s through no fault of my own. The sweet girl at the bank gave me a cute little heart sticker on my deposit slip! Who does that? It very nearly made my day! I mean, unless you’re a kid or a dog, the bank treats dry up around the time you get a zit. So I was very proud of my sticker.

The next treachery was at the grocery store. I can’t pass up the bakery without seeing what delectable cakes they’re peddling. Today my downfall was the cookie cake. But you tell me: would you have been able to pass it up? The dang thing was asking for me!!

Something was said to me today at the grocery store and I’m really trying hard not to dwell on it. 

So this lady ahead of me in line was leaving and telling everybody bye. You could just tell she was the real sweet type. I smiled at the lady bagging my groceries and remarked that it was nice to have regulars. I remember my Grandmother would often wait for a specific cashier. Of course in those days, grocery employees were union and it was a career job, not just something to land on waiting for your next gig. 

The woman agreed with me and y’all know how bashful I am, I told her I once had my share of regulars, that I worked at the Co-op for 13 years, and most of the good ‘uns I waited on at least once a week. “You see their kids grow up, their dog die, ya know?” She nodded agreement. “So, did you retire from there…or quit??”

I stood there paralyzed. RETIRE?!?! HOW OLD DO I LOOK???!!? Then I thought maybe she misheard me, maybe she thought I said thirty and not thirteen. But still. Sheesh.

I’m still not sure what to make of that. She said she’d been a nurse at UT and couldn’t hack it after she blessed a fellow nurse after she sneezed and the woman looked at her like she could run her over with a truck. And they didn’t like being told “good morning”, either. Yeah, I’d be back with the sweet grannies at the grocery store, too.

Speaking of Co-op, this spring weather has sent me reeling back in time, as it often does. Last night I dreamed I was back on the counter and this woman called twice within four hours wanting to know if we had our bean seeds out yet.

This is the kind of thing we dealt with. I guarantee they got calls on mater plants today. And if they had any, I bet they sold some. I always said it was fine, I’d sell them to you three times by the time it was time to set them out 😁

Sometimes I miss being in the mix of things and seeing everybody. Most of the time I’m glad I’m not under constant pressure and being harangued by every Tom, Dick, and Harry about herbicides, where Gary is, can we bring tile to Wears Valley before noon, and did the special Orchardgrass blend come in. Oh, and Tuletta yelling at me about the dust on my fly mask boxes.

Ah, the good ol’ days.

I know I’m not fooling y’all, I do miss being needed. But my brain would be so tired from switching gears all day. I remember once when I was new I was working the back counter. This guy walked up and asked if we had any cross ties. I was smack in the middle of a Weaver order, my mind immersed in all things horse, and I led him over to the adjustable nylon ones with quick release snaps. He’s looking at me a little askance, so I tell him that at my house I just use chains, and we can cut it to length and modify with any hardware he chose.

Then he tells me he’s looking for landscaping cross ties. You know, the kind from the railroad tracks that people use as flowerbed borders. People used to ask us what grade ours were. Instead of making something up, I’d tell them to just go look. I’ve never understood buying something sight unseen, anyway. Gary would tell them, “Well, if they were any count, the railroad would still be usin’ ‘em.” Fair enough.

And we won’t talk about being in the heat of spring, asshole deep in alligators, selling fertilizer and amendments by the ton and herbicides by the pallet. When this guy walks up and asks if we sell deck stain. In my mind, it automatically corrected to Dextane, a chemical I wasn’t familiar with, but that didn’t necessarily mean squat. I think I first told him to check automotive, because it definitely sounded like an automotive product. Like hydraulic fluid. He looks at me quizzically and I cocked my head and ask, “What’s it used for?”

I’m sure he felt like he was dealing with an absolute Rhodes scholar when he said, “to protect a wood deck from rotting.”

And that’s when it dawned on me. Not Dextane. Deck stain. 🤦🏼‍♀️

But I can’t fault the Co-op. For without them, I probably wouldn’t know you. And without you, I wouldn’t be me. I’m glad I’m where I am, but the only reason I’m here is because of thirteen years spent there.

Thirteen that aged me like thirty, it appears.

Love and sweethearts from Appalachia,

~Amy

Today was a good day.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to write about a wholly good day. Not that I ever have much to complain about, but you know how you get in a funk for one reason or another.

It started with a visit from Sam and catching up with him, which was nice. The daily phone calls wear on me, but he hasn’t been calling and I haven’t seen him since our Christmas meeting, so we were due to catch up. He’s expecting another grandbaby any day. He asked after Chester, as always, and I showed him the picture I snapped this morning while I was curled up next to him having my coffee.

