Last week was Library Appreciation Week. I only posted one thing about it, but I think I post often enough so everybody knows where I stand on libraries.
In case you recently crawled out from under a lettuce leaf, know that I LOVE them.
I don’t know that I can adequately put into words what the library means to me. But I’m gonna try my best. Even though I’m more than a week late. I’m always late. And before I forget, that cover pic was taken by Liz Ballard, who truly has a history with our local library. I didn’t ask for permission, but I don’t think she’ll mind.
I have served on the local library board for several years now, and it looks like I’m going off next month to serve on the Regional Board.
Anyway, that’s the least of my love. QUITE literally. Board meetings are typically endured, not always enjoyed. Even though they try to make it cool. Here’s our meeting room:
But that’s part of adulting. The good news is, it allows me to know what events are coming up before anybody else 😀 I have a lifespan of memories at the library. It brought tears to my eyes when I was asked to serve. My mind flashed back to all the times I’d walked through the door, clutching my satchel, ready to return the fifteen and borrow my next bunch. My hair in a french braid so it wouldn’t get in my eyes as I made my selections. I still remember the old libraries, and how they grew. The one in my hometown started out as a camper in the parking lot of Third National Bank, parking there only one day a week. I would beg Mom to drive me to the “big” one in Sevierville that had more books and were open every day. My school library couldn’t keep up. That’s where I got my bubble burst, too. After I abandoned my veterinary career dream, I decided I wanted to be a librarian for obvious reasons. My primary school librarian had the audacity to tell me she didn’t get to actually read all the books. I think tears of disappointment mixed with sorrow fell from my eyes.
I attended “Library Camp” which I know as the Summer Reading Program now. It’s a major undertaking that drives every volunteer and worker to their knees with fatigue by the end of every day. Back then I remember making little beaches inside seashells and lots of crafty projects involving glue and glitter. I remember Judy Godfrey helping me. I remember being read to. These are just MY memories. I know y’all have plenty as well.
I can’t even tell you all the awesome things our library provides. Just yesterday I learned that they have a vinyl decal machine. I could have saved six dollars and made my own sea turtle sticker instead of ordering it. They have a 3-D printer where you can make whistles and bracelets and once…a prosthetic nose. They have a green screen and you can record a commercial. This is all on the third floor in the maker space. They have conference rooms and computers that you can use for free. They have crafty classes all the time and make cutting boards and wreaths and wine cork art. They have writers come for book signings and speeches, lots of local speakers who talk about everything from planting by the signs to forensic pathology, and artists who’ll teach you how to paint with a twist. I’m just getting started, y’all. They rent daypacks for adventures in the woods, lots of DVDs, and have genealogists on hand to help you trace back your family’s roots. There’s a bookstore, too, in case you need a quick gift or just want to own your own copy of a favorite book. There’s a little cafe tucked in the corner, and Chess Club, and Bingo Club, and of course, a book club for everyone.
I hear those book clubs are how some people make lifelong friends.
Anyway, what I’m trying to stress to you is that libraries are important. They run on a shoestring budget-those librarians are THRIFTY! They write grants to petition big businesses to give us money to buy those 3-D printers and scanners to replace microfiche machines. They beg and plead with local government to give raises to their employees, and get more employees so they can have more programs or stay open longer hours or so branch locations can be open on Saturdays. They try to give the people what they want, I promise you that. They encourage the public to make commissioners aware of how much you use the library. Through donations of local people and organizations, they are able to provide “snack time” for afterschool children, and let me tell you, there are stories there that will positively break your heart. They are constantly having fundraisers- yard sales, bake sales, drives for mittens and scarves and coats, and my favorite- Night at The Library!
They have a Teen Group that visits the nursing homes and they go caroling and they have lock-ins. Did I mention the “Movies at the Commons”? They run a classic movie once a month in the summer under the stars! How cool is that? I think they even provide water and popcorn. There’s always art on exhibit to enjoy and purchase (I’m currently saving for the painting below).
They have little lending libraries scattered in remote locations around the county, too, and you don’t have to worry about returning those in a timely fashion. And hey, didja know you don’t even have to leave the comfort of your own home to use the library? In Tennessee, we have this awesome online ebook source called R.E.A.D.S. It’s simple! You just log on with your local library card number, set up an account, surf through their ebooks and audiobooks and check out and download. Super easy! And what about those of you who don’t have internet? And can’t get to the library enough to use their free WiFi? Well, they also let you borrow hotspots. That’s right. Take one of those gadgets home and Viola! You’re on the grid. Don’t know how to use a computer if you did have the WiFi? Well, they have computer classes, too. And tax assistance. And a lawyer once a month who does free thirty minute sessions. I’m beginning to think if the library ain’t got it, you don’t need it.
I could go on and on, but while all these things are nice, none of it would happen without the people. It takes a passel of caring individuals for any of these things to happen. It starts with a good director. They have to know who is best in which position. The director has to be approachable, because any job dealing with the public is a demanding, exhausting one. And you have to be able to talk about your challenges with someone who has been there and knows the best way to handle it. There will be children who come to you for hugs and advice, because there’s no one at home to help them. The employees of the library have to have the patience of a saint. Every employee. They have to refrain from rolling their eyes when a patron asks for a book they read as a child and all they can remember is that it was about a frog and the cover was orange. Or maybe it was blue…
There are Legos to pick up and books to reshelve and tears to wipe. There are little dramas every day, and cheese to slice and decorations to pack away. There is help to give, every time you turn around. And they all pitch in. It takes a village to raise a child, and I hope and pray that you use the library as an integral part of your village. There’s hardly a better environment. Stimulation is only apart of it. Here you will witness people interacting, and sharing, and loving something that is there for everybody. Here you can find acceptance, no matter what you think is the weirdest part of yourself. If you ask me, there’s hardly anything more comforting than being in the midst of thousands of books, and also among people who love them. If I ever get married again, I’ll do it there.
Lord, I’m here with head bowed to pray for the best institution in my existence and the people who run it efficiently. They don’t have much money, but they have heart and soul and help more people in an eight hour day than any church I’ve ever set foot in. Why is it the people who have the least help the most? I thank you for all the people who make this happen, from generous donors to the volunteers who sacrifice time to make others days a little better. I thank you for the workers. They will never be paid their weight in gold, but I want them to know without a doubt they are appreciated and noticed. They are making a difference in people’s lives and will never be forgotten. I still have my memories of my favorite librarians, even though I have new favorites today. I pray that you encourage them, Lord, and lift them up when they find it so hard to keep going. They never know what will await them that day. I pray for the children as well. I pray that as they grow in knowledge, they grow in love, and that they never forget how the library made them feel. I hope that they will grow up and give freely to the institution that helped them thrive and become successful. I pray for the troubled ones, too, the ones who are coming from a difficult home life and the only solace they find is at the library. I especially pray for these children, that they know they are loved and accepted and special in their own way. That they know the library is the very safest place. I pray for the trustees that serve with me in the running of the library. May our decisions always be led by who we can help the most and how to enrich lives and dreams. May we spread good news always, and be advocates and encouragers of this establishment. May the government let the funds flow freely, and step back to let the directors know how to spend it. They are the front lines, they know the needs of their county. Thank you especially for blessing our county with the best director ever, who has a heart bursting with love for her career, who believes she makes a difference, who can give the right answer every time. Thank you for all the people who open the doors and let everybody enter- no questions asked. Please protect them, Lord. They only have their hearts. They are only there to do good. May their love of books grow, and they always have time to read them so as to be able to recommend to those seeking assistance. Thank you for our gift of sight, our compassion, and all the teachers and librarians through the years who have patiently taught us how to sound out and spell and READ. In Jesus’ Holy name, Amen.
With all my love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
Some of you who follow closely are probably confused. First of all, there are technically 40 days of Lent observed. But there at the start, I didn’t take off Sundays, so I’m gonna wind up with 44 days by the time Easter gets here. Also, my last post is day 35. Where did the other days go? Well, sometimes you gotta prioritize. And yesterday, something traumatic happened in our little town, and it bears a blog post.
Today was going to be for Paris, and the crippling shock of the loss of Notre Dame. It was truly a marvel. And when something stands the test of time and wars for eight centuries you think it will be around forever. But one spark….just one spark and all the history and beauty will crumble. I can only imagine how paralyzed Parisians feel. And were they scared, too? Did they think it was another terrorist attack? Thank God it wasn’t. And I haven’t heard of any casualties, but I haven’t researched it, either.
Today is Wednesday, April 17th. Yesterday, I was sitting at the office with my DC and Engineer when a bunch of sirens cut loose and blasted down the road. They were going so fast I swear the building rocked. Which, in itself, is not unusual. They’re always in a hurry going somewhere. Lots of emergencies in this town. Although from my experience it tends to be car wrecks or old people having a stroke. Or a seizure. Lord, at the seizures. They used to call me The Seizure Queen at dispatch, because I seemed to get every one. I guess Sevier County is just overstimulating and brings them on. Anyway, about twenty minutes later I hear there has been a shooting at Five Oaks Mall.
Now this is just about out of the realm of my comprehension. Five Oaks???? Not that it’s such a prestigious place, not that I haven’t had a bit of parking rage there, myself, but a shooter?? I’ve been expecting some mass destruction at a Rod Run for years now. All those rednecks out there with guns and beer, sure. Some Islamic smart aleck running his mouth and that be the end of that. After 9/11 I held my breath for several months, because if some crazy was looking for a head count, there it would be.
So a shooter at Five Oaks really scrambled what I thought I knew. And that is that my little town is reasonably safe.
Instantly my mind went to the dispatchers, as it always does.
The first caller wouldn’t get much more than a syllable expelled before all the emergency lines would ring at once, that piercing alarm sound and flashing red lights on every line at every station. The trunk lines would fill and roll. And roll. And roll. It would be a flurry of button pushing and interagency chatter as information is relayed as it became available. The dispatchers would be on their feet, because this isn’t routine. This isn’t reading pre-arrivals for a heart attack from the spiral bound notebook. This is a horror scene. Everybody would be holding their breath, waiting for the first officer on scene. It wouldn’t take long, but ten seconds is too long in a situation like this. Did they hear the shot as the shooter took his own life? Surely, if it happened the way the police speculate. But I don’t think so. I think it was instant– as soon as he shot the second victim, I think this man turned the gun on himself. I don’t think he heard sirens or screams or anything but the sound of his own heart pounding. What was he thinking? What was his goal?
And then the shoppers.
There were two kinds of shoppers yesterday, two kinds of people.
There were those, locked somewhat safely away in breakrooms and stockrooms with other shoppers and employees of the store. They were praying, and calling their families, and crying in shock. They were squeezing their arms and hugging each other and wondering what was going on. There were planners, too, in every bunch. People who had already worked out that they would be the ones to take charge if he came in on them. People who carry their weapons. People with a plan. People who have Nabs in their pocketbook along with a pocketknife. I think of how many times I’ve strolled right there on that very sidewalk. How many times I’ve set foot in that Coach store (and there is irony in this, too, you’ll read about it in a few days) and how I’ve never felt threatened or frightened being there at any time. Maybe a little suffocated in August when the heat is oppressive and the shoppers are everywhere, but never even suspicious of anyone specifically. Would I have been the one in the stockroom, taking charge? Would I have been comforting the people around me? Would I have been on my feet, eyeing all of them suspiciously, wondering if another murderer was in our midst? A conspirator? Would I have been inconsolable, crying in the corner? I don’t know. But I know what I wouldn’t have been.
I wouldn’t have been one of these indifferent people this young lady encountered.
That hurt my heart. How do people become so numb?
On September 11th, 2001, I was, of course, at Co-op. The news came in from customers. And when the second plane hit, we knew it was not an accident. And all I could think was that I wanted to go home. Home equals safety to me. I wanted to see my Grandmother and my dog and my horse. I wanted to be with those I loved, so I could watch, and keep them as close and safe as I could. So I know that had I been at Five Oaks yesterday when all this went down, my number one thought would have been getting home to my cocoon immediately. But this is Co-op we’re talking about, and Co-op sells necessities like gas and feed for critters. The show must go on. So I stayed and worked. There weren’t a whole lot of sales. Everybody seemed to have the same idea about getting home, barricading themselves, and staying put. By the time we closed, the roads were deserted and it made fir an eerie evening commute.
Growing up in East Tennessee, you are prepared at a very young age for the threat that is Oak Ridge being bombed. We would truly be but a vapor in that instance, but it was a very real possibility and something that dominated my thoughts for several months following. I guess that would be a decent way to go. Now you see me, now you don’t. I always hope it will be quick.
I waited on some real convicts over the years. Somebody was always bringing in a “Just Busted” paper and it was great fun poring over it to see which customers had been incarcerated that week. But it was also a bit scary. I feel like it’s just a matter of time before stores lock down, putting their employees behind bullet proof glass. I had a few experiences on that counter when I wished for a barrier. People are CRAZY.
Anyway. What I’m trying to drive at, is while you pray for the victims and their families, and you pray for the first responders and law enforcement, while you pray for the bystanders who are now dealing with seeing this horrific scene go down in an instant, while you pray for the workers who no longer feel safe and secure in their place of work…while you pray for all these people…don’t forget to pray for the dispatchers. They’re the first line. They are the people who draw information from hysterical callers. They’re the ones who get the help on the way. They are just as important to emergency services as your police, firemen, and paramedics. And so often they are overlooked. So often they don’t get commended. So often they don’t get closure. So please remember our dispatchers.
Lord, it’s been a trying time for many in our county. A dark cloud passed through yesterday but fortunately didn’t linger. There are so many questions and we probably won’t ever get all the answers. I pray that the innocent soul is with you now, and that you will provide comfort in the ways only you can to her family. What a freak happening for our county. I pray for the man who was wounded, may he heal quickly and go on to spread a testimony of your abundant grace. May the employees be able to move on and feel comfortable going to work and understand that this isn’t commonplace. May the ones that are mature enough to handle it go on to get their concealed carry permit. No one should feel like they can’t defend themselves. May their corporations understand, and offer therapy and counseling to those who need it. May the mall not suffer any sort of lawsuit, as this was truly no one’s fault but the misguided man pulling the trigger. I pray for the witnesses to the crime, it is my desire that this incident not mar the beauty of our county, and that they are able to look past it and visit again. May this troubling event bring so many closer to you. I thank you for the men and women who rushed in, unknowing what they were dealing with. Bless them for attending training to stay abreast of tactics for dealing with an active shooter. Thank you for those that care. Thank you for the quick response. Thank you for the helpers on scene, as surely someone is an unspoken hero out there, staunching blood flow or simply holding a hand as one soul slipped out of this Earth into your heavenly home. Thank you for the brave leaders in the back parts of stores, adrenaline pumping as they girded for action. Thank you for the officers delivering information, conducting interviews, and collecting evidence as this case progresses. It will be a tiresome job. And thank you, Lord, for the dispatchers. Last, as usual. May their heart rates slow and may a calm always descend upon them as they help. No matter how long you’re there, no matter how many times you answer that phone, your heart will always jerk as you think, “What now?” They do the best they can, every call, every time. Dispatch is a punishing, brutal, and nearly thankless job. My heart is with them. Thank you for having people in place that can handle it. Thank you for their new leadership, I think they are transitioning well. I thank you for our tourists, and the beauty of the park that draws them here. We are fortunate to live in an area where this isn’t the norm. And if you see fit, God, let’s keep it that way. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
Today’s Lent I failed on a grand scale. It was like I didn’t even try. I could make up some stupid something that I did without, but that’s cheating, and I’m not a cheater. I drove too fast, I cussed, I gossiped, I wasted money, and I drank. I was an all around sorry Christian. The kind that non church goers despise. And who can blame them? That’s why I say don’t look to me for an example, look in your Bible.
Did I mention that it’s Emergency Communicator’s Week? Our little slice of the world has a history of bringing it in with a bang. A few years ago was the helicopter crash.
So while you’re sending up prayers for those guys in red trucks, and those paramedics, and the fellers dressed in black or tan with the swift cars, say one for the voices too. They tend to suffer in silence.
Oh, and they like food. And coffee. And coloring books.
Just an FYI.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
~Wednesday April 10th
A long time ago, this lady would come in the Co-op once a week and buy birdseed. She was always friendly but did not loiter. She just got the items on her list and away she went.
One day, I inquired after a gentleman that I frequently waited on that worked for the same outfit she did. I hadn’t seen him in
Most of y
She’s made me biscuits, salsa, and buttered toast with eggs. We commiserate over our curly hair and compare notes on taming it. I truly wish y’all could meet her JUST to hear about the time she took her neighbor fish guts to use as fertilizer. Let me just tell you, by the end of it, she was wearing a motorcycle helmet. She’s truly wonder woman, she can do some plumbing, fold a fitted sheet, and she built her own kitchen table! She loves Jesus in the most pure and heartfelt way, and honors him by occasionally singing his glory. I cannot put into words how country she is, or how funny (but know that you will either spit out your drink or pee your pants if you do get to have a conversation with her). She convinced me to read a 832 page book, when we all clearly know I ain’t got time for that! (And I loved it). There are just some people I feel an instant kinship to, and she is one of them.
Now. When I started this Lent challenge, of course I messaged her to see what she would like me to pray for and to sacrifice. She’s a nurse, so she’s naturally busy. A new homestead on top of that. And if I recall, she was going to see her daddy who lives in Yankeeland around that time, too. She told me she wanted to read the book of Solomon one weekend, or maybe something else, and that I could take that up with her, and she’d get back to me on specific prayer requests. Well, I never heard for sure anything but then last Tuesday evening I got a text that her mother-in-law had suddenly passed.
I suppose there is a certain reassurance in knowing where your loved one is headed, but there is probably a whole lot more heartbreak in that you don’t get to see her any old time you want anymore. And the sorrow Tammy Lynn feels for her husband losing his mother is even greater. The only other consolation is that she didn’t suffer, they didn’t have to watch her mind and body deteriorate. She didn’t have to worry about being a burden on her children, and they didn’t have to agonize about her health for a decade. Just like a dandelion in the wind, she is gone. You have to find your peace where you can. Sometimes you have to look mighty hard for it.
Heavenly father, we do not know when our time will be. Some of our greatest disappointments are when our plans don’t line up with yours. But our plans are meaningless; you show us this again and again. But it still comes with suffering. I pray for the hearts of the ones left behind that are missing that sweet soul you gained Tuesday. I know, without knowing her, that she is leaving a passel of aching friends and family. I pray specifically for John and his son, Thad. I know they were extremely close, as they have lived nearby all these years. I know their hurt is a true pain, a deep cut. I pray that your strength and comfort fall over their shoulders like a warm blanket. I pray for Tammy Lynn to have the right words at the right time, and failing that, a comforting embrace for John to come to. I pray for his father, Lord, as he goes forward with his life without his wife of so many decades. May his neighbors and church friends console him and help him on his way. May they all remember that she is truly home now, and all her troubles have floated away. Thank you for the quick passing, with minimal pain and stress. Thank you for this loving woman, and for her immediate acceptance of my friend. It is obvious she was well and truly loved. Thank you for the wonderful person she
How do I know this woman was so loved when I’d never met her a day in my life? Because I drove to Greeneville Saturday and witnessed the turnout. People by the hordes. Church ladies whispering in groups and young children darting around in the hallway. Tammy Lynn in her sassy shoes. John with dry eyes, but a look about him of a shattered heart.
Green County sure is beautiful in the spring. It’s also very green. In front of the funeral home stood a magnificent tree. TL & I made plans to climb it one night by the light of the moon. We decided if we get arrested for climbing the tree in front of the funeral home, well, it would make a good story.
I love chapstick. I have at least three tubes on my person at any given time. My most recent favorite is Sun Bum brand. It’s pretty pricey, as far as chapstick goes, but it’s worth it. I also really like the Apple Barn brand. It’s only $1.99. I used to be a big fan of Burt’s Bees, but it’s a little too waxy and hard now that I’ve discovered these other two. Now. All that being said, understand that I reapply probably a dozen times a day. Maybe more. I keep two handy right here in my desk drawer so I don’t have to go digging around in my purse. Another person who loves chapstick is my dear friend Tammy Lynn. And since I never got around to reading the good book with her, and she desperately needed my prayers last week, I gave up chapstick. It was quick, and I missed it enough to be praying for her as often as I should. I know somebody else that really appreciates chapstick, and I know because she brought me a tube one time.
Love ya sis. You’re the best.
Amelia xoxo
I'm that girl.
The one that still prefers to be called "girl"
Although clearly it would be totally appropriate
To address me as ma'am
I'm still holding on to the past
With my dyed hair
And my funky jewelry
And the bright clothes
I still want to be
That Girl
Who drinks beer on patios
And rides with the top down
And Guns-n-Roses blaring
I want to be noticed
And appreciated
As ME.
I am That Girl
Who still can't do sums in her head
And doesn't hesitate to order dessert
And happily abandons responsibilites in favor of a good book
I'm the girl who will exercise by throwing a ball for her dog
Or swimming in the lake
Or meandering up the mountain just to eat a bag of Chex Mix at a waterfall
I don't want to hurry
I want to LOOK
And SEE
And DO
All the things I'm not supposed to have time for
I'm That Girl
Who doesn't like crowds
Who would rather stay home
And eat Chinese on china plates
In front of the TV
Than some fine dining establishment where you feel obligated to tip 30%
Even though service was less than mediocre
And your baked potato was cold
And your salad was warm
I'm That Girl
Who cries at the National Anthem
Who believes in working for what you get
Who wants to know how you feel about LIFE
I'm That Girl behind the keys
Behind the words
Behind the times
~Tuesday, April 9th.
I’m beginning to run out of things to give up. Especially now that I’m praying for groups of people, so I have no specific requests from individuals who know how to really get under my skin with stuff. (Looking at you, Jena, who made me leave my jewelry at home!) Lent’s not supposed to be easy, though, so I picked something today that I would miss dearly, because my prayers are encompassing.
I will do without Google.
Yes, I use it all the time at work.
I check out the weather.
I shop for things I don’t need, but think I do.
I use it to look up popular restaurants.
Then I use it to find the good restaurants.
Yes, I use it even more for song lyrics.
Yes, I USE IT FOR EVERYTHING. JUST LIKE YOU DO.
And it got me to thinking. Everything I need to know can be found within seconds. And I really depend on it. And I absolutely take it for granted. It is so frustrating when I run out of data, or the internet is down, or I’m in no man’s land and it takes more than ten seconds for a search to come up. But what did the farmers do? What do many of them still do? A long long time ago, before everybody had a cell phone in their pocket, we had a tiny, heavy computer at the Co-op. It was about the size of a microwave and weighed a stone. And I don’t mean the British weight equivalent stone, I mean it weighed like it was a piece of granite. And on this little computer, we could access two things: doppler radar and grain prices. Joe Woods knew how to pull up what cattle brought at the stockyards, but he never taught me. And so I spent much of my day running back and forth from the phone to the little computer that was perched on a shelf on the paneled back wall. Especially if the threat of rain was coming and everybody and their brother had hay down. It’s impossible to think we had only one, and that it could do things our cash registers couldn’t. But that was almost twenty years ago.
Farmers for generations have learned by doing. They didn’t watch YouTube videos on how to pull calves. There are no hard and fast formulas for how much fertilizer to apply to hayfields. There are some standards, but it varies widely. There were no apps for identifying weeds and pests and weather. They had to be diligent. They had to be observant. They had to remember what had worked in the past for their neighbors.
Of course, we’re getting away form all the guesswork now. But the farmers still have it rough. They’re dependent on the rain, the sun, and their health. They don’t get sick days or vacation time. They don’t have the luxury of drawing a paycheck if it rains for two weeks and they can’t plant their corn or their soybeans. If they don’t get their hay cut and baled in a timely fashion, their cattle don’t eat that winter. Who’s gonna feed you if the farmers quit? We’re all dependent on them. And they depend on the good Lord and the honeybees.
I think of the grain belt. It’s all but been washed away. How many millions of tons of wheat and corn were lost? We may all be on a low carb diet before this is over. I think of all the hogs and chickens and cows that drowned in the flood waters. I think of waking up and looking over your farm that’s now under two feet of water and a foot of thick black mud. And all you can do is stand by and watch and praise God your family is okay. Three or four or five generations of work gone in an instant, floating down the Mississippi.
I think of the migrant workers, here because no white man will labor bent over picking tomatoes ten hours a day in the heat of summer. We all want more money. But many working-age men will just draw off the government instead, and lay around smoking cigarettes and whatever else in front of their housing-issued flat screen TV.
Farmers buy their jeans at Hammers, because the cows don’t know any difference. Their computer is a palm-sized spiral notepad tucked into their shirt pocket. They eat bologna and cheese sandwiches at lunch and fried chicken for supper, prepared by their wife, who gets her hair set on Friday mornings and wears an apron unless she’s going to town. Farmers read the Good Book and the Almanac, and that’s about it. They squint in the sun and change their own oil. They sleep when it’s dark, unless something is broke and then they toil all night to get it fixed so they can work the next day. They keep their boots on the porch and a knife in their pocket.
Farmers ain’t got much time for Facebook and the like, but they’ll teach their grandbabies how to bait a hook and shoot a BB gun before they turn 8. They can peel an apple without the skin ever coming apart and crack a walnut in their hands. Farmers despise the bank and distrust the government. They ain’t got much use for people that live in subdivisions, either.
They’ll fence back that portion of fence in the curve of the road that gets torn down by some kid or some drunk twice a year. Insurance ain’t worth fooling with.
They can build a fire and carry two five gallon buckets of water downhill for fifty yards without spilling a drop. They keep a mean momma cow at bay with a tobacco stick. They pay cash for a new John Deere when it’s time.
They pay cash for almost everything, and they pay attention.
They listen to Waylon Jennings and Loretta Lynn and bluegrass and take notice when clouds roll in. They can name every tree on their farm, tell you the last time they saw their third cousin, and explain the difference between Blue Lake green beans and Kentucky Wonders. And they’ll let you know right quick that the only kind of potato there is is a Bluegoose Kennebec.
They know where their great-great grand daddy is buried, where he lived, and what church he attended. On both sides. Their wife keeps flowers on the graves, and he sees to it that it’s mowed.
They won’t eat avocados, don’t bother wasting your breath. They just recently came around to coconut, and that’s only if it’s in a pie.
They’d rather sit in their dusty old barn in a metal folding chair and drink a coke and listen to the ballgame on a staticky radio than to be there in person.
They might pause a minute sometimes and watch the birds work. And that’s when they may work out for themselves something they’ve been thinking on.
They like things a specific way, and don’t like change. They see most of nature as a food chain but do have a soft spot for certain creatures, sometimes. They’ll give you a quarter for every thistle you kill on their place and shake your hand if you tell them you shot a coyote.
They know it would be cheaper to buy eggs from the store, but they also know they won’t taste as good. They’ll plant daffodils in secret for their wives up the side of the driveway and then grin when she notices.
They know to shop local even if it costs a little more. They know a horse is a money pit, but they’ll keep one around for their grandkids. And that dog is theirs, too. Even though they wouldn’t dream of leaving the dog at home if they’re running down to the store.
So, after all that, I’ll offer them a prayer. I think I’m qualified.
Lord, bless the farmers. Especially the ones who do their praying from behind the dirty windshield of their old trucks as they go to help a neighbor. Bless them with a good growing season, and enough rain, but not too much. May they get the sun as they need it, and a cool breeze for their brow every now and then. Bless the farmers who struggle to maintain what they’ve had for a century. Bless them who have been losing a little more every year. For the dairymen, for the cattlemen, for all the ones who grow and produce and love the land. Bless them all. Thank you Lord that somebody is willing and able to do it. Thank you for their patience and perseverance. Thank you for their deep pockets and bigger hearts. Thank you for helping them keep the faith and pass on their knowledge. Because Google can’t teach us everything. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
I want to drive on roads with no traffic. And if I do pass someone, I want them to wave out the open window of their pickup truck.
I want to be able to apply eyeliner like a pro, not like a left handed raccoon.
I want to be able to do all the yoga without quivering.
I want to live in an old house in an old city on the ocean with a widow’s walk, though I am no widow. Although I sometimes feel like one.
I want to always work at an honest job. I want to keep the one I have.
I want to grow things and tend to them with my hands. Tomatoes, aloe, squash. Lilies. Okra.
I want to sleep without dreaming.
I want to listen to good music and lay in the grass and watch the clouds and hunt for four-leaf clovers all afternoon and not wear shoes at all.
I want people to adore my accent, always. I want to be called Amelia by people who love me.
I want to go on a trip and not come back until I feel rested and healed.
I want to eat cupcakes every day.
I want to ride fast horses and read good books and have the softest bath towels in three counties.
I want my glasses to stay put.
I want to admire trees the rest of my days, and listen to wind chimes and not the honking of cars.
I want barbeque sauce to come in squirt bottles.
I want honest, heartfelt conversation. Or I want silence.
I want an indoor pool with lots of plants and a banana tree.
I want a man who has the ability to fix almost anything and will. I want a man who loves southern cooking and who is content with what I have to give.
I want a parrot, and somebody to clean up after it.
I want time to read all my books and write all my stories.
I want to have a discernable waistline and a bra that doesn’t require me to tug at the straps five times a day.
I want more shoes.
I want to be able to tell instantly whether someone intends to take advantage of my heart or to handle it like the last snowflake to ever fall.
I want the abstract oil painting at the library.
I want to listen to good music and sing along to it with the top down and a scarf around my hair like I’m a celebrity going back to her roots.
I want my dog to stop farting.
I want a new floor for the kitchen and a stainless steel refrigerator to go in it. I also want somebody to come paint this closet so I don’t have to.
I want to stay healthy enough to have material wants like most of these.
I want y’all to have what you want, too.
I want to hit the mega millions Powerball so we can all have it.
I want all the promises of Heaven.
But for now, I’ll just do what I can.
I met her at the library, so I knew instantly she was good people.
She looked like a mom, but turns out I was wrong about that.
She looked like she knew about life, and I was right about that.
We have gone on to be cohorts in crime, obsessive texters, and foodies from the get-go. We share book recommendations and pretty much the same taste in music. She does listen to a podcast about small town murders that I haven’t been able to enjoy on the same level. It’s pretty grim, Karen. 😐 We challenge each other to spin more, drink less, and not be assholes.
We are known as sloth & honey badger. Baker is gazelle.
We tell terrible (politically incorrect and inappropriate) jokes, modify our yoga poses, and share a common interest in dogs, cupcakes, and men. Probably in that order.
I’m a problem creator~…well, that’s not precisely true. Problems gravitate to me and I think they’ll go away but they only get worse and then I have to ask Beth for advice and she just calmly untangles the whole mess and folds it up and places it in a Rubbermaid box. With a label. And an expiration date.
She’s an accountant. I’m an artist, per se.
She’s the closest person I’ve got to a ride or die, because Lisa has kids and lives two hours away and Baker is busy busy busy. Sometimes we just talk about riding and dying, we don’t actually do it. But thinking about it is almost as fun.
I feel like I’ve known her my whole entire life. Sometimes you make more memories in a year than you do in ten years with somebody else.
Cheer up, bitch! It’s your birthday!!
Today, my prayers are for the lost. I should have made this day one. They’re the most important. Their time is truly limited. I can’t wrap my mind around not believing. It’s like, #1) are we here by accident? Then how did we get here? Ok, if you don’t believe God put us here because you can’t understand that, so you understand the science that some people believe in? I’d much rather just think we were created by a higher form. And that he created the Heavens and universe too. I can’t begin to wrap my head around the Big Bang Theory. Believing in the Lord is easy. And if you’re one of those people who look for signs, I am certain you can find plenty. Just like there is beauty in everything, there is God in everything. Because he created it. And #2) You have nothing to lose. Nobody should think you’re weird for professing a faith. If they do, they’re not very open minded, and does that really line up with everything else they say they believe in? I don’t think so. Just believe! I promise it’s a better life. It’s like having someone forever on your side, forever and always. Romans 8:31 tells us that!
What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?
Heavenly Father, it hurts my heart to think of all the lost souls out there. People I interact with often. Am I setting the right example? Absolutely not. Help me to do better. Help me remind them they shouldn’t be looking to me, they should always look to you. We are created in your image but we fail constantly. And that’s where Jesus comes in. And there’s power in his name. We only have to call on him for strength. Show them how easy it is to talk to you, to unburden and know you don’t love us any less. It is the purest kind of love, the easiest. You only need to know we reciprocate, and that we’re trying. All you ask is that we believe. And isn’t that a beautiful thing? We thank you for your patience and your love. We thank you for loving us even when we can’t love ourselves. Especially then. May the ones who don’t know seek you. May they open their hearts and reach to you and know that you are The One. May we praise your name above all others! Most of all, may we spread your love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
There are no “right words” to get you in the pearly gates. There are “Sinner’s Prayers” but the main thing is your faith behind your words. Here is a nice place to start if you need help finding words:
Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from Your presence
or take Your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of Your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.
Then will I teach transgressors Your ways,
and sinners will turn back to You.
But you find your words. You tell the Lord how you are coming to Him, once and for all. He calls you, and you hear him, and the time is now.
For this day, I give up expectations. The best they can do is all they’re capable of. And I can accept it and move on, or I can be bitter and question why the rest of my days. I’m not even sure I would want things to work out the way I expect them to anymore. Seems like the less I know, the better off I am. Surprises are good. Most of the time.
I can’t expect to be understood by fellow man. They don’t know my heart. I can’t expect my neighbors to pick up their trash or stop making a million trips in and out. I can’t expect the people at the store to read my mind and not park their buggy in front of the pickles I want. I can’t expect drivers to stay to the right and let me pass. Because none of us are perfect. I just have to practice my yoga breathing and call on the Lord for help. And that’s not as easy as it sounds, because I want to take control. I want to fix it. I want to correct people and I want my way to be the way. And that’s wrong. I have to let go. I have to let people do their own thing. Sure, it affects me, but not to the point where I need to break out in a sweat or cussing fit. Just relinquish and let God sort it. Because that’s what we as Christians are called to do. Let go and let God.
So, in conclusion, I’m just plugging my ears and dancing to my own drummer. It’s hard to give up judgment. But I try. It’s one of my biggest faults.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
Today I pray for one of the kindest, most understanding souls I know. I know she’s this way because of what she’s lived through. She was adopted at age 7. Think on that.
I don’t know her all that well, really. But I know her husband and that counts for something. He has told me the story of her adoption, and how things came about for her. Today he shared a little more.
She is in her late fifties, so if you think foster care and orphanages are depressing and underfunded now, imagine what it was like sixty years ago. Imagine being a little girl in one of these places. Imagine Annie, if you can’t imagine anything else. Luckily for this little girl, a Daddy Warbucks did come along. And he and his wife took the little girl to town and bought her lunch, and ice cream, and a trinket. Imagine it being the first time you ever had a notion of being spoiled. But really it was just being cared for. The sun was on your face and you walked hand in hand with a pretty lady in a flowered dress and hat and heels. And imagine your joy when you came back to the home and the big man declared he was taking you home, to go get your things. Home, as in his home. YOUR new home.
That simply wasn’t done.
But this was sixty years ago and he made it happen. Because that’s the kind of man he was. He made things happen. Right Then. And he wanted you to be his little girl, forever and always. Because after just a few hours in his presence, you brightened his day and made his heart swell to ten times its size with love and he just knew that nothing would ever top you and your smile.
Well, that was the way she remembered it, anyway. And she still has the little toy that he bought her all those years ago.
When her daddy passed on, she found her adoption papers, and turns out, that really is what happened. How wonderful for your memories to match up with facts.
She also remembered asking for a brother. She remembers being told by her parents that they tried. As an adult, she thought she remembered having a brother, but she couldn’t be sure. She thought maybe she’d just wished for one. And with her adoption papers, she found that she had indeed had a sibling. And that her daddy DID try. They tried and tried. But he couldn’t be got.
But she found him. He still couldn’t be “got”. People grow up and sometimes things don’t work out like fairy tales. And now, she’s found her sister.
And that’s why I pray.
She wants blood family. And who wouldn’t? Those of us who are surrounded by a multitude of aunts and uncles and cousins and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews may find it suffocating sometimes, but try to picture it the other way. If you didn’t have anybody who knew your stories from before you could remember them. No one to say you looked just like your grandmother when she was that age. Or the way you stand, all the Hicks’ stand like that (hands on hips, if you’re wondering). Wouldn’t that be a void? So I hope that with this sibling, she gets some verification in her life. I pray that it works out just as she wants it to.
Lord, I know that the life you gave my friend is better than what she could have ever hoped to have through her birth mother. I thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed on her through the years, with generous, loving parents who made every way in the world for her. I thank you for her doting, patient husband, who continues to do his best work to provide for her. I thank you for her children, who appreciate all the things she does for them daily. And I also thank you for her grandchildren, that have come into this earth knowing exactly who their people are, and always will. I pray for my friend to get peace through answers. I pray for her sister to embrace this new relationship and that they can comfort each other and begin a life together finally. I pray for everyone to mesh seamlessly, for no harsh words or negative thoughts to cross minds. I just want her to feel full and aware and be content. Yes, I pray mainly for contentment. You don’t always give us what we want–or think we want–for good reason. Let us all bear that in mind as we go through our days. It’s hard to remember. But we live for you, Lord, not for our wants and desires. I thank you for this spring day, and everything coming up new again. I thank you for those who toil and the minds that envision. I thank you for the hands that mend and heal, and I thank you for the farmers. I am always and forever grateful for the farmers. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
For her, I gave up breakfast. I can’t begin to imagine what life was like those early years in the home. I don’t know that she always had a warm breakfast, or any kind of breakfast at all. I don’t know if she got to have a bath everyday, or someone to braid her hair to keep it out of her eyes. I doubt she had anyone to hold her hand or rock her to sleep or tell her she was loved. And that’s what we all need. But I could give up breakfast for her. I could not eat, but I still know where my next meal is coming from. I know where I would lay my head tonight. I know who my blood kin are, alive and dead, and I know where to find them if I want to see them. I know their phone numbers, and the color of their eyes, and their health conditions. I know them in a pack of strangers with their back turned to me.
I know my family.
And for that, I am fortunate.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
Today, I pray for the liars. That’s hard to do. Because, if I’m being honest (huh, the irony) I don’t wish them the best. I wish them the worst, really. Because lying is generally premeditated. It takes some doing.
Liars, as you well know, come in all shapes and sizes. They lie to get attention. They lie as a cover up. They lie out of habit. They lie to give their life a little excitement. I don’t understand. It’s like they think they’ll never get caught. I’ve got news for them: the truth always comes out. They think their lies will only hurt themselves, if they hurt anybody. That’s not true either. For instance, if you were to meet someone that somebody you know has been telling tales on, you have a preconceived notion of this person. Which isn’t even true! You can’t give them a fair shake. It’s not fair. And that’s not right. Sometimes it’s not easy to detect a liar. Sometimes the liars seem so good, and the people they talk about are people you’re unlikely to ever run across. So they’ve created a well-laid trap. But eventually….the truth is exposed. And it’s a million times worse if it doesn’t come straight from the liar, with apologies extended for their shortcomings.
For this test of will, I gave up crying. I wish I could give it up forever and always. I cry way too easily. I’ve even been known to cry because I’m crying, how ridiculous is that? It has nothing to do with hormones, or the weather, or any number of things people like to blame it on. I cry because I’m tenderhearted and wear my emotions on my sleeve and because I’m a crybaby from way back. I cry when I’m sad, I laugh, I cry when I get hurt, I cry when I’m super angry. I’m just tender, I guess. I should never have a problem with my tear ducts needing washed out. And I should never waste another tear on a liar. Because they certainly aren’t crying. They don’t care.
Lord, you hear our pleas. This prayer is for all of us, because we’re all affected. People just don’t seem to think about the repercussions for their actions anymore. Their lies affect us all, and they hurt like a gut punch. We know when we’re being lied to, and society dictates that we keep our mouth shut. So we stand there, politely listening, and feeling ridiculous. And the liar’s tale grows and swells and they really think they’re taking us for a ride. What can be their purpose? Do they feel inadequate without their version of events? When does it end, Lord? I pray for you to work on them, show them the only way is the truth, and that people will truly love them, regardless of how boring they think they are without the embellishments. If they have children, they are teaching these kids how to deceive from such a young age it will be difficult to set them right. It takes a lot of work to undo a lie, but I think the person who told it will find it’s worthwhile to come to terms and unburden themselves. They’ll feel so much lighter and hopefully find peace in truth. I pray that the ears that have been lied to with will not withhold forgiveness. May we all learn to love more like you. In Jesus name, Amen.
Now, on to general musings that don’t have a thing to do with the rest of this.
It was a good day for wildlife. It had rained overnight and I was surprised by the number of earthworms in my parking lot. I counted twenty seven on the way from my car to the door. It saddens me to think how many I flattened on my way in. I like worms. They’re, like, an affiliate of the NRCS.
When I took my daily promenade with Aquaman, we’re standing out from his building, finishing our conversation, and his eyes darted and he interrupts himself saying, “is that a possum?!?” And points.
Contrary to popular belief, it is NOT every day we see possums waddling down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon, even though we are in Tennessee.
I turn to look and sure enough, there is a little round gray body scurrying across the road at the crosswalk, just like he should be. It tickled me so. I watched him for several minutes. I don;t know if he was scavenging food or searching for a mate, but I don’t believe he had rabies or anything. He was just out roaming. Maybe he’s an insomniac.
Funny. Possums are liars. “Playin’ possum”?? Yeah, little fakers.
The rabbits and squirrels and birds were also out in full force, taking advantage of the weather. It is blissfully perfect right now, I have to say. I shall appreciate it as well. But not so much that I will cry from the joy of it all. I will not cry for happiness or thankfulness or sadness this day. I will not cry from disappointment, or expectations, or the fear of the unknown. I will not spill one little tear.
But tomorrow, all bets are off.
Love from Appalachia,
Amy xoxo
