Whew, being disciplined takes dedication. And I’m a little short on suitable, safe topics again tonight. I guess I could write about my dog, as he’s a fan favorite, but considering how much of his hair I sucked up in the vacuum tonight, he’s not on my highly favored list right now. (I know he can’t help it, yes, I knew he was a shedder from the first time I laid eyes on him, and yes, he gets brushed daily. I vacuum at least twice a week with the Shark Petpro XLT or whatever it’s called but DANG.)

I’ve been asking myself why I’m so critical. It especially concerns Facebook, which is a sure sign I’m spending too much time on there. I’m for less kids and more dogs. Less “what your Ninja Warrior name would be” and more chicken and dumplings. Less griping about politics and more about what you’re reading. Less bragging about what you’ve bought and where you’re going and more about how you’re spending time with those you love in their homes, or yours. Why ya gotta be so fancy? Less pretension, overall, and more truth. Less passive aggressiveness and more directness. Quit faking it. Who are you trying to impress with some of this stuff?

Enough.

So I’ve come to the point in my life, when I go to buy something, I have to face reality and determine where I’m going to put it, and therefore, what am I going to get rid of. Because the inn is full. And the basement. And my office. I’m precariously close to being called a hoarder if I purchase one more book. There is no more room for bookshelves unless I have built-ins made. And then I would lose wall space, and where would all my Gone With the Wind pictures go? As you can see, this is quite the conundrum.

For Christmas, Kevin got me this block sign that says, “Alcohol. Because no great story ever started with someone eating a salad.” {Except Stacy has one. A very, very delicious salad has been the catalyst for many belly laughs🤣🤣🤣}. So in order to display said sign, I had to find a suitable location. The kitchen is the obvious place, but my windowsill is full to brimming with other little trinkets, especially here at Christmas.

I eyed my shelves that bracket the window. They don’t have too much stuff on them, because I hate to dust, but I could definitely get rid of some stuff. Especially shot glasses. I don’t know how I wound up with so many! Oh, wait, yes, I do. Lisa.

But where would I put them? Then I noticed my lemon tree. It was like I was seeing it anew. And I found it ugly. I took it down, snarled my nose at the dust, and took it outside to see if I could salvage any parts of it. I thought maybe I could stick the little lemons in a mason jar and keep the pot for an aloe plant or something. I have aloe running out my ears at all times.

Well, the lemons had definitely lived past their prime so I chunked everything but the pot in the garbage. Then I stood there wondering how long I had not truly loved that object I bought back in my early twenties. And how long had it been since I really LOOKED at it? And how many other things are in my house that don’t bring me joy, and are actually weighing me down?

I wasn’t prepared for all this on a Thursday night that I kept thinking was Wednesday. So I decided to eat some vanilla Oreos instead, and begin my fourth blog post of the year.

Chester wanted me to let y’all know he got a pedicure today, and no longer identifies as a velociraptor.

A friend invited me out to Barley’s tomorrow night. I declined, and told her to have fun. She asked what my plans were, why couldn’t I come. While I find this line of questioning a bit nosy, I answered truthfully: “No plans, I just don’t want to. I don’t like driving downtown after dark and I just don’t want to get out. Plus, last time I ate there, their pizza hurt my belly.” And you know what? My friend said she really appreciated my honesty. And I appreciate her being able to hear my truth and not trying to convince me or make me feel like a fuddy-duddy. I’ve made my peace with never being hip. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to leave my house at all. I really like it here. Especially now that I’ve dispatched an ugly lemon tree.

I have a feeling spring cleaning may come early. Like with Epiphany. 😁

Tomorrow is Friday. Tomorrow is Friday. Tomorrow is Friday. Maybe I’ll get straightened out this weekend. 👠👠👠👠👠👠 If not, maybe it’ll make for a more entertaining post than this one. Yesterday when I poured my guts out, all the comments were centered around Trader Joe’s, a minor player in the grand scheme of things. I wonder what will be the standout from tonight’s.

I’m off to count sheep.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I don’t wish to treat this blog as a journal, but that’s what I’m reduced to, as I have procrastinated all the livelong day. So here we are, going on 9:00 and I’ve got nothing.

I have desperately wanted to turn my phone off today, due to conversations I’ve had, as well as conversations I felt were on the horizon. But I didn’t turn my phone off, and I didn’t have a nervous breakdown, and I managed not to bite anybody’s head off. Score! The bottle of wine I shared with my cousin after work helped immensely, no doubt. As Ernest Hemingway said, “write drunk, edit sober.” I’m halfway there!

In case you didn’t know, I live under a rock. I have never been to Trader Joe’s. I thought it was some upscale gourmet grocery store. Evidently it’s a home for fantastic cheeses and $6 bottles of wine, so I gotta get there pronto Tonto.

Stumbled across a song today that I haven’t heard in decades. “Say Say Say” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney, two of my favorites. Funny how music from our childhood sticks with us, but I could hear a Taylor Swift song seventeen times a day and at best may get the chorus by the tenth playing. Nothing against Taytay, just my memory is quickly dissipating. And I’m not remembering the important stuff either, before you try to come to my rescue.

I’m tired of being told I’m picky, even if it’s true. Maybe if more people were particular, we’d all be happier on the whole. Sure, I have high standards. You should, too, in all aspects of your life. I don’t want to see trash on the side of the road. I want people to have tidy yards. I want whoever is selling me a product to say hello, then the total, then thank me and tell me to have a nice day. Is this too much to ask? I want men to date that tell me I look nice and hold my door and make another date before that one’s over. I don’t want a “wyd” text three days later. I want EFFORT.

I want people to be honest with themselves so they can be honest with me. I want my best friend to have a safe, stress-free flight to Texas tomorrow. I want her sister-in-law to pass peacefully, with no further suffering. I want my dog to know that he’s safe and loved and will never be on the streets or at the shelter again. I want to always have enough money for tires and home repairs. I want to only read worthwhile books. I want to have people in my life who can always go for wings and beer and talk about books.

I want snow and everybody to be cozy and warm at home, and then I want long summer days on the lake. I want all beef hotdogs and hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows. I want my coworker to stop sniffing and blow his nose. I want my 1199s to be without error the first time I type them. I want to see Alaska and tour castles in Ireland and spend many more long weekends strolling Savannah.

I want things to change, but also to stay the same. I want to write and be paid for what’s in my heart, not what I’m told to say. I want glee and spontaneous laughter and flowers just because. I want glitter and much ado about nothing and picnics. I want to lay on my back on a blanket and read poetry by day and watch the stars twinkle at night. I want candlelight and campfires and citronella candles or maybe just a bunch of bats. I want to be kissed silly every day for the rest of my life. I don’t want passion to fade. I want romance forever.

I want to tell you about my childhood, raw with emotion, with no judgement. I want to compare our lives, and shake our heads at how different it is now and what it was like for your children, too. I want to be able to stop playing these mindless games. An addictive personality is a mildly dangerous thing.

I want to ride strong, fast, willing horses and I want to learn to fly a helicopter. Why has no one invented personal wings yet? I NEED them. I want products to ring up correctly and I want to possess an innate sense of how to do taxes correctly.

I want to eat wedding cake every season but somehow avoid attending the wedding. I never want to be invited to another baby shower again. I want to decorate and buy fun pillows and smell candles and look at art. I want jeans to fit right away and always, and my bra straps not to show. I want to wake up and know what I want to wear. I want a commute that moves at 60 mph. I want people to text me when I’m on their mind.

I want you to love life, love reading, love food, love the Lord. I want you to find joy in the mundane every single day. I want us to count our blessings and hold out hope that we’re all gonna be okay. I want you to love a dog.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

Here we are. Day 2. The day where many of us are back at work. Although I learned that University of Tennessee students don’t begin until January 22nd. That’s some break! I dressed up, I curled my hair, I put on makeup…it’s all a ruse. I am here only in body. Everything feels just a bit off kilter. I can’t explain it. But, on a much brighter note, I got a free car wash today! It is unknown if the guy took pity on me (Maggie had bird doo on the door and probably elsewhere, I’ve been trying not to look too closely) or if I look like the type to gripe and he wasn’t gonna take any chances. Regardless, the “basic” three minute car wash is $12, which is highway robbery with a water hose. Plus it always makes me a nervous wreck. I do not like those things pulling me along and buffeting me with the wind and slapping at me with those giant rubber bands. Now they’ve added concert type lighting and it’s all very disorienting. Several years ago, right after I got my car, I went over there and there wasn’t an attendant in sight. I thought if I just eased my way into the tunnel the magic would begin but it never did and so I came out and circled around to the then-present employees. They were amazed at my stupidity but trying not to be obvious about it, which I appreciated. They didn’t refund my money but they did provide me more instruction and I left with a sparkly clean car. I couldn’t help my ignorance. Patsy hadn’t had but one automatic bath in 18 years and it was straight out of a Baxter Black story, complete with dog food and baler twine. I am not up to date on all this newfangled technology in the world of car washes. But I guess we’re even now. I thought it was very nice, especially since he didn’t know of the unfortunate incident from four or five years ago.

Speaking of dog food, I got that squared away on my lunch break, too. I’ve had to switch, which stresses me, but maybe it’ll be okay and the transition seamless. My sweet little saleslady, none other than the illustrious Lindsey Mae, instructed me to feed less or I’d have a mess. Always appreciated. But Chester feeds himself so I have my fingers crossed that it’ll all work out. I’ll transition slowly and pray for no accidents.

I saw a post today that said, in summary: “When I wish you a ‘happy new year’, I’m not expecting this to actually happen, for that is not possible- a year must be all things. Happiness must come and go, like the tides and the winds, just as sadness, and all the emotions in between. I’m really wishing you a baseline of peace and of gratitude. Because if you can sit with these things, happiness will thrive. When sadness does arrive, it will know its place in the mix. If you can nourish these things daily, you will also grow hope. And hope is the key. When I say ‘happy new year’ I’m really wishing you more happy days than sad days, more joy than misery, more laughter than tears and the wisdom to accept that they all belong. Happy new year, my friends. Happy new year. ~ Donna Ashworth (again, I took liberties to condense and primarily to delete unnecessary commas). I thought that was very accurate, Happy New Year is merely a wish that your year isn’t all gloom and doom and good things happen. Kinda like telling people “Have a good day”. I don’t expect it to be perfect, just for you to be able to manage any obstacles that arise. Some people take offense to it. It’s not an order, just a hope. And if you get mad about that, then perhaps some medication or an stress relieving activity may behoove you.

In an effort to appease my dear, devoted reader and retired director of dispatchers, he suggested the following topics, I believe mainly in jest, and also to illustrate how quickly his brain synapses. I look for it to short out soon if he keeps this up.

• Are charcuterie boards merely cutting boards put to alternative uses? And why the hell do we need another term for snack trays?
  ~ Well, sort of. I didn’t look up the history of how charcuterie came to be, but it makes sense that some woman short on time had been chopping and slicing and scraping to the side and when she took a moment to look, instead of scooping the vegetables and cheese from the cutting board to place in pretty, matching bowls, she found that a little tweaking could make it perfectly presentable where the cucumber slices lay. And a snooty pastime was born, all to make food look more appetizing. Like it wasn’t going to be eaten anyway. And we DON’T need another term for snack trays. See ritzy comment above. It’s humorous all us rednecks have embraced it. So it’s probably on the way out by now, and we’ll go back to cut glass bowls and silver trays, as our great-grandmothers intended.
• Why is blockchain even in our vocabulary?
  ~ It’s not in mine. I had to look it up. Then I realized it was sort of familiar to me, but I couldn’t have given you the definition if my life depended on it. And knowing Barry, I figured it was a slang term for some perverted sexual act that he’d picked up in emergency services, a career notorious for dirty-minded individuals. I’m sure tech savvy people use it regularly in their line of work. So there you go.
• Other than Ryan Seacrest who the hell was on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve Special, and why am I supposed to care about them? And why is it still Dick Clark’s when he has been dead for over a decade? Does anyone know that his middle name was Wagstaff? Why didn’t he name his show Guy Lombardo’s New Year’s Eve? His career lasted more than 50 years!
  ~ Uhhhh…..I don’t know any of this. We watched about two minutes of the final countdown and I was thinking “That guy looks like the guy from American Idol…he got old….oh yeah, we are old, so it probably is him.” but that’s as far as that particular train of thought went, because I started remembering the Friends episode where Ross and Monica got invited by Joey’s Australian hot dancer roommate (his words, not mine, to be clear) to be on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve and they were so stoked but SO nerdy that they ended up on the bloopers/ outtakes. Which DID make me wonder if Dick Clark was still alive, and why the networks were still giving him top billing celebrity host status when he was clearly not trendy and hip. Is Ryan Seacrest still considered trendy and hip? Was he ever, really?? I don’t know any of these things, because I have never been trendy and hip, myself. Is WHOSE middle name Wagstaff? Ryan or Dick Clark? *googling* Ryan’s middle name is John. Of course it is. Wagstaff is a cute name for a dog. I’m assuming it was a family name, probably on his mother’s side. Mothers can be very influential when it comes to naming children, so I’m told. I have no opinions on Guy Lombardo. I googled him, classic violinist. Well, Barry, I’m guessing he just wasn’t as well known. We are a population of uncultured swine, as I am proving with my blog posts.
• When did “entrepreneur” start to mean someone without gainful employment? Who does an influencer influence and how? Is there a minimum amount of likes and followers?
  ~I think this “entrepreneur” business began in the last five years. Or maybe in the year of Covid, when it was the norm to quit your job because we may not have another precious moment to waste at a dead end job where you are under appreciated. That just sounds like life to me. Maybe my standards are too low, but I came by them honestly, while working a job where I was underpaid and definitely underappreciated for 13 or so years….But in my limited knowledge, didn’t entrepreneur {wow, I don’t think I’ve ever typed that before} use to describe one who was an inventor and trying to procure a patent or licensing? We would say “They’re between jobs” when they didn’t have a source of income. It used to be a noble thing to have a job that provided insurance and benefits. It feels like anymore you’re looked down upon because you’re actually reporting into a job at a desk with some degree of supervision. I guess those of us who are following this outdated form of employment will continue to support the entrepreneurs of today well into our hard won retirement. And that makes me sick. As far as the influencers go, I take that to mean these people who post reels of applying makeup, doing hair, dumping things out of cans and calling it cooking, and shopping (!!!!! YES, SERIOUSLY). Until very recently, my blog was set up for me to share links to Amazon of things I wanted to promote. I would have gotten like a half a cent on every dollar for anything purchased via one of my provided links. *Disclosure* I was never paid one red cent and they kicked me off their affiliate program two years in. Even though I, personally, had bought things via my website, and so had my husband at the time. So I guess companies pay these people who somehow achieved a level of stardom on the internet (YouTube, Instagram, and whatnot) to use their products. Kinda like a sponsorship in the sports world, I suppose. I don’t know if there’s a minimum follower count that companies look for. Pinterest showcased one of my boards one time and I got 20 thousand followers overnight and I felt a small measure of celebrity status. It wasn’t amazing at all, in my opinion. More like a migraine, what with all the spammers.
• Why do we need Starry? What was wrong with Sierra Mist?
  ~ More googling…I didn’t know this had happened. What was wrong with 7-up, for that matter? I have read to understand it is a Dr. Pepper product distributed by Pepsi, but hel-lo. Starry is a dumb name. But I suppose it’s in keeping with Sprite. Follow the “S’s”. I haven’t tried it. Hopefully it has real cane sugar. But my preferred is Coke, then water. If I don’t trust the water and they’re out of coke and Mountain Dew, then I might go with Sprite. Starry would be way down on my list, after sweet tea, beer, and wine.
  
  

In other news, I still need a tutor for WordPress. They don’t have a helpline, they have chat forums. Lots of times when I type my question into google or their search box on their site, I wind up with more questions. For instance, I’ve hunted for “how to make a drop cap” “how to change font size” and “how to change font color” today and have found myself on posts dating back ten years and now I realize I’m also missing a toolbar that I desperately need. This sucks.

One last funny thing and I’ll let you go. I was holding the door at the library for a lady who had her hands full. She makes a remark about how she was trying to switch hands and then, quite unexpectedly, “Do you like cabbage?”

This took me so by surprise that I answered her, “I do not,” when all actuality, I do, but only when someone else has prepared a dish for me. I did not want this woman pushing bushels of cabbage on me and insisting it makes the most wonderful kraut. Or coleslaw. Or cooked cabbage.

She returns, “You do or you don’t?” Kind of hostile and a bit exasperated.

“I do not,” I repeated, wondering if this would constitute as a lie in the big book of my sins. Especially now that she’s asked twice.

“You don’t???” She’s truly incredulous now, and I want to turn around and go back outside and get in my car and drive off the closest cliff. This is what I get for being nice and holding a door.

But I did get to see my dear friend Brenda on the way back down to the lobby after the meeting, so that made up for it. I took a selfie, but it’s unflattering, so I’m not sharing it.

And this concludes my entry for today. This would be exhausting if I didn’t enjoy it so much. 1847 words. Need to research what constitutes an article. (600-1500, with up to 3500 for a magazine article). And as Paul Harvey would say, “And now you know….the rest of the story.” *insert tinkly giggle here

Love From Appalachia,
~Amy

I could have written when I woke up this morning, while the house was quiet and I was snug under my Christmas quilt. I could have told about all the things I’d eaten the night before, and how I was in no hurry to scarf down breakfast. I could have expounded on the many virtues of my host, or how Bowling Green has a few things I wish we had in Sevier County, Tennessee. Like the Tostitos Salsa Verde chips I was finally able to procure. But at least we didn’t have any kind of weather to write home about. I was thankful for calm skies this trip.

I could have written from the passenger seat of the Ford as we made our way back home, via the circuitous path via Portland that pains me, apart from the giant strawberries and Hereford bull. I could have told you about the nice man at the gas station who has a truck just like this one, and how we wants a diesel F250 and a fifth wheel in order to travel indefinitely. I told him to go for it.

I could have collected my thoughts, at least, so when I sat down to write tonight, in the soft glow of my still-decorated Christmas tree, I would have a real topic and an idea of what my first post of the new year should say. I would appear to you as a responsible adult with clear goals and the capabilities to achieve them.

But instead, you are chipping your way through this, wondering if I’ll ever get to it, and if I do, will it even be worth the five minutes of your time? You’re unsure if you’ll agree with what I say once I do make my point, and you hope I’m not going to complain about the absolute WASTE that I find fireworks to be.

I am so tired, and I barely did anything besides ride and listen today. My aunt and I decided, on the whole, women passengers aren’t as likely to nap as our male counterparts. We’re geared higher, in her words. I tend to agree. I want to be alert to any dangers, but I also don’t want to miss anything. I like seeing cows, and reflecting on the weather, and picking out cars I think I would like to own. Or maybe just remarking on the color of the vehicle or the intelligence of the one behind the wheel. And I need to control what I can— that being the thermostat and the radio.

My mind is on tasks to be completed tomorrow: pin down the exact time for a committee meeting, call some board members, start 1199s, get dog food. The dog food is a chore unto itself, as Chester’s brand had a recall some time ago and still isn’t back in stock.

I just finished a piece of cake that’s so rich it needs its own tax bracket: Elvis Presley cake. It is unknown to me what makes it an Elvis cake, but I certainly took care of business when I got down to eating it. All it is is a butter cake, baked bakery style {butter in place of oil, milk in place of water, add an egg and vanilla}. While it’s baking, heat a can of crushed pineapple and a cup and a half of sugar. Take the cake out, jab holes throughout, and dump sugar/ pineapple mix over it. Allow to soak in and cool completely, then frost with cream cheese icing (block of cream cheese, stick of butter, pound of powdered sugar, and vanilla).

My GAWD.

It kind of reminds me of my cousin’s piña colada cake, but a thousand times richer. I think it would be delectable with cool whip frosting, as well, with the added incentive of not causing type II diabetes overnight.

I’ve just spent several minutes hunting my word count. Maybe that’s something not available on the app. I’m writing on my tablet.

Funny how the word tablet has always meant “an object on which one writes” (or doodles), but the object itself has evolved from a rock, to paper, to a digital device. Hmm. We all must evolve, or risk being left. I admit I am not one for big changes. I don’t necessarily fight, but I do tend to stick with what I know. Hard to fix something that ain’t broke, in my book.

I wonder where the year will take me. Some things are much better in my life today than they were a year ago. But I’ve lived long enough to realize most stuff will flip. Nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy. But here’s hoping. And here’s to me being able to share it with y’all.

Happy New Year. May we all prosper peacefully, and may we all be able to laugh our way through it.

Love from Appalachia,

Amy