The handymen from Grainger County were there this morning spraying insulation. They are always so friendly. I wish I had them on retainer for my house. It had already warmed up substantially by the time they were packing up their tools to go. Made me think I should definitely look into this for my house. Add that to the list. After tires and gradework.

I’d had my coffee this morning but hadn’t ever gotten around to breakfast, so I ate my leftover Arby’s. If I had known what lay ahead, I would have eaten a lot more.

A field visit to my favorite person in the whole wide world’s farm was scheduled for one o’clock so I invited myself, pulled my muck boots on, stuck a sign on the door, and got in the truck, armed with only my sunglasses and chapstick. I should have at least brought a water and tangerine for sustenance. Rookie mistake.

We hiked over hill and dale, knobs and crests, hollers and creeks. It was a beautiful day to be outside. Of course, my head was in the sky and not on cross fencing and watering facilities. I saw a woodpecker, two cats, and a bunch of cows.

The soundtrack of my day was spring frogs, also commonly called “peepers” around here. The smell of warming mud, clean mud, still clings to me, as sure as the cockleburs that tried to hitch a ride. I so enjoyed seeing the babies scamper, tails flaring up, after their mommas, who weren’t sure about this group of strangers tromping across their pasture.

Did I already say how nice it was to be out in the country, just enjoying the sunshine? The office is great, but sometimes you need a day of grounding, to see firsthand conservation at work and watch people who really care about the land come up with a plan to work with the landowner in a way that benefits everyone. No farms, no food. Y’all don’t forget.

After touring three locations that was uphill 80% of the time 🤣 I was ready to get to my evening plans: a fundraiser for the Kodak Branch Library at TEXAS ROADHOUSE. Oh yeah. I was so excited. I just knew I could eat at least three rolls.

I could not.

Well, I could have, but then I couldn’t have eaten a half rack of ribs. Oh, don’t fret, my pet. I ordered the full rack, knowing I couldn’t eat them all. See, I’m a meal planner. While eating one meal, I plan for the next 😁 I was cramming a roll in my mouth while informing Fish that I was “so hungry.” The irony was not lost on him, and he didn’t miss an opportunity to point out my ludicrousness. I didn’t even care. I cannot begin to fathom being one of those girls with enough self control to merely pick at a grilled chicken salad or something. Or one who’s self conscious about eating in front of others. If anybody had gotten between me and these, they’d be missin’ a digit. They’d be pulling back a bloody nub, as my uncle was fond of saying. Bashful about food, I ain’t. From the farm to the table, exemplified.

So that brings me here to the now, pecking away about my day and improved state of mind, occasionally rubbing velvet ears and sipping water from my favorite glass.

Welcome February! One month closer to the rest of our lives. What will March bring? Y’all got big plans?

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I think I’m gonna start writing fantasy. Because people sure do love running their mouths. So maybe if I write something clearly so fictional they’ll at least look incredibly stupid to people they repeat it to. Why are people so invested in one another’s love lives? It brings to mind Taylor Swift. Who freaking gives a hoot who her boyfriend is? And if he’s a football player, shouldn’t she be at the games, cheering him on? I thought that was kinda the point of being in a relationship— a show of support. Or have I missed the point entirely of what people are griping about? I don’t know, and I also haven’t figured out the rage over Stanley cups. I think they’re kinda ugly, and wasn’t Yeti the thing to have? I’m so confused. I just wanna go crawl in a cave and read poetry to my dog. I could use another foot of snow…as long as my power stays on.

Anyway, how are y’all?

I’m feeling disgruntled, thanks for asking. I need a big dose of GRACE, because my fuse is running very short on a lot of subjects lately. Or maybe it’s running low on certain people. I’m just glad I’m not in retail anymore because it’s just a matter of time before I turn into the main character in a slasher movie. *melting emoji*

Just kidding. I can’t afford a breakdown. And Chessie would miss me.

My book that I was halfway enjoying went back today. I thought it said Wednesday. It obviously did not, because today is Tuesday. And it’s gone. And has a fifteen week wait. Yay. I’ll forget the entire plot by then. So how many books have I read this year, you’d like to know? Oh, that’s one. Uno. I should be at four.

The blood work went fine this morning, not that you asked. Not that you remembered. She only poked me the once. My vein quit before they were done, but she said they’d just hafta work with what they got. You know you have crappy veins when your doctor has trouble finding one. And isn’t very excited at the prospect of trying again. Ehh, I knew I wasn’t perfect. 😉

Oh. Lemme tell you. I sat through five cycles of the main light in Sevierville this morning before it ever changed for us. That was after I noticed something was wrong and started counting. There were people in line just peeling off and turning around. Beat all I’ve ever seen. I was calling the police department when it finally gave us a green. But I still had to wait for the next cycle. What a pain.

