Ask ten people what a library is. Nine will likely say, “a place to get books and read.” While this isn’t incorrect, ask a librarian and you’ll get a much different answer. Ask this board member and this is what she’ll say:
A library is a haven, a refuge, a rescue, an escape. Sometimes I think lastly it is an education…that comes after, for many patrons.
I attended the grand opening of the Kodak branch library yesterday, a library I never believed would get off the ground. I have served on the board for eleven years and the need for a bigger library has been a topic at almost every single meeting for the entirety of that time, and for years before. There were problems concerning location that held the building up for over a decade. Of course there were funding concerns. There was the push of, “but is it REALLY needed? Don’t people just buy books at Books a Million?”
But here’s what I’ve seen with my own eyes.
I saw a single dad fighting for custody. He was granted supervised visitation in a neutral space a few hours a week. He could have taken his baby (then toddler, as the months stretched on), to McDonalds. But he chose to take him to the library: a safe place, a welcoming spot. Somewhere to interact and play and learn.
I saw groups getting together to make crafts or learn chess or sew or participate in chair exercise or just discuss books.
I saw teens hunting a place to do homework because they don’t have printers or internet at home.
I saw older people with their newspapers and dropping off cakes for a bake sale fundraiser.
I saw connection, physical and wireless.
Eventually I saw a squeaky floor in a doublewide trailer and squirrels inhabiting the insulation, but above it all I saw a NEED.
So when an unsuspecting soul asked me this morning if Kodak needed a five million dollar library I began my lecture with, “if you had been there yesterday, you wouldn’t be asking me that.”
The Kodak community raised $1.2 million dollars towards the five million dollar price tag. They sold property, they took friends to lunch to plead their case, they nicely asked businesses to donate a percentage profited (Texas Roadhouse accomodated them several times), they hosted yard sales, bake sales, chili suppers, and presentations where donations were accepted, but not required for attendance. Because the library is one of the few places you can go and it doesn’t cost you a dime.
Maybe the murals in the Childrens Room aren’t strictly necessary. Maybe the lighting fixtures are a bit more decorative than purely functional. Maybe the elegant skylight in the center of the building letting the blinding sunshine in yesterday was a tad bit extravagant. But you know what? The Kodak community is deserving of fancy. They’ve outlived and outgrown their mobile home many times over. And sometimes I wonder if the library isn’t one of the nicest places some people will ever visit without it costing them a few Franklins. People deserve better.
There’s a pavilion outside for gatherings, and meeting space inside for 135. There’s a walkway with pavers dedicated to individual veterans. There’s a wall of 400 ormamental tiles designed by the children of Kodak last year (the installer donated his time and materials, forgive me but I have forgotten his name already). There’s books, Lord there are books, and room for many more. You can donate $20 and put your name (or anybody’s you choose) in there as dedication. There are computers and games and classes. There are compassionate and knowledgeable librarians. There is LOVE.
This library was built on many prayers and it’s fitting it was anointed above the door yesterday before we began the ceremony. I don’t know that the news will report that, but I will. May the Lord bless this space and the people within it forevermore.
Thank you to the late Catherine Gilreath and her family for the naming donation and proactive involvement to see it through. Thank you to the county and commissioners who saw the need and stepped up. Thank you to the many generous donors across the county who whipped out their checkbook and pledged. Thank you to the Friends group- with a hat tip to Dwight Shepherd, Emma Ruth Catlett, and the late Marye Rose- that worked tirelessly and never gave up. Thank you to the library staff for their hard work and being stretched so thin getting it open. I know it probably pained you seeing the space marred yesterday after getting it juuust right- no doubt there was punch spilled or paint scuffed from an errant child– but you saw it being used, the end goal. Thank you to all past and current board members who fought for this space, attending committee meetings to ask, and ask again (Or did we ask three times? I forget).
Thanks for everybody who showed up in support. I’m sorry if I forgot someone.
The location feels like home. It’s in the community, not to be blemished by the tourists passing through, even though they would be welcomed just the same.
Thank you to the citizens of Kodak who use the library and keep it alive. Thank you for reading.
Photo credit: SCPLS
What’s your go-to comfort food? I guess meatloaf and mashed potatoes and peas. And a roll. But I don’t make a very good meatloaf, so it’s not very comforting if I need to be the one cooking it. Mine never sets up, no matter how many breadcrumbs I use. It’s never enough. Another comfort food would be taco soup. I can generally eat it anytime. I don’t get warm and fuzzy feelings over any specific food, like a lot of people would with banana pudding or apple pie. I don’t have many recurring good memories with a particular food.
What do you listen to while you work? I can’t read and concentrate if there’s much noise, so I don’t listen to anything. If I’m cooking, I’ll have a Spotify playlist going, but the genre varies. Even within my playlists. People are amazed that I go from Conway Twitty to Snoop to Guns ‘n Roses. I guess it’s the sign of a restless mind. I get bored easily.
What strategies do you use to maintain your health and well being? Oh, all kinds of things! If I want to take a nap, I take a nap. If I want to eat ice cream at nine o’clock, I eat ice cream at nine o’clock. If I don’t want to leave my house for four days, then throw a big party, I do so. I have no problem saying no to anybody. I cuddle my dog, I light my candles, I read my books. I mind my bizness. And if I’m feeling frustrated, I go pull weeds or vines. There are always weeds and vines.
If you won two free plane tickets, where would you go? I guess I’d go somewhere two different times, because the thought of traveling with any of the people I know sends a chill down my spine. Well, except Kevin, I could travel with him. I guess I’d go to Ireland, and then I would be hard pressed to pick between Galapagos or Alaska.
If you could bring back one dinosaur, what would it be? Brachiosaurus, hands down. Herbivore, gentle (or at least they are in the Jurassic Park movies), and very large. What more could you want from a dinosaur? (p.s. this question is the whole reason I wanted to knock out some of these prompts. Emily has brought it to my attention I have a thing for dinosaurs. I legit never knew. But it makes sense. Besides Maverick, Jurassic Park are the only movies I’ve seen in theatres in recent years. And The Island has a dinosaur exhibit going on right now and instead of shopping, I sat out there by the fountains and marveled at them)
How would you describe yourself to someone? I’m generally pegged as very self aware, and I hope that’s a truthful statement. Short tempered, dedicated, honest, sassy, funny, intelligent, clever, goofy, a good dresser, poised but country as cornbread, nerdy but terrible at math, fiercely independent, accident prone, practical, direct, emotional, hard working, intolerant, judgmental and wary, with an easy laugh. Emily said I’m as quick to show grace as I am my quick temper, though. She also called me kind, and that’s very much a stretch unless we’re talking about being kind to animals. I am not generally known for my kindness toward my fellow man. And I think I’d like to add fearless here, for a number of reasons, but mainly because it doesn’t frighten me to get in the ocean above my head or go through life alone. I’ve only had myself to depend on for most of my life, why should the rest be any different? I guess most would just call that crazy. I don’t care. I’ll try most anything once.
Was today typical? Yes, very much so. I went to work so: aggravated at traffic, aggravated with Jake, ate tomatoes, read, vacuumed, sat on the porch, and petted my dog. About as normal as they come for me.
It was the only job you ever had. You came on as temporary, filling in for a woman on maternity leave. She never came back and you never left.
You raised so many of us with your kind heart and open arms. We cried together in every bathroom here. You simply understood and were always gracious enough to listen.
If there was a party to be planned, you were the one getting the supplies, making the guest list, and ensuring the ice cream was cranking along. You always visited every table at the Christmas party, seeing to it that every baby got held and everyone got spoken to.
You never missed an Open House, and I think in 46 years your hair was never the same style twice. I seriously doubt you ever repeated an outfit at the Annual Meeting, either. And speaking of meetings, how many desserts did you make over the years for the board meetings? You can make your chocolate chip cookies by muscle memory- how many dozens have you baked for all of us over the years?
Your name is written in black Sharpie on the cupola of this building, where you started in heels and a skirt, armed with an adding machine that you can still operate blindfolded and a little burnt orange Swingline stapler.
You have forever been known for fixing the neatest, clearest, error-free deposit for the bank. You babysat everybody’s kids at one time or another. The Co-op handbook never said anything about daycare services being included with employment, but there is more than one single dad who owes you a thank you. You would organize all the paper bags for us to distribute Christmas cards on the conference room table.
Fellow employees stood by you and rejoiced at your wedding, and then as you brought two boys into this world. They held your hand when your daddy grew sick and they prayed with you as you told him goodbye. We watched your boys grow into men and begin their own careers and start families.
You always extended an invitation to your church for revivals and special sermons and guest preachers. I remember attending a play or two, and a Christmas Eve candlelight service, and to hear Ray Ball sing, and of course to listen to our fellow coworkers Red Beeler and Mark Williams preach. We’d hear all about Vacation Bible School- every year it got wilder and hotter! You invited me during my worst, lowest time, just to sit and be somewhere that love would encircle me.
You sweated your way through one memorable JULY day, all the while reminding me Co-op ladies get married in November. I never was much for advice.
I could count on you to go first at the funeral home, easing the awkward introduction. But the best was the funeral of Joe Woods. I don’t need to remind you that it started in the backseat of the wrong vehicle at Food City. That would have never happened if you’d still been driving the Volvo, just sayin’. Please give me a heads up if Jerry ever decides to get a nose ring or you want to dye your hair blue. I’m not sure who got worse of a shock, or who laughed the hardest after it was over. I’ve never been kicked out of a funeral home, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Speaking of, remember when Joe was at Fort Sanders and we debated on visiting, because he’d always said if you’re in the hospital, you’re too sick for visitors…but we were scared not to! Or the time I thought I’d found him dead in the office he shared with Gary!!! I was the one who almost died, from laughing so hard. And when David Newman fell off the rack at the fuel island and we went to visit him at the hospital and then we went to lunch while we were out…and he beat us back to the store! And when Delmar Maples was so sick, and we thought he never knew we were there, but he said a few days later when he came out of it, he heard every word we spoke by his bedside. We went to visit Lily Ann and you said you liked going to the hospital to see new babies with me, because you didn’t have to worry about competition holding the newborn!
We can’t overlook the year of renovation and all the the storms we endured! Both with the store and employee turmoil. I always felt safest in the old part of the store, especially after watching the tall block wall at the garden center tumble, and then they braced it for weeks afterward. We watched siding fly off the breezeway and I thought, “I guess if I’m gonna die, it may as well be here.” We gave Max Sutton’s retirement (and Barb’s too, I think) in that little construction trailer in the parking lot. We’d just pile in wherever we could. It didn’t matter as long as we got together and had fellowship over hot dogs and hamburgers.
I would come upstairs, pockets stuffed with money to offload, and spend thirty minutes lamenting working with Tuletta or AnnMarie or whichever grouchy customer I’d had to endure. You’d usually have your own story about Dorothy’s latest to add to the woes. We speculated if the new people would work out (most of the time we were right, and they didn’t, but sometimes people would surprise us). We compared coffee mugs, moisturizers, recipes, pocketbooks and earrings. We planned vacations and talked about our mothers. We discussed Thanksgiving menus (the famed carrot soufflé!) for weeks leading up to the holiday.
It’s not Christmas till your little Nativity & glass tree come out, and now I have my own, in your honor, on my desk where I am the secretary who bakes cakes for my board…on occasion…if they’ve been behaving. I will never be as elegant and kind as you, though. I do try to dress well to make up for it. You always look so fashionable in your Belk bargains!
Your touch is everywhere, from the blue jean bank bag your momma sewed, to the decades of files written in your hand.
When Willie received his diagnosis, I ran to you. I wanted to be with family. Co-op is the best family I ever had. I shed so many tears there, most in your company, both from glee and grief. This isn’t meant to be sad, just a collection of all the memories we’ve shared.
The cookouts, the ice cream days, the soup and chili potlucks. The pancake breakfasts from Papa Kents when Darrel would call those early morning store meetings. So many Mexican lunches, so many snobby salesmen. Remember going to Waynesville to help with inventory and we came home black from head to foot? I’m sure your pink lipstick was still in place, though. Without fail, you touched it up after every meal, getting out your little compact. I would sit, amazed, only dreaming of being so polished. I was lucky to survive a lunch without getting barbecue sauce all down my shirt. (Even if I wasn’t eating barbecue!) And I never saw your nails without polish, not one time, not ever.
How can I cram my 13 years of working there and all the other years we’ve spent as friends into one letter to you? I can’t. I looked for a card and they were all bland and simple. You deserve so much more.
Do you remember my first day? I walked into the office and declared, “you went to school with my momma,” and your immediate response was, “no, I didn’t. I’m not old enough.” 🤣🤣🤣 But oh yes you did. We got that sorted, and you became my work momma from thereafter.
You’re still pulling us together for Ladies of the Co-op Cracker Barrel suppers. You are the glue. There are a few things in this world that can be counted on. There are things that endure: God’s word, receiving love from unexpected places, and Robin, secretary at the Co-op. Always and forevermore.
Love you bunches and I don’t know what any of us are going to do without you. Congratulations on your retirement, and for never quitting. That is some achievement.
Today’s writing prompt is: “what are five everyday things that bring you happiness?”
Well, my everyday may look a lot different to someone else’s everyday, but here are mine.
I think a lot of people will agree with this: coffee. It’s a bit of a ritual: selecting a mug, smelling the aroma throughout the house as it brews, deciding if I want sugar and creamer, or sugar and whipped cream, or sugar and caramel….then just sitting, maybe on the porch if the weather is favorable, or tucked into a corner of the couch or maybe my library chair, huddled under a quilt and working the day’s Wordle and Connection puzzles. All makings for a pleasurable morning, thus, bringing me happiness. Before the rest of the world intrudes.
And you know I’m gonna say my dog. I’ve always loved dogs, always had a dog. But I never had my own dog inside until a few years ago. And Chester even slept in my bed for awhile! A body needs a dog. He’s such a delight. He’s entertaining and a lot of company. As my aunt told me: “you needed something to take care of. You needed somewhere for your love to go.” She is right. Dogs are happiness, and it’s contagious.
Reading by candlelight. I guess this is a two-fer. I love my books, even though I generally read on my iPad exclusively anymore. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, but it works out since I love the candlelight. I’m still surrounded by traditional books, and there’s comfort in that. There’s something very soothing about firelight, even just a single flame. And the smell is intoxicating, too.
My painting in the dining room. Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy art, or you can make it. That painting is vibrant and just screams happiness, if you ask me. It has certainly exuded happiness since the first time I ever laid eyes on it at the library.
Lastly, I find myself very happy when I’m sitting on the porch watching lightning bugs and bats. They coexist and I love them both. It’s serene to end the day with the moon. I like to start it with the sun and in this manner, I’ve gone full circle. I think about people in cities who’ve never seen a lightning bug. I’m glad I’m not in the city.
Maybe I shouldn’t have forgotten wine. But I don’t partake every day…and sometimes I go weeks without it. But I go months without lightning bugs, so….
I noticed as I got into this most of the things that make me happy are more about feeling cozy and secure, not outright happy. But that’s accurate, too. I am happiest when I’m home and safe, with nowhere to be, nothing pushing for my attention. So I reckon cozy and secure is peace, and peace is happiness ♥️
The WordPress prompt the other day was “What would you ask your pet if they could talk?” And my initial thought was, “Are you happy here?” but then I decided that was a waste, because any idiot can see that my dog is exuberant and ecstatic. He’s completely boundless, is what he is. So that would be a waste. Then I thought I’d ask him if he was hot, but that would be foolish, too, because what was I gonna do? Shave him like a llama? No. I was still thinking about it the following morning because I’m neurotic and thought I might perhaps ask him if he remembered his time before here, at the shelter or on the streets. But I didn’t want to bring up bad memories for him, or encourage a lot of questions that I don’t have the answer to.
Then there was the possibility of what Chester would ask me. What if he desires a better standard of living? More trips to the Chickalay, more people visiting, more bacon and cheese? This wouldn’t do at all.
So I decided that it was probably best we can’t talk to each other.
However, if he was feeling poorly this would certainly have its merits. When he’s limping, I could ask if he fell off the couch or porch when I wasn’t home. If he was doing the weird bark, I could ask what he thinks is outside instead of me assuming it’s a skunk and not letting him out. But I suppose, on the whole, we’re better off in the dark. Actions speak louder than words and clearly he’s the picture of absolute contentment.
Dogs, man.
She’d be texting me to see if I had any storm damage.
She’d tell me I could stand with her at the service today.
She’d ask if I had lunch plans for afterwards.
If I was going to be late for work or take the day off for sickness or errands, it was imperative I inform my chairman, my secretary, my DC, my Cynthia, and my Susan. Because if I didn’t, I’d have a text at 8:15 asking if I was okay. This is why we called her Momma Hen. When I went on vacation, I texted her to let her know I’d arrived in one piece.
Do you know how many times in the past week I’ve caught myself about to text her?
There is great comfort in knowing the people you love are safe and their whereabouts, knowing precisely where they are. I know with absolute certainty where Susan is.
I don’t know why she loved me and took care of me, other than she’s a good Christian woman. We had next to nothing in common– I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies or raisin’ ’em. I don’t can my own vegetables or show cows and I can’t sew a button on a shirt, let alone crochet an entire blanket. Basically, I ain’t scared to be lazy and Susan didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Sitting in the pew last night, there was a man sitting in front of me that I couldn’t place. I thought, if I was Susan, I’d just tap him on the shoulder, introduce myself and ask. But I ain’t Susan.
Susan could be depended on for many things. She taught by her actions, not her words. She wasn’t one to cram religion down your throat; she wore her cross on a chain as a quiet reminder of her salvation. She would always pray before taking a bite. I’m no good at praying out loud, especially before a group. She never hesitated to say the blessing in a crowded room. She was one who only saw the good in people, but would listen peacefully whenever I found fault in others but not judge me for it.
Bless her.
Sarah got up and sang last night. I admire her for it. I can write and share my words with y’all but to open my mouth and make a joyful noise unto the Lord? To praise and worship? To sing while my best friend lay in a box before me? You’d need a mop because I’d just melt away. But Sarah did a beautiful job and I’m so thankful she was able to. I have never attended a busier funeral. We were shoulder to shoulder in every pew. A testament of the life Susan spent devoted to loving others so well. She showed us how to love because she showed up in life for us. She stopped by for a chat whenever she was in the area. She sent jokes and memes on Messenger (ask me to forward you the last one I sent her– it was of our Patron Saint Dolly!). She asked how my dog was and sent flowers on my birthday. I started to back out of my Bowling Green trip this weekend because it felt wrong to have fun. It wasn’t going to be easy, at any rate. But I thought, no, Susan was all about spending time with those she loved. I shouldn’t miss it. I couldn’t do anything here for her. It was the same for Thursday night when Kay said I needed to get out and get out of my head. And she wasn’t wrong, either.
I have laid to rest many members of my family over the years, several coworkers, and loads of customers. I’ve attended services when I didn’t know the one in the coffin, but I knew the family left behind to grieve.
But today I buried a friend.
She was not strictly a friend, she was a coworker, too, and even a customer from my years at Co-op. But above all, Susan Mottern was my friend. And I am so fortunate that I can say that. To be loved unconditionally is a gift and a blessing and I hope you have one, too. I hope you know who will hold your hand.
We buried my friend this morning in the rain. It didn’t matter. It rolled right off and when I lifted my head my tears mixed with the drops as I listened to the “amens” echoing through the crowd.
Today is National Farm Workers Day. As I’ve said, Susan was a worker. She didn’t care to get dirty, hot, and sweaty. She’d rather be outside doing what needed to be done than inside cleaning windows. We needed the rain. I like to think Susan sent it. She’s still working for the farms, y’all. She’s still keeping watch over us all. And good thing, because I sure ain’t fit to see about my own self today.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to work and I’ll look for her green dot out of habit, to check in and see what was for breakfast and how much rain she got. Because that’s what we did. We checked on each other. Because that’s what friends do.
Thankfully, I have many friends out there, because you all have checked on me the last few days. I met some new friends last night and saw many, many old ones. It was so good to see everybody turn out for Susan. I tell you who would have liked it better than anybody- the one it was for. She always did enjoy visiting and catching up. I hate she missed this one. It was a real hum-dinger.
Y’all bow and pray for the ones still here, navigating this life without her. Please.
“I believe from what I have been told you will be doing in heaven what you enjoyed doing here on earth. That is why JE tells me the Lord won’t be having me working cattle because he knows I can’t…lol I will be cooking or rocking babies…” November 19th 2021 10:58 am
I know who’s rocking babies this morning, right after she got the hug of all hugs from her savior, Jesus Christ, as He welcomed and ushered her through the gates of Heaven.
I am mourning one of my dearest friends this morning. I called her Momma Hen but two people just called her momma, and eight more called her Mamaw. She celebrated 39 years of marriage on Monday to a man she knew was hers from the time she was nine years old.
I’ve only known her since I started Co-op, in 2001.
Susan has been the secretary for Jefferson Co SWCD since December 1st, 2015. She comes from a farming family, and canned dozens of quarts of vegetables and jams every year from their huge garden. At one time they had broiler houses in Sevier County but had moved to Jefferson and concentrated on raising polled Hereford cattle, corn, and putting up hay and silage.
It was easy to talk about God and faith with her, as she was such a strong believer. To know her was to know the Lord and watch how steadfast a completely convicted person could operate in the face of cancer. I know her most fervent wish is that you would ask the Lord into your heart and be saved by the blood of Jesus. I would be remiss to only ask for prayers for the family at this time. Susan would want you to pray for the lost, and for yourself. And she also pleaded to spread the word that if you have a lingering cough, get to a pulmonologist. Please pray for those of us that are left here to grieve and know that she left a legacy in the name of friendship and prevailing kindness above all. She was love personified.
I didn’t visit her while she’s been sick, out of fear of carrying in some respiratory virus I wouldn’t even know I was harboring. I regret that. I regret not being as good of a friend to her as she was to me.
I’m thankful I know where she is, and I’m thankful she knows how much she was loved. She was so easy to love. I’m also immensely grateful she never lost her appetite! I’ve laughed many times in the last two weeks as she shared a report of her daily menu.
To say I will miss her is a horrible understatement.
I think we were in Chattanooga
So, Christmas dinner at the gas station! We always made the best of things
At a quarter after five, I am awoken.
Again.
A little after one this morning, Chester was howling in his sleep. Sometimes he does that. Another time, I had to teetee. Another time, I was hot. Plus it had taken me forever to get to sleep, because some redneck down the road was shooting joyfully till past ten last night.
I laid there, wondering what it was that had disrupted my slumber this time.
After a few moments, I heard a short, faint beep. That’s weird. I have very few things in this house that beep. It had to be a smoke detector. But no, that’s not right, either. My smoke detectors have a built in battery that are supposed to last ten years. And they’re not even two yet.
But still. Definitely a beep.
Nothing to do but get up, which overjoys my roommate (the one with a tail, y’all, calm down). I come to the other end of the house and it’s slightly louder, but the source doesn’t seem to be upstairs at all. There is another 10 year detector downstairs. And what’s that voice? Or was that my stomach? Another minute or two and I heard it again. I don’t know of ANYTHING in this house that talks to me. I’m limited on technology over here. I checked my Amazon purchases to be extra sure I wasn’t losing my mind on the smoke detectors. Nope. 10 years. Purchased September 30th, 2023. I bought that type for this very reason.
I sigh and trudge downstairs, fully committed to finding the culprit now.
I walk over to the other alarm. While I’m standing there, daring it to go off, something beeps from the opposite end of the basement. I’m fully perplexed now. My freezer and washer and dryer are the only other things down here that require power. I stick my head in the laundry room. 5:30 and all is well.
I’m standing there, hands on my hips, eyes narrowed, surveying the basement, and it goes off again, right above my head. “Low battery,” a woman’s voice states calmly, for probably the 20th time.
I look up.
Another fire alarm, obviously installed by my former husband, that I wasn’t aware of.
I sigh and drag a chair over.
I go to pull it off its peg and it won’t budge. I twist, and half the alarm dangles into my hand.
It’s WIRED IN.
Of course it is. He was an electrician. Soooooo why does it even need batteries???? It’s literally wired into the electricity of the house.
I push back the battery cover. Two AA Duracells await me. I ask them what their purpose in life is.
They deign not to answer.
I sigh and pry them out. This takes the force of a knife. I expect the beep and voice to shut up now that I have removed the problem.
Beep. “Low battery”.
I search for a switch or a button.
“Press to hush” reads the test button.
I press.
Oh, you know what happened.
The looooooong high pitched beep of the smoke detector has no rival. And I’m within a foot of it. May I remind you it’s 5:40 in the morning? I mash it again to cut it off, but it wasn’t finished with its little display of tricks. Three insistent chirps. “Carbon monoxide,” the voice stated now.
I wish something would kill me. I could kill my ex all over again.
The light was flashing red now, instead of serene green.
Ever the optimist, I thought maybe once it got through this, it would perform some sort of reset and realize it was wired in and would recognize the batteries were nonessential.
Ha.
“Low battery.”
“No, you ain’t got NO batteries, you stupid &%@!!!!” I screamed.
Chester retreated to the stairs.
And now the battery cover wouldn’t slide all the way back, so even if I did put batteries in it, I couldn’t get two in there.
I studied the wires.
I did not feel confident I wouldn’t electrocute myself, and it was too early in the day to go dying, and it was way too early to call any of my friends who might offer me a solution (=come bail me out). It is also Sunday, and while I knew I could call the fire department, it’s an ungodly time to do that to anybody, emergency services or not. Plus, its not their fault I’m stupid.
I thought of the episode of Friends where Phoebe is having a similar problem. But worse, she gets the “Hey Mickey” song in her head. Oh no, don’t do it….
All I knew to do was put fresh batteries in it. IF I could get the cover pushed all the way back again. I fiddled with it, I cajoled, I cussed. Finally, in a fit of rage, it submitted.
I sighed and climbed off my metal folding chair.
Fortunately, I had just bought a four pack of AA Duracells at Walmart Thursday. I needed them for my thermostat. Then yesterday I noticed my dining room clock was running slow. It only takes one.
My math ain’t good, but I know that leaves one.
So I robbed the new one out of the clock. I stomped back downstairs to the hateful beeping apparatus. I crammed the batteries in their new home.
“Low battery,” the bitch said.
I told her directly where to go, and which horse to take.
I reversed the batteries.
She wisely made no further remarks.
I forced the cover back.
Silence.
I twisted the apparatus back against its base.
All is quiet.
I climbed off my perch, squinty eyed and daring the white orb to say just one. More. Thing.
Thank God and Greyhound, I reckon I’ve got it remedied.
The last button I mashed was for coffee at 6:04.
I suppose I should be thankful the batteries lasted this long. It had to have been installed prior to 2018. But what a frustrating way to start my day.
Sometimes I believe I was placed here to make others feel better about their own lives.
For instance, today.
Well, it started early this week when I was thinking, “Amy, if you’re gonna make cookies, you need to get on it.” And I answered, “ehhh, I’ll do it Thursday night and that way I can deliver Friday.”
So last night I broke out my recipe book and flipped to the back to my beloved peanut butter cookies. I don’t eat them, so they’re about the only truly selfless thing I do for others.
I’m gathering ingredients. I had conveniently forgotten you have to bring the eggs and butter to room temperature. Dang it. No way to hasten that without breeding bacteria.
I read on.
Chill a minimum of three hours.
Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.
By the time I got ingredients to room temp and everything mixed, it would be 7:00. Three hours puts me at 10:00, also known as Amy’s bedtime. But in a stroke of brilliance, I figure I can just take the batter to work and bake them there. No fuss, no muss.
Well, I woke up at 5:11. Not on purpose. I just did. So I went ahead and got up and decided to bake the cookies.
Hmm. That’s odd. Dough was still sticky and very pliable. I vividly remember in years past wishing for a hammer and chisel to pry enough loose to form a ball.
🤷♀️ I pressed on, making sixteen little cookies and mashed a fork on each one. They immediately squished, another unfavorable characteristic. But in for a penny, in for a pound. I popped them in the oven and set the timer for ten minutes.
The flat mess that looks like a pizza crust was the result.
I moved the remaining dough to the freezer, thinking my fridge must be going out, and I’d think about that tomorrow. Cookies are a today problem, and I can only marginally cope with one issue at a time.
Chester paced at my feet, offering encouragement and silently offering to be quality control.
I got ready for work and brought the dough with me. Stuck it in the freezer here. Completed secretarial tasks.
Pulled back my hair and put my apron on. Retrieved dough from freezer. Pleased that it was now a consistency I was familiar with. Rolled into balls. Mashed with fork.
About the time I got to cookie #12, I noted the dough was already becoming less firm.
This might be an Amy issue, not a fridge failure. Imagine that.
So sure enough, pulled them out, and a similar mess to the one I was confronted with at 5:30.
I wondered if maybe it was due to the brief intermission I took when David Newman happened by with a warm Chickalay biscuit and his sweet heeler. (I love Christmas, biscuits from friends for no reason). But no. Couldn’t be.
And then I had my epiphany.
I had used self rising flour in place of all purpose flour. This can usually be done without adverse effects, you just have to omit the other powder ingredients (baking soda, baking powder, and salt).
Well, two outta three ain’t bad.
So this is what it looks like when you make peanut butter cookies with self rising flour PLUS salt.
0/5, do not recommend.
If this is the worst that happens to me this week, Wyatt, I am ROLLING.
I made it through Walmart Market without my blood pressure becoming elevated, everybody was at their jolliest. Maybe it was due to the enormous Christmas ball necklace strung around my neck; perhaps I looked too crazy to cross 🤣🤣🤣🤣 {they ain’t wrong 😏} oh!! And I ran into Kathy, Chester’s Number One Fan, that I worked with at Food City that hot summer. It was so great. Surprisingly, she was the only one I knew in the place, so I managed to get out in nearly record time.
Ahhhh, Christmas. The chaos continues and the countdown is truly on.
Jingling all the way,
~Amy
Postscript: this reminded me of another year when there was a mishap involving peanut butter cookies. My Uncle Dale’s best friend, Kent, had a weakness for them. So I promised I’d make him his very own batch and deliver. I’d never been to their house, but I knew where it was. I texted his wife on my way, but she didn’t answer. I get there and the gate at the bottom of their driveway was closed, indicating they were out. No problem, I just nestled the container under the latch post where they couldn’t miss it, and sent them another text that they had been delivered.
A short time later Cheryl texts back that they were home and their gate was open. I describe the flag on their gate. Turns out I delivered to their neighbors, whom they didn’t know. Since not much time had passed, I instructed to hustle over there and retrieve them. They could show my texts as proof the cookies had not been delivered to the correct recipient.
Well, lo and behold the container of cookies had already disappeared! I really hope they enjoyed them and didn’t think they were poisoned. 🤣🤣🤣🤣 It is also my sincere wish that they needed the pick me up Christmas magic, because Kent was sorely disappointed and he passed suddenly before the following Christmas, so he never did get his own batch. But we had a good time laughing about it for awhile, anyway.
It has been a very long day.
I tried to pace myself, and start strong with coffee and breakfast. I usually treat myself to Bojangles after the doctor, but I’d be treating myself to some dirty martinis later, so I figured I could make my breakfast.
I get to the dermatologist and the waiting room was PACKED. It was only nine in the morning; I think they start seeing patients at 7:30, so this was surprising. The guy sitting next to me was reading a Bible. He was about my age. I hope he was ok. Or maybe he was the driver of someone and he was in the word for them. I commented on it to my doctor and she speculated maybe he just liked reading the Bible. “As we all should,” I acceded.
Surprisingly, I like my new doctor better than my old one. This one may not look as carefully, but she still found plenty to freeze and cut on. “Plenty” being three spots total, but that’s enough. And what I really liked about her was her easygoing demeanor and ability to smile. Amy was very serious. When this one said, “your chest looks good,” I replied, “that’s what all the boys tell me.”
I thought her and the nurse both were gonna fall out.
I have to wait two weeks to know the results of what my previous doctor called “a bug bite that didn’t heal correctly”. I’m sticking with that diagnosis in the meantime. I got enough to occupy my mind without worrying I’ve got skin cancer.
It was a busy day at work. Addison came up and stayed on the phone nearly the whole entire day. If he wasn’t on the phone, he was on a Teams meeting. I’ve never had to contend with so much racket at this office. It was relentless. And above that, endless crunching and sniffing from JRN that I still haven’t become accustomed to after a year of it. It makes the day go by much faster having Addison in house but wow it’s a lot when it’s typically so quiet.
Board tonight, with Christmas Party thrown in. My friend Wayne baked us a cake (at Kent’s request) and brought it by. This is a very sweet gesture from anyone, but most especially from this gentleman who is tighter than bark on a tree and also a bit of a curmudgeon. “Bit” being a sorely understated term.
Since the meeting didn’t start till six, there was no place to go but the bar and sling back a few martinis in the meantime. I met a very nice gentleman who originally hailed from Indiana that is rooting for Tennessee and also Indiana, because he said he wasn’t smart enough or wealthy enough to attend Notre Dame, and they needed beat for a change.
I agreed wholeheartedly.
He was eating a wedge salad and I remarked he was a cheap date, which thrilled him to no end. Jake had came down to our end at one point and the dude had offered to scoot down and I told him quickly it wasn’t necessary; I see snotty Jake all day every day. Just before he left he asked me if Jake gave me trouble, he was under the impression I didn’t like him very much. I laughed and said not that kind of trouble, and I appreciated him saving me from the germs.
He was very curious about who my crowd was, and I told him, in a nutshell, about how we help farmers. He smiled and said that was wonderful. I asked him if he was a farmer and he outright laughed. “I’m no farmer,” he admitted.
I twinkled back at him. “I know you’re not. I know every farmer in this county!”
And then it was time to eat and make merry. It was a small group this year, which made me a little sad. But Addison had a sick baby, and David was with Jaimie at her party for her work (at the Sunsphere! How exciting!), we had one missing, and two wives who had other commitments. Of course JRN had hastened to bring a date, who smiled a lot but didn’t speak except when spoken to. I was okay with that, but if you’re gonna get a word in edgewise around the rest of us, you’re gonna have to fight for it 😁 Sam came, and seemed to be in a big way, and I was pleased to see Athen was getting around better than expected.
My shoes were too big, and I had put those little grippy things in the backs to help, but they didn’t help enough. I tripped my way back from the bathroom.
We got a blessing at the end of the meal, even though we forgot to bless the beginning. I’m blaming David, since he’s the one I always ask. I don’t know that any of the rest of us would have been comfortable praying out loud. I missed it, though.
I wasn’t quite home when the news came of a distant acquaintance’s passing. I’m friends with his twin brother on Facebook, and I vaguely remember waiting on them at Co-op many years ago before they moved away. This is a type of hurt I’ll never know, and can only imagine the trauma. I would say they were closer than any best friend or sibling you could ever have, just going from what I could see on Facebook with their constant ribbing. My breath caught as I imagined the days ahead for the remaining brother. I truly cannot even begin to think about how lost he must feel. Once again, we don’t have to look far to find people with bigger problems than our own.
In this book I’m working on the author writes about the differences of people who survive, which is an enormous thing, but also the people who are warriors. The ones who didn’t take cover in the ditch when the fighting was imminent. The ones who suited up and rode. The ones who fought for the ones that were cowering behind closed doors. And maybe that’s all they had; maybe that’s all they were mentally equipped for. And that’s ok. Not everybody is a warrior. I am so tired. But I tell myself, “you are not merely a survivor. You are a warrior.” And I smile. I’m out here in the world, facing whatever comes my way. I have yet to run. I don’t know how much more fight I have in me, but if I’m called to do so, know that I will until my dying breath. Survivors can trudge along behind the ones who fought. Survivors can get in line. Warriors lead. Warriors stand.
And warriors cry when nobody watches.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