I am so tired. At least I have clean sheets. I am very much looking forward to going to bed after a long hot shower. I guess this is what old age is like: I don’t want to be bothered, I want people to stay off my grass, and I want to drink hot chocolate and read books in my cozy chair. Some people might call it loneliness. I call it peace.

Enough with all this. I’m starting to give myself an ulcer.

We walked over to Graze today from the office. If you’re gonna eat that unhealthy, the least you can do is walk to get it. They don’t open till 12 (winter hours since all the tourists are gone) so we walked around downtown a bit. My young, naïve coworkers weren’t aware that our courthouse was actually a working courthouse. I guess they thought it was just for show??? Not sure. But I walked them through it. And of course we had to go see Dolly.

We also passed by my favorite downtown house, the Dwight & Kate Wade house, a replica of a home showcased at the 1939 World’s Fair. Here’s the link to the walking tour: https://visitsevierville.com/Images/pdfs/SeviervilleHistoricWalkingTour.pdf

I just love old houses. I love a lot of old stuff, including the old ways of doing many things. Technology is convenient, but is there any replacement for face to face interaction? I think we all had better manners before we lived behind keyboards.

I said I wasn’t gonna do that.

All in all, not a bad day. My onion rings were on point, as usual. My Amazon stuff made it home. I had a good long chat with one of my favorite producers who has overcome yet another health issue. My coworkers are laid-back. I’m warm and dry. My dog is happy with life, and I should be so pleased with my lot in life, as well. And I am, I am. I’m just in a contrary mood. Maybe it’s the mud. Just the daily grime and slog that is winter. It’s not all crystalline peppermint. But I feel at this point, I’m just working for the weekend. Ah-wa-ooo…

Little short on love and definitely patience,

~Amy

January stretches on. I can’t say I’m sad to see it end, even I have my limits of enduring cold mud. And of course the week of entrapment due to snow didn’t help paint these thirty one days in a favorable light.

I have been reading Sean Dietrich’s column for years. I was all about him for the longest. You know we even exchanged a few emails after I won a little contest he had….even though he accidentally announced in his podcast another person as the winner. It wasn’t the end of the world, and he went to the trouble of sending me a specially selected matchbox Chevy truck. After awhile, his columns started getting a bit repetitive, waxing nostalgic about his father who committed suicide. I tried to be sympathetic because we’re told to write what we know about. And writing is good therapy, too. So I got to skimming those. And the baseball ones. I don’t care for baseball, unless I’m watching it in person, in the shade, with a beer in one hand and Cracker Jacks in the other. But to give him credit, he did try to make them entertaining. Then Covid came along, and I was up to my eyeballs with every bit of that immediately. So I quit reading him altogether because of all the triggers.

Then he got this blind bloodhound and suckered me back in. But lately I’ve been on the outs again as he wrote about a little blind girl and a number of other children with debilitating ailments. I just can’t take it. I like the human interest stories about love at the Waffle House. And angels. I like reading about peoples’ encounters with angels. It’s generally an optimistic column, but sometimes I don’t want sunshine blown up my hindquarters. Sometimes I want to read about how he had a perfectly crappy day for no good reason at all. Because that’s normal.

All this to say I don’t want to become like Sean Dietrich to y’all. Even though today’s installment was pretty good. It wasn’t good enough to warrant a love button from me, but it was alright. I think I’m reserving my likes and loves for the bloodhound.

Which brings me to my own journaling for today.

I had to go in for bloodwork first thing. Amy on a Monday morning isn’t always sparkling, and Amy on a Monday morning before breakfast and coffee isn’t someone to cross, period. The nurse offers me a smile and asks which arm is preferable. I cut to the chase. “They both suck, everybody has trouble, my veins run sideways, and if you talk about it, I pass out. And yes, I’ve had three bottles of water already today. Sorry I’m what you get first thing.”

She looked a little taken aback, so I started bragging on all the Valentine’s decorations and her eagle tattoo to show her I wasn’t Satan’s bride. She puts the tourniquet on my left arm and pokes around. Breathes a little deep. “I’m just gonna check your hand….hmmm.” She takes it off that arm and switches it to the other. More deep breathing. She looks over my hand like a reverse palm reader. More sighing. “I’m not seeing anything I feel confident about…”

“Neither does anybody else. I tell you, Amber and that little bitty skinny girl can usually get it with a poke or two.”

Too bad they weren’t there.

“How do you feel about going over to the hospital where that’s all they do?”

“I had to do that once before and they still stuck me three times.” I didn’t bother telling her about the oncology people who were really at a loss that other time. When they started talking about between my toes I was like, “Peace out.”

“Hmmm. They’ve got a vein finder. It shouldn’t be too bad,” she wheedles. I shrug. “Lemme go talk to—“ whoever and she disappears through the door. Poor girl.

She returns, all smiles, pleased that she got the approval to pass me off. “So it’s up to you. You can come back in the morning and let Amber get it, or go to the hospital.”

Since Amber is the one who orders the bloodwork and knows that I’m a problem child, I’m always eager to let her do the honors. So I get to go back tomorrow. Yippee. Get me outta this place. Except I’m trapped. My armrest won’t move.

“You got me locked in with child safety doors?”

“Well, you said you pass out and I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“I like you better all the time.”

So that was that and I got to leave with no bloodletting.

The phone was ringing when I got to work. It was, of course, a new transplant who knows exactly what he wants and where he wants it, but doesn’t know his address. And was sure to tell me he “still works” so if he doesn’t answer, to leave a message. Sure thing, Einstein. Then I get another transplant, but at least this guy knew the basic pleasantries including please and thank you. Then I got a call from another secretary across the state whose attitude instantly ran all over me, so much so that I had to leave. I went to pick up my curbside order at Walgreens. And when I realized I wasn’t in a curbside spot, I tried to move to one, but this Dick in a Genesis almost ran me over because he was in a MUCH bigger hurry and on a MUCH more important mission. He parks at the front door, in Curbside #2 spot, as clearly indicated by a glaring sign directly in front of it. I decide it’s not worth it to move and enter my info on the link. As I’m going to the trouble of entering my type, make, model, color, plate number, how many children I have, etc, Dick jumps out and goes in. Seriously.

In just a moment, here comes a grandmotherly type lady with silver hair in a bun with a giant paper bag. She spares me a glance, but goes up to the driver’s side of the Genesis. The windows are tinted, so I couldn’t tell if there was anybody else in there. I can see her expression, though, and it’s confused. I roll down my window. I should add here, the only reason I chose curbside is because I was on the phone and it’s always a cluster with my Bluetooth to switch off if I leave my car running. Anyway, she smiles at me and says, “Miss Johnson!” A bit of relief in her voice. “I was trying to give your stuff away!” I nod and reach through to take my package. “I would have parked in curbside but that guy tried to run me over and I decided it wasn’t worth it. And then he went in, to beat all!” She blares her eyes at me and shakes her head. “She wouldn’t talk to me,” she whispers. I see then a woman on the passenger side. Me and the sweet Walgreens grandmother roll our eyes in mutual disgust, conspirators now, as the man comes back out to get in his car. I leave before I decide to shank him. And without dwelling on why I bothered to enter my vehicle’s information if they’re just gonna blindly deliver to the first car they come to. It ain’t worth the blood pressure, I’m telling you.

The final straw was a call from my Allstate agent, who is clearly an idiot. I had issues with him several years ago when I was canceling my car insurance and the moron canceled my homeowner’s policy, too 🤦🏼‍♀️. This morning I had scanned and emailed over the letter I had received from them, as well as my estimate and canceled checks for my roof and gutters, as requested in their letter if I wanted to continue with current coverage. So he calls this afternoon and is like, “Everything looks in order, is that the only changes you wanted to make? I was making sure that we covered everything, I figured you called and we missed it.”

I just froze, closed my eyes, and exhaled.

“I don’t want to make any changes. Your company sent me that letter—unprovoked by me—did you read the letter?? It said my roof is too old to be insured under the policy and if it had been replaced lately to provide proof. Those receipts are your proof. I did not call, I didn’t feel it was necessary, that you’d just tell me to send what I already have.”

I have flustered him. “Oh, yes, of course. I won’t keep you, then. The underwriter may request something else, but it looks good to me.”

I wonder what else the underwriter could possibly request when he says, “Like, they may have to call the roofer, think that would be okay?”

“I reckon. Not that he’ll remember me. You can see that was in 2020.” What the hell, man?

Oh, and my ex husband was still listed on the policy, even though I’ve told them at least twice to remove him. He’s supposedly sending me a document to e-sign. We’ll see. I feel certain I’ll be complaining about that again in another few years.

Anyway. That’s been my day. And that’s why I bought myself flowers and made garlic cheddar biscuits. That’s what self love looks like under a roof that was replaced in 2020.

So no, I’m not going to pee on your leg and tell you that it’s raining. I’m going to say I had frustrating phone calls today and aggravation in abundance. But I’m still blessed, I’m still happy, I’m warm and safe and dry. Thanks in part to my roof.

Ahhh, I slay myself.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy