Sometimes I dream of moving. Living elsewhere. Like the Oregon coast. Or the forests of Idaho. Then I laugh and know I can’t– I’m southern through and through.
I talk southern, I cook southern, I dress southern.
I love horses and God and football. Lord, how I love football (SEC football, that is). I love beer drank on a tail gate and sweet tea sipped on a porch swing. I love cotton fields and apple festivals. I love Dolly Parton. I love magnolia trees and pearls and swimming in the lake.
I love old stately homes and hound dogs and athsmatic preachers. I love old ladies who wear hats and whose pocketbooks match their shoes. I love flamingos in the front yard and rusty mailboxes and picking squash. I love taking the long way home and giving directions that include “turn right where Charlie Maples’ grandson used to live”.
I love barn cats and pocketknives and flipping over rocks to hunt for crawdads. I love novels set in the south, movies set in the south, and people who come here searching for the real south. I love butterflies and bluebirds and barn swallows. I love fishing from a riverbank with worms you just dug from under the apple tree. I love blue tailed lizards and groundhogs and counting the stars. I love tomato sandwiches on white bread with Duke’s mayonnaise and a dash of salt.
I love knowing summer’s comin’, and I love knowing that cooler weather is coming after that. I love knowing why certain roads have their names and what breed of cattle are in that pasture. I love courthouses and camoflauge and collard greens.
I love maple trees and dogwoods and going to get ice cream on hot summer nights. I love craft shows and bluegrass festivals and tractor pulls. I love the sound of cicadas in the trees on humid evenings and the smells of honeysuckle and charcoal on the breeze. I love weddings and bonfires and river baptisms. I love casseroles that freeze beautifully and homemade pickles. I love aprons. I love green beans cooked with bacon grease and cornbread fried in a cast iron skillet. I love pine thickets and alligators and trains and flags. I love eating watermelon at picnic tables and fiddles picked up by old and young alike. I love clogging and the rhythmic beat of someone playing spoons. I love gravel roads and county fairs. I love Christmas lights and painted signs advertising vacation Bible school and produce for sale.
I love leaving for twenty minutes and catching lightning bugs and waving on back roads. I love knowing people at the store and copying recipes from old greasy index cards. I love handmade curtains in kitchen windows and fancy towels in guest bathrooms. I love talking to almost strangers at the beauty parlor and pressing leftovers into my guests’ hands in butter bowls.
I love when the grass turns green and daffodils come up so fast they bring the dirt with them. I love homemade pies and brown eggs and a plastic bag crammed full of cucumbers. I love when someone says, “Do what, now?” and when parents threaten to “tan hides”. I love bug zappers and falling down houses seemingly held up by the sheer volume of antiques. I love having my door opened and bowties with linen suits. I love things being overdone and just this side of tacky.
I love old things. I love storytellers.
I love it all.
I love the south.
Real estate is expensive.
A plot of undeveloped land, a parcel of floodplain, a mountainside you can’t even reach by road, all these will still set you back several thousand dollars.
…
A trailer, a camper or boat, a shack on a hill. A little more…
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A modest house in the suburbs, a small, old home on a few acres, an apartment in town, these cost even more.
…
A tiny home in town, to call all your own, or a McMansion in a subdivision with just a patch of grass… we’re getting up there, now.
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A fancy apartment in a city, a big house on the lake. A nice getaway from the hustle and grind. A seaside cottage, a perfectly appointed five bedroom showplace of a home. Hope you’ve got a good job or a rich uncle.
…
All these can be destroyed, no matter if they’re made of brick or concrete or wood. Wind, fire, flooding, overall devastation. You can try to protect them, investing in fancy security systems and strong fences. Heavy gates that lock by password protection. You can try, and you might succeed, from being a victim of theft. Mother nature doesn’t recognize the precautions, but you may do some good against humans who intend to bring destruction. You protect the valuable things in your life with locks and keys and codes.
…
But the most expensive real estate you cannot dwell in. You cannot invite your friends over to watch the game and eat pizza on your couch.
You can’t clean muddy paw prints from the floor, you can’t even lock the door. It cannot be destroyed by flooding, fire, earthquakes, or bulldozers.
The most expensive piece of real estate you own is your heart.
And you give it away.
Sometimes the person you give it to cherishes it, nurtures it, keeps it close to their own.
Sometimes the person squeezes it to make sure the love is real.
Sometimes the person disregards it, throws it out when something better comes along. Maybe they don’t even wait that long.
But we’re called to love, and that’s what we do, because our hearts don’t have gates to protect us. There are no fences. There is no password. People just stroll right on in, uninvited.
And when you lose a piece of your heart, it takes longer to rebuild than Roman roads. The grass won’t grow, the flowers don’t blossom. The soil is all but sterile.
For awhile.
But it will rain.
It will rain for a long time.
Rain brings renewal and healing.
And while it rains, seeds prepare themselves to burst open and strive to break ground. They’ve lain dormant for a long time. But now it’s time to soak up the sun’s warmth, to put down roots. It’s time to grow a few glossy leaves.
And after awhile, maybe several seasons, you’re ready to rebuild.
And you think you’ll be more careful with this fractured real estate. It’s prone to breaking in two. You’ve seen it shattered. You’ve nurtured it back with friends who helped you toil.
But the truth is, you have no say in the matter.
Build your fortress, but moats will be crossed and the drawbridge will be lowered. And hopefully the next tenant will be thankful for his warm, loving home.
I started worrying about this yesterday, while I was still on my sugar fast. I didn’t want to be caught woefully unprepared. No milk, no cheese, no butter, no cream. And so many of the things I was doing without yesterday, I would be without again today. Oh well. Part of it.
I planned my day, thinking of my poor friend who has gone without dairy for many years. Sure, she can take a pill, but it’s still uncomfortable, and probably not great for her gut. So she does without, and makes do with soy substitutes. As I will be.
Avocado toast for breakfast. All is well, as long as I don’t use butter to fry my egg. √ yes, that’s a square root symbol because WordPress makes everything super difficult.
I’m meeting momma Robin at Graze{ http://www.grazeburgers.com/} for lunch today, and I’m kinda wigging out about what I can eat. Naturally, the cheddar on my cheeseburger is out. So I’ll be having a regular burger. And no onion rings, because the batter probably has milk. The burger I would order under normal circumstances, the Tennessee, comes with bacon jam has Gouda cheese and onion rings. I ordered the standard burger. I realized I forgot to tell him no cheese as they set my tray down in front of me. Robin suggested I scrape it off. My friend wouldn’t be able to, and I tell her so. I open the bun and see it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Their Graze sauce is saturated into the bun.
I have broken Lent.
And so it is in this way that today becomes no chocolate day instead. I can still pray for my good friend, that her various ills be cured, and that her father’s kidney disease will not progress any further. She is stalwart and assertive with her health concerns. She adjusts and adapts and I have yet to see anything that will slow her down. In fact, I think she just tries that much harder. She is the picture of determination. And I admire her.
- “Dear friend, I pray that you may enjoy good health and that all may go well with you, even as your soul is getting along well.” ~3 John 1:2
- Exodus 15:26 —“For I am the Lord who heals you.”
- James 5:16 —“Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”
- “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” ~Isaiah 41:10
- “Nevertheless, I will bring health and healing to it; I will heal my people and will let them enjoy abundant peace and security.” ~Jeremiah 33:6
She encourages so many others in their journey towards better health and is a cheerleader for all things she believes in. Like all good Southern girls, she loves her Daddy and loves the Lord and trusts them implicitly. I would not want to fight her in a battle of will or words. I would not want to fight her at all, because her eyes, while piercing, also hold a vulnerability. So Lord, if you would, please protect her, and let her know when she has met an obstacle that you must help her to overcome. Please don’t let her push herself too far, become so focused on a goal she loses sight of the big picture- Happiness and Faith in You. I pray for her father to overcome this disease they have labeled upon him, and also for her mother, Lord, who has always been a good steward of yours, that battles severe back pain daily. May she also know her boundaries, when she is doing too much for others and needs to nurture herself. May this family be blessed and comforted by you, Lord. By Jesus’s stripes they will be healed. Thank you for bringing her into my life and blessing me. In God’s name we pray.
It’s hard to find things for Lent. I already make my bed every morning, and I LIKE going without shoes. I should sacrifice part of my time for a good work, but I rarely see anything worth contributing to, honestly. I don’t want to enable an already crooked service. Maybe I should work on MY heart some more, so I could see the underlying good faith. I can practice more charitable works within myself, I know this. I’ve taken up yoga for a more spiritual line of corrective thought. I’m trying not to cuss (I’ve caught myself three or four times already, but at least I’m being proactive about it). My time on social media has taken a plunge, and my TV hasn’t been on in a week. By popular choices I’ve found on Google that leaves: Going without a pillow or bed, cold showers, no makeup, not looking in a mirror, going without a meal a day, putting a rock in my shoe, reading more scripture….It’s exhausting but I believe I’m getting to the right place for me. My awareness is more pointed than it was three days ago. I feel a bit more empathetic about many people who have health concerns and food allergies. It takes some researching to find things you are able to eat! This is something I’ve never gave one moment of thought to. And so. I will go ahead and end here today, there should be no danger of me consuming chocolate. Go forward, and be blessed, dear reader.
Silly me. I committed to a serious undertaking yesterday, putting you folks in charge of my life for the next 39 days!!! So far I’ve agreed to not drink alcohol (On a SATURDAY!!), to follow the speed limit, to not worry, to not intake any sugar TODAY, and a whole bunch of other hard to follow ones. ***Dramatic pose: back of my hand across my forehead with my eyes closed and neck exposed***
10:14 am. So, like I said, today is no sugar. This is a real challenge. I’ve been worried about it ever since I committed. But the sweet lady I’m fasting it for is so worth it. She’s an angel, I’m telling you. She’s been so helpful and sweet to me and I just pray that the Lord blesses her threefold. She has special prayers concerning her family, which I will not divulge, but I pray for God’s wisdom to be cast upon her sister. And I pray for guidance for her niece, who is facing an uphill battle. I pray that the parties involved can discern right from wrong and that they open their minds to understand and follow Your will. I pray for peace for my dear friend, and knowledge that she lays firmly in Your supportive hands, Lord. I pray for encouraging and exacting words to roll from her tongue and power to be steadfast in her decisions. Please clothe her in Your armor and prepare her for a resolution. Give her strength, Lord. Make her confident in all aspects of her life. She is beautiful inside and out. I also pray that she will soon find herself settled in a new house of worship. I pray that you will give her husband wisdom and that they will work together to find a comfortable and enriching church home, following you. Bless her abundantly, Lord, for she does Your work daily, and belief shines out of her eyes and through her brilliant smile.
Now. About this sugar. It’s hard to give up. I was so relieved to find there is no sugar in my wheat bread, Duke’s mayonnaise, or Food City brand bacon. So at least I could have a bacon tomato sandwich. I had already resigned myself to cantaloupe and hard boiled eggs for breakfast, so that was a real treat. Although I AM concerned about lunch. And supper. And obviously, ice cream is out. I already did without any coffee drinks for breakfast. So I’m pretty sleepy. I wonder how all the other Lent observers are doing with what they’re giving up. IT’S ONLY THE SECOND DAY.
Looking at lunch options, this is going to be super difficult. I was thinking I could do Popeye’s chicken. I always want their cole slaw, but it contains sugar. And what good is spicy chicken if you can’t wash it down with their sweet tea? So that’s out. Looks like I’ll be eating salad with some kind of vinaigrette dressing, or maybe a meat/ cracker/cheese tray.
Have I mentioned how much I love coffee-flavored sugar milk?
AND MOUNTAIN DEW????
It’s 11:36. I’m never gonna make it.
4:12 has found me fretting about supper. I finally ate at 1:30, some antipasto and grapes and melon. I had a little cheese and crackers- turns out you gotta be careful with crackers, Club crackers have a little sugar, as does Ranch dressing. I was going to go to Popeye’s for some chicken and cole slaw, but what good is spicy chicken if you can’t wash it down with sweet tea? So that will have to wait for another day. I don’t think I’m going to be able to snack on popcorn tonight, I’m reasonably sure Kettle Corn has artificial sugar added to enrich flavor.
Every time I think about what I can eat, or not eat, I remember why I’m doing this and stop and pray for my friend. I’ve thought of her often, and messaged her with an update a little bit ago. She told me my prayers were working, because she had gotten a text from a lady she had known since she was little that she has attended church with for decades. Her heart had been hurting because she had not heard from this individual since she left the church. More prayers for my sweet friend and her burdened heart.
It was slim pickin’s for supper, indeed. Chicken and stars have sugar. Chinese food is loaded. I was going to fix an omelet and hash browns but I’d forgot to bring home my tomatoes and salsa has sugar. I scoped out my kettle corn and noted it showed 0% sugar but listed a product called sucralose, which sounded suspiciously like sugar. Turns out it’s an artificial sugar, like Splenda or Sweet-n-low, which I loathe, so I opted out. It felt like cheating. I had some cantaloupe, corn chips, and questionable guacamole. I was still hungry so a little later I fixed up a baked potato with salt, pepper, butter, and cheese. Did you know that there is sugar in sour cream and bacon bits?!?! Sugar is in EVERYTHING.
Today was hard. However, it is certainly raising my awareness of those who can’t have certain things. And it caused me to spend more time in prayer for my dear sweet friend. And that’s what it is all about.
For several years now, I have observed Lent by giving up Facebook. No doubt it is my #1 vice. It is a major timewaster. Sure, I keep up with my friends through it, but for the most part it’s just people I vaguely know sharing memes. Not that they aren’t funny, not that they don’t make me smile. But surely I could find something to make me smile elsewhere that didn’t entail me mindlessly scrolling for ten minutes every hour. Surely a friend could make me laugh through a text, phone call, or visit. Surely I can live without Facebook for the next forty days.
After a few years of taking this break, it was no longer something I was sacrificing to show my faith. It was something I looked forward to. I wasn’t growing in my relationship with Christ, it was a social media vacation. I didn’t use the time to flip through my Bible, I used the time to read for pleasure. Or shop online. Or a million other things. So this year, I’m doing things a little different. This year I’m making it a real challenge. I’m giving up several things, and I’m incorporating my gift into blessing forty people.
You don’t have to be Catholic to follow Lent. You don’t even have to be a Christian. It might lead you to a better lifestyle, even though that isn’t the believer’s ultimate goal (we’re supposed to use these 40 days to observe how completely He loves us, just like every day). Here are some common ones, and a few I found intriguing. Maybe you could try them all, doing one each day. Or pick four, and do one each week of Lent. The starred ones are the ones I am doing. It seems like a lot, but as far as social media goes, I won’t be able to give it up ENTIRELY due to work and checking messenger, the cussing I should have quit forever ago, the gratitude needs to become a habit. Only the last one is really a sacrifice.
- Give up social media (or even just one, like Twitter, Instagram, or Snapchat) ******
- Give up sugar, salt, or condiments
- Give up cussing ******
- Give up soft drinks, coffee, or alcohol
- Give up eating out, send that money to charity
- Give up plastic or single use items (I’ve done this one as a lifestyle change)
- Sleep on the floor or without a pillow
- Give up Netflix, gaming, or TV (or cut way back and use the time you spend for interacting with family or friends face to face. Or in Bible study)
- Quit reading or watching the news (trust me, I’ve lived without the news for years, besides what I can’t help but see on Facebook. This will improve your outlook on life, as you realize how little news affects you, really)
- Stop biting your nails
- Give up speeding {I might do that next year. Gulp}
- Give up online shopping (I did this one in 2017 to kick my Lularoe Legging habit. It worked!)
- Give up sarcasm
- Stop talking about yourself unless someone asks you a direct question
- Maintain silence on your commute
- Give up complaining~focus on gratitude
- Give up pessimism~become an optimist
- Give up worry~ trust Divine Providence
- Give up bitterness ~ turn to forgiveness
- Give up hatred ~ return good for evil
- Give up anger ~ be more patient
- Give up pettiness ~ become mature
- Give up gloom ~ enjoy beauty all around you
- Give up jealousy ~ pray for trust
- Give up gossiping ~ control your tongue
- Give up sin ~ turn to virtue (this applies to a few on this list already)
- Give up GIVING UP ~ hang in there!!!
- Start a gratitude journal *****(to be included in my daily post)
- Think of a person in your life and offer them one day of Lent. *****
So. Here’s what I’m going to do. If you would like to be included on my list of Lent, message me. I will still be checking my Facebook private messages during this time for this purpose. You can also comment here, I will check in daily. Or if you have my number, text me! If you have a prayer request, I will acknowledge that. I can either post it publicly through my blog, or keep it private. I can write it as a generalization or personalize it completely to you. It will be my honor to pray for you, write for you, and sacrifice for you! Get in touch! I’m just doing me today, since the day is half gone. And all improvement starts at Ground Zero.
I am grateful for my friends, Lord. They buoy me through encouraging words and remind me to keep my eyes on you, Lord, for the ultimate prize. Without them, my light would not shine nearly as bright. They work through you to show me love in compliments and how I am constantly improving the people around me through my smiles and energy. They console me and shore me up in my dark times. May I always be a light for you. Please continue to use me as a steward to share your love and message. I pray that you will lead me on the path to righteousness and that others will see you through me, and ask for help when they need it. I pray that no one is too ashamed to seek me out for prayer, and that they are honest in their specific needs. Please use me and my gift of the written word to examine my life and improve upon it.
Tomorrow is for a valued, sweet friend I met roughly a year ago–I’m giving up sugar for her! That will be super hard! But I have 38 days to fill after that. Y’all holler.
“Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise.”
Well, guess what?
It’s official. I have risked my life for books. I didn’t aim to, just for clarification. The news will scare you to death if you watch it. That’s why I don’t watch it. They’re always Chicken Little when it comes to weather. Every windy day is impending tornadoes, every snowflake is a blizzard, and every raindrop is a flood. And if the sun is shining, the pollen count is lethal and the UV rays are gamma lasers. Impending disasters at every turn. So I just do my own thing. I have a weather porch. It’s like a weather rock. Never heard of it, you say? Well, here’s how it works: if my porch is wet, it’s raining. If the chairs are blown over, it’s windy (if the chairs are out in the yard, it’s really extra windy). If the concrete is hot, it’s a hot day. If it’s slick, it’s icy. You get the idea. I have 100% accuracy, so you’re welcome to text for current weather. I’m more trustworthy than doppler, I’ll tell ya that. Here’s a link to a weather rope on Amazon. Same concept. https://amzn.to/2SDdZLw
So when I stepped outside and the porch was wet, I knew it was raining and I better take my raincoat. After consideration, I decided an umbrella wouldn’t be out of the realm of needed objects, either. I took the one that matches my raincoat. It has pink flowers. We needed some cheer after all this gloomy weather. I set out for my second annual Literary Festival.
Well, it was a deluge out there. Tennessee had become TennesSEA. Poor little Maggie just ain’t got what Patsy did (big, wide tires and 12″ clearance) so I had to be extra cautious. The creeks were most definitely up, and I decided my back road route would not be a wise decision, so I stuck with the highway to my turnoff. I noted that water was up to the road in several spots (higher than I ever remembered seeing it) and I had the vague thought that if it kept on doin’ what it was doin’, the road would flood. But surely it couldn’t rain this hard all day….so I promptly put the warning out of my head and happily continued on my journey. I came to a low spot in the road on the old highway and water a few inches deep was running across it. The car in front of me had no trouble…so monkey see, monkey do. And I thought again, I probably need to come back another way this afternoon. The golf course wasn’t lookin’ too good either….hmmmm. The last time it was this bad (2002), the Co-op’s back 40 flooded from the river and Gary rode out on the wrangler and got pictures of 2′ long catfish and carp swimming in the tile. The time before that was the epic “No Kite From McDonalds Excursion” (1984 or so).
Luckily, the event was housed in a convention center situated on a hill, so if nothing else, it was safe. I quit worrying about rain the moment I stepped inside and was swept away with the growing excitement. I spoke to a few “friends” (that’s punny because they’re OFFICIALLY Friends of the Library System, AND my friends) and went on in to secure my seat at the first seminar. It was a look back at the previous ten years’ festivals. I would have been better off in my second choice, building a platform audience, because everything about this chat made me anxious.
First of all, there’s something you should know about me. In addition to being a fairly anxious person in crowds (I mainly just try to avoid them altogether), I am also paranoid. I like to be on the aisle, near a door. I like to be in the back so I can survey the whole room. I like to get there early, and not be climbing over people to get to my seat–I much prefer to watch them trickle in. I pick a random stranger that looks trustworthy, and I also note those who do not. I have no military background, this is just how I’ve operated my entire adult life. I try to be semi-aware. Plus, I know a lot of people and like to grin and wave and generally act a fool.
Needless to say, when the room started filling up and these two ladies began moving chairs out of the hallway next to where I was seated and lining them up BEHIND me, I started getting a little frantic. People continued to file in. One old man on oxygen came in, poked around, was kinda gruff with the lady in charge, and left. Then he was back with whom I imagine was his son at his elbow. They sat behind me. He coughed. He spat. He hocked. And all in the meantime, his machine puffed away every two seconds. More people. More making room, adding chairs to an already cramped space. I started getting hot. One of my friends waited at the door. I adjusted my stuff from where I’d already moved to accommodate a stranger. Finally, they closed the door and admitted no more. I heaved a sigh of relief, and in doing so got a whiff of the excessively perfumed lady next to me. I felt like I was in an airplane. The chairs were really close, and if someone was just a tinge overweight, their excess spilled onto their neighbor. I was pretty miserable. It was the speaker’s birthday, and he was presented with a cake and song, and finally he got around to his presentation. It was obviously rushed and cut slightly short and I had a hard time concentrating. I was ready to get out of there.
The next seminar was MUCH more enjoyable. Back row again, no heavy breathers or aromatic ladies in my vicinity. I don’t mind perfume- it doesn’t typically bother me, I wear it myself- but when you’re squashed up against somebody it’s a little different. And the room was much larger, so my claustrophobia was put to rest. Anyway, this panel of authors were intriguing, and I bought one of the books they talked about. I can’t necessarily recommend it since I haven’t read it yet, but here’s your link to get an (unsigned) copy: https://amzn.to/2XwSxeR
Next speaker (Terry Roberts) was even better. I wanted to chat with him forever. I felt that he “got it” and was a true dyed-in-the-wool Southerner. Sometimes being born here doesn’t make you Southern. He also reinforced something I have long believed in: “Don’t let facts get in the way of a good story.”
Here’s the book I bought from him. https://amzn.to/2UebNvv I just finished another book on snake handling and religious zealots, so I might wait a minute to start this ‘un. But I AM looking forward to it.
Then it was time for lunch, and it just so happened I ran into one of my best good buddies as soon as I excited the auditorium. We couldn’t have timed it better, I’m telling you. So we staked out our claim at a table festooned with lunches and take home treasures. I took me a big ol’ slug of tea, and come a hair of spitting it out in a very unladylike fashion.
Why did they do that to me? To any of us??? I cussed and went to dumpin’ in three packs of straight sugar. Of course, no matter how much you stir it, it will not dissolve.
Lunch wasn’t fancy, but it was fairly tasty. And I was super excited about the pasta salad, as I had just been craving it. So much so that I had dreamed about it the night previous. I dug in.
Photo credit: The Hiking Fish. I got in too big a hurry….but I did get one of dessert.
We all got one of these. ❤️
And a cool set of gift cards made by the library.
Once everyone was assembled they had a short prayer, which I was so thankful for. The more people try to take God out of public meetings, the more I notice when He’s included. And it makes my heart happy. So we endured a short play (I couldn’t hear it for the most part) and then the Keynote Speaker took the stage. Robert Beatty, author of the Seraphina series set at Biltmore (here https://amzn.to/2EF7yUy) told us all about how he came to be a best selling author. People call him an overnight success, which he finds more than a little amusing, considering he’s been writing since he was a child and had been rejected by several publishing houses in his adult life.
It was during his chat that I found myself really appreciating this festival. The first two guests to ask him questions were children. They were probably around ten years old, but who knows, I’m no good with guessing kids ages. But I thought, “Right there. That right there is why you read to your kids. That’s why the literary festival is important. It brought children to a book event. They were so in love with the books, as a matter of fact, they weren’t bashful about speaking into a microphone in front of 500 people in order to talk to their favorite author. It warmed my heart. Libraries are essential to children and adults alike.
I found Mr. Beatty interesting, but not my level of Southern, and just a wee bit enamored by his oldest daughter. I could only endure so much gushing about how wonderful she was and I had to pee like a rushin’ racehorse as it was, so I gathered my things and excused myself. I also wanted to browse the tables while I wasn’t being pushed on by a crowd from all sides. I burst through the door and ran smack directly into Terry Roberts, the author whom I most liked from all the ones I’d met all morning. He didn’t have anyone to part me from my plastic, but after I took care of my most pressing need, his table was staffed again and he wrote me the most endearing inscription.
He signed his entire signature on the next page
Morbidly fascinating. 
While I waited for the Historical Society table to become manned again, I surfed Facebook. Turns out the county was practically underwater and a whole bunch of roads were closed. Knox County wasn’t faring any better. The drive home was not looking promising. As I began to really think about plans B, C, and D, I looked up into some familiar faces. I hugged Patty and Kent with force, and we caught up on events since the last time I’d seen them at Christmas. I expressed my worries about getting home, seeing as how my two main routes were flooded and the third had a rock slide. My hometown appeared to be an island. They graciously offered me their second residence to stay in if I found myself stranded in Sevierville. I can not tell you how thankful I was for that act of kindness. But another thought came to me. My sweet angel puppy dog, locked in the house. I had to get to him! He’s the only child I have. So I’d just have to get home, one way or another. Ah, I’ll think about that later. I moved on to the Historical Society table to buy a book I’ve been hunting for for the last twenty years or so.
I thought it was called Plantations of Sevier County, so I would have never found it. I was extremely thrilled to get it, less thrilled with the ancient lady selling it to me who was both profoundly and selectively deaf. I didn’t want to go back four generations on who my people were, I didn’t want to talk about who I married, and I didn’t want to join their society at this point in my life. I just wanted to buy the damn book. To get her off my case, I explained that I didn’t have a lot of spare time, between working, writing, and serving on the library board. THAT part she heard, and lit into me about needing space to store archived publications, and I was the one who could see to it that it was done. Sigh. I immediately regretted giving her a thread to pull. Once I finally extricated myself from THAT mess, I started making my way to Bill Landry’s conference room. I bumped into the person I needed to talk to about the library/ Historical Society archive storage, who gave me the backstory. Or, as Paul Harvey would say, “The rest of the story”.
It appeared my other friend had forsaken me, so I sat through Bill Landry’s presentation alone. His Indian heritage is showing heavily in his advanced years, but I’d know him anywhere. That voice is the background noise of my childhood. He brought back so many memories I had to close my eyes.
As he spoke, my phone vibrated incessantly with messages from my momma, absolutely freaking out about the flood. This is what she does. And forwards me two dozen links to read so I, too, can become a nutcase. I stopped opening them and just decided to do the best I could about getting home. That’s all anybody could do. I felt that I was making an informed decision. You don’t really think about being surrounded by water until you need a non-flooded route home and every road that comes to mind is some variation of the following: Middle Creek, Gist Creek, Boyds Creek, Dripping Springs, Rush Branch, Panther Creek, Lyon Springs….you get the idea.
Imagine my surprise to find out my commute home wasn’t even as perilous as my trip out this morning. I was super glad to arrive, regardless. I began to surf Facebook, looking at all the damage already documented within the county. I saw numerous sinkholes, massive flooding, and a guy riding a flamingo down Broadway.
The rain makes us all a little crazy.
Tell people they shouldn’t leave home, and that will ensure every redneck with a lifted 4 wheel drive will be out making pictures.
The Facebook posts had gone from these early in the week:
To a much more serious note:
One of many sinkholes
So, like any Bible thumping Southerner will tell you: don’t ever make plans without following it up with, “Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.” Cause one of these days it will again.
Nothing was going as planned. If you know me, you’re probably surprised to learn I even HAVE a plan. I admit, my plan normally never stretches further than what I will be consuming for my three meals that day. But I sometimes will plan vacations months in advance, especially if it’s a new destination. I don’t want to miss anything in the event I can never return, so I like to have all my high points mapped and time allocated to enjoy them. I have enough to plan for in the course of a month between board meetings and bills, I don’t like to have to commit to much in between. I plan to go to bed between 10-11. I plan to get up by 6:30. I plan to stay at work until 4. You know. Plans. Plus all the plans I have for cleaning, writing, reading, watching TV, exercising. When you think about it, you’ve got your whole life planned out in this manner. If you’re married, you plan to see it through, growing old on a porch swing, watching your grandchildren frolic in the evening twilight, catching lightning bugs. Oh wait. I mean tapping on their tablet in front of your 60″ HD Smart TV.
My plans rarely work out. I tend to over schedule myself and then panic halfway through my day when I’ve only accomplished the one thing. Nothing goes accordingly in my love life, my financial state, or my career. But it’s fine. I’ll just plod right on and pretend it’s how I imagined it all along. And not that things are bad, just not how I pictured my life going. By forty you’re supposed to have everything figured out. At least that’s what I thought when I turned thirty and didn’t have it ironed out, then. Back when I was eighteen, thirty seemed a reasonable age to be on firm footing. I guess now I get to back it on up to fifty…but that still seems old. Sigh.
There are a few things you can depend on, I have learned. If you lose your tenuous grip on Faith, you can easily find fervent believers to haul you back to the rock. You can plan on drunks and kids to tell you the truth about your physical appearance. You can plan on bosses lying to you, things costing more than you budgeted for, and food to taste best when you’re craving it. You can count on your dog to love you, no matter what.
Planning seems to set myself up for disappointments. Not because I’m not following through, but because most of the time when things require plans, they also depend on other people and that’s where the problem lies.
I’m not big on the word planned, in general. Too close to premeditated. You get an extended sentence for that one. Also triggers the word pregnancy in my mind, and that’s one I’ve especially never cared for.
Spontaneous is a much better way to go, in my opinion. If you didn’t think of it till the last minute, you have no unreasonable goals or expectations. You’re flying by the seat of your pants. You didn’t know you were going to go to this place, or participate in this activity, so you have no preconceived notions about what’s going to happen. You just met this guy and decide to go out to a baseball game right then and there. You’ve not agonized over a first date for a month, so you don’t have to wonder what he expects you to wear, or act like. I, myself, tend to over analyze so much that failure is all but eminent. I have a standard that I think everyone should adhere to, and when they fall short it diminishes them in my eyes. I probably need to lower my standards to keep my baseline happier, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to that, and at this age, why bother? If that makes me sound old and set in my ways, oh well. Nothing wrong with having high expectations as long as you can live with the deficiency. Someday, somehow, things will fall into place again and I’ll look back and be thankful I held out.
Wallyworld was closed when Chevy Chase finally managed to arrive, and so was the closest bar-be-cue joint by the time I got there. I breathed in slowly through my nose, like I was taught to do in yoga. It wasn’t the end of the world, this was a first world problem, but just what I wouldn’t do for some pulled pork and slaw. My one and only coworker had grated on my nerves all day, badmouthing our President and leaders, poking his nose in ALL of my business, pretending he knew me better than I knew myself. It’s a dang wonder I hadn’t thrown my stapler at him. On top of that, I had an appointment with my accountant after the grueling day at work. I despise doing adult things like that. If I never have to see another lawyer, doctor, or banker, that would be just fine by me. As a matter of fact, I decided on the spot, if I ever hit the lottery, they’d be the first people I’d do away with. As quick as I could get me a financial adviser nailed down (Monte B, I’m looking at you), the next person I’d hire would be someone to manage my other business. I would never have to schedule another appointment or ask questions about my money. I could literally just drift along on the high seas from the balcony of my yacht. I could be awakened by my massage therapist every day, and sip French 75’s while my chef prepared me a spinach, mushroom, and cheese omelet. We could sail to wherever my adopted sea turtles were hanging out and I could go ashore whenever I felt like shopping for new books and shoes. Or we could port and I could just order some things off Amazon, like I do now. Sitting there in the empty parking lot, the neon sign no longer blinking and buzzing, I shut my eyes and imagined I could feel the wind on my face, the salt on my lips, and the coconut drink in my hand. I wanted it so badly. I was going to be 70 before I could retire. SEVENTY. Nobody in my family lives to see 80!!! I’d been working full time since I was 17, had never drawn a dime of unemployment. I deserved a break.
Well, nothing was going to change sitting here getting mad about it. I started home, and on a whim swung in the oldest gas station in town for a Mountain Dew Icee. I had a bottle of Vodka that needed a friend. I sat the cup down on the counter and sighed, looking over the lottery tickets behind the plexiglass. Bright colors, bold graphics, designed to catch your eye.
“Which’ns you want?” the grey haired, snaggle toothed lady asked me.
Well, I didn’t know. I didn’t think I wanted any, I was just looking at them, but since she’d went to the trouble of asking….I’d played the Powerball exactly one time. But I figured I could manage scratch offs.
“Gimme five of those Triple Sevens,” I instructed her. “What’s the Powerball up to?”
She jerked her thumb at the screen rolling with green numbers.
386 million.
That was enough. I always say I’ll play whenever it’s over 286 million and never do.
“Put ten on that,” I added. The computer shot out a curling receipt. I would have to #1) keep up with the blamed thing, and #2) remember to check my numbers. I didn’t even know when they were drawing, but I had Google.
That was another thing I got tired of: people asking me if I’d seen this or that on the news, then acting flabbergasted when I told them I didn’t watch the news, that it was depressing. Not one thing in my life would be different if I watched the news. They blow weather totally out of proportion; every rain is a flood, every little bit of snow is a blizzard, and every thunderstorm is a tornado. I’d be afraid to leave my house for the murderers on the loose and rabid dogs and possums. Not to mention the flu epidemic! Don’t use public bathrooms, don’t touch door handles or copy machine buttons. I could make my assistant watch the news, and brief me. On second thought, I didn’t plan on speaking to anybody ever again if I hit the lotto, so that wouldn’t matter. Strike that. She can get busy on my card catalog and deleting some of my 7,300 emails I’ve never bothered to open.
I sighed. Wouldn’t it be nice to only have to worry about the weather, and where you were traveling to next? I sighed again. And again, for good measure. Not that my life was so bad. But any life can use improvement. And my closet could sure use some new shoes.
I opened the front door to a very exuberant puppy dog and scratched him behind his ears. I’d only been gone fifteen minutes, but if you asked him he would tell you it was fifteen weeks. Sweet thing. He didn’t even care I didn’t have barbecue. He always gets the hush puppies first thing. I went to the kitchen and plopped part of the Mountain Dew shushy into one of my favorite glasses and stirred in a couple shots of vodka from the local distillery. Then I flopped down on the couch to watch Big Bang Theory reruns.
Sometimes my life copies Penny’s so precisely I want to email the writers and request royalties.
I idly thumbed through my Facebook feed and decided to check about the Power Ball drawing. It was tomorrow night. Better wash my face then. Couldn’t pay to have a facial to undo what residue my makeup left behind.
I rubbed my dog’s ears and fell asleep on the couch, as had been my habit for the last few weeks. I get good and warm under my blanket and it’s just too much trouble to move.
The following day at work, I daydreamed all day about my winning lottery ticket. I went so far as to make a list of all the places I wanted to travel.
- Ireland (castles. The land of my people. Maybe I could be like Scarlett O’Hara and buy my own town)
- Scotland (maybe I would run into a strapping Highlander)
- Australia (please clear my path of snakes)
- Galapagos (because of the giant turtles, of course)
- Bora Bora (in one of those huts on the water where you can watch fish from your bed)
- Paris, the city of light…with a translator firmly at my side. I wanted to see all the museums and eat all the cheese
- Venice (riding around in a gondola and taking pictures is fine by me)
- Alaska (the weather should suit me just fine. And lack of people)
- Greece (all the old stuff)
- San Francisco and up the coast to Seattle
- Nova Scotia (I read about a Christmas Tree farm there and it was fascinating)
Maybe some other tropical places. I started thinking about seafood and pastries and got sidetracked. And then I began building my wardrobe and all was lost. I didn’t even have passable luggage anymore. And would I have enough to buy a home in New Orleans? Or Savannah? Or maybe St. Augustine, I hadn’t been there yet, but I was sure I was going to love it. All that old stuff…and where would I live? Not here. Perhaps I would settle on the Oregon Coast in a house with a widow’s walk. Or maybe a snug little cabin up in the Idaho wilderness. Better buy some quilts….
I drifted off while adding to my Wayfair shopping cart.
The next day, it was all over my Facebook how the winning lottery ticket had been sold in my little ol’ hometown. I’d already sorta forgotten about buying it, I’d gotten so carried away with my fantasies of spending money I didn’t have on things I would only need if I were to hit the lotto. I clicked a link to show me more, while humming Brandy Clark’s “Pray To Jesus & Play the Lotto”.
There stood a local newscaster out front of the store where I’d bought my ticket from the surly cashier. My jaw dropped. The money hadn’t been claimed, she reported, so the identity was unknown as of now. The story ended with the winning numbers displayed. I dug around in my purse, finally coming up with the ticket.
And I felt all the blood rush to my face.
Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.
Step 1. Call a lawyer.
Step 2. Wait. Find a lawyer I trust.
Step 3. Abandon hope of finding a worthy lawyer and call Monte instead.
Step 4. Don’t have Monte’s number, but call on all my wits to find him on Facebook, then his company’s name, then his number.
He was in a meeting.
Well, if I’d made it this long, I could certainly wait another hour or two.
I tried to read but my hands were shaking too badly. Then I got scared I was going to have a heart attack before I ever got to spend the first red cent. I couldn’t simply drive myself to Nashville to claim it, I would need a driver.
Or better yet, a PILOT.
My fortune wasn’t going to last no time, I could hear my elders scoffing.
And I didn’t care. #YOLO
None of this would have happened if the barbecue joint hadn’t been closed.
Writers are weird. I know this. I know I’m a tad peculiar. I’m a bit standoffish, and I’m not much for small talk. I can’t write on command, and when a story is done, it’s just done. I don’t KNOW what happens to the characters. When I started this one, I didn’t know it was going to turn into this. It just happens. But this is pretty close to what I would do if I were to hit the jackpot. I’ll probably never have to worry about it, though. Because I really don’t ever play. I do have a ticket for the Power Ball in the front cover of the last book I read. I doubt it’s worth the paper it’s printed on. All I know is that it wasn’t the jackpot
Let me begin by saying I loathe Valentine’s Day. Read that carefully. Loathe. NOT love. It’s pure hokum, all these guys put under pressure to get a ooey gooey card, roses (double gag), and an expensive, romantic dinner out. It’s utterly ridiculous. And I don’t play. Never have. Don’t participate because it’s required of you. Make your person feel special on a regular day because you want to.
Now that that’s out of the way.
My day began at the office, like any other Thursday. I was in full Valentine’s Day attire, because if you wear black people accuse you of being bitter and hateful. Even if it is true, I don’t need to hear it. Plus, I like pink and glitter. And that’s not always acceptable on a Thursday. But on Valentine’s Day it is! So I donned my heart print Lularoes, XOXO Y’all shirt, red shoes, and off I went.
I also had a pink light up flower for my hair, but even I will concede that’s a bit much for the morning hours.
Baker the Baker popped in with some delicious morsels right off the bat, flitting through like Cupid.
It wasn’t long before my momma showed up, bearing gifts. I had already warned her I wasn’t in the mood for sweets. I’ve been hauling my fat ass to spin twice a week and killing it, even though I don’t have anything to show for it. I was not going to backpedal. Quite literally.
But she had a surprise in store for me, yesiree. I got something I’ve been wanting for a long, long time.
All the hearts. All the books. Yes, yes, YES. There were other non-fattening treasures in the bag, but this was definitely my favorite.
Then she asks me if frog alley is still in existence.
Me: “Yes, you’re basically almost standing in it.”
Mom: “I knew it was close, but I didn’t know if they cleaned it up like everything else.”
Me: “Nope. Still here. Just go straight through that stop sign right here, and you’re there.”
Mom: “There used to be a monkey chained to telephone pole down there.”
Me, whipping around, : “WHAT?!?!”
Mom: “Yeah, they used to fight him.”
Me: “WHAT?!??!”
Mom: “Yeah, he used to box. They’d take bets and men would fight him. He had a big ol’ loggin’ chain that he was chained to the telephone pole with. He was MEAN!”
Me: “Ya reckon??? How’d they get him loose to fight him?”
Mom: “He was a chimpanzee. He was so mean!”
And y’all think MY stories are crazy. So there’s that. If anyone remembers more, feel free to comment. I feel like there is much more to this story.
I had to go get icing for the cupcakes I was going to make, and you can imagine what Food City looked like. Harried looking men dashing around, shoelaces undone, hair mussed, holding a dozen roses in one hand and a heart shaped steak in the other. What a bunch of malarkey. THREE chocolate covered strawberries were $11.99. I could eat a lot of tacos for twelve bucks. I got my icing, I got my bacon, and I got the h-e-double hockey sticks OUT while the gittin’ was good.
Came back here, found a sick Amber (my DC), fixed her some chicken noodle soup out of a can and handed her a pack of stale crackers to go with it. I didn’t know they were stale until after the fact when she returned them to the kitchen with only one or two missing from the sleeve. I tasted them and realized. They’d never been opened, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I fixed myself two chili dogs with onions because I wasn’t gonna be doin’ any kissin’. And then I realized in order to make cupcakes, one must have a cupcake tin. I had one, but it was 15 miles away. No cupcakes today, after all that stress at the grocery store.
Then it was time for my daily promenade around the block with Aquaman. I just made that up. It’s not REALLY Aquaman, because if I was walking around with a superhero it would be Batman and we wouldn’t be walking, we’d be riding in the Batmobile and I would have on his cape and be throwing spikes at annoying people. I digress.
On this trek that we take nearly every day, we have run across many interesting things: a bird’s nest, a geological survey marker, a water bottle painted up like a pig (complete with corkscrew pink pipe cleaner tail), a lemonade stand, a heart shaped stump, a postcard with a picture of a bear and a trash can but no message…you get the idea. Today, we had just begun, and here’s all this crap piled out by the curb. We’re picking our way around it and notice there’s some pretty good stuff there. A couple of walking sticks, a comforter that would match my pillows on the couch, all sorts of treasures. I’m terrified of bedbugs after working at the Co-op so long and selling chemicals to seemed like everybody in the county, so there was no danger of me taking anything but then I saw a book.
“Hey, look, a Grisham!” I said.
“Take whatever you want, this lady moved and left all her stuff. I’ve been cleaning out,” a man said, coming around the corner. I recognized him as one of my former customers, and asked him how his dog was. It was ever-present.
“She’s good, she’s right there.”
The beagle ambled out, trotting to keep up with him.
My attention was diverted by Aquaman heaving a big white trash bag bulging with books to the top of the pile.
He grinned.
“I’ll help,” I offer, opening the bag to see the bounty. All kinds of Grishams! And more. He got three, we tied the bag back up and walked on. He blew cat hair from the covers. Why I did not take a picture of this, I will never know.
I could not stop laughing. Only WE would ever dig through somebody else’s trash to find books. Good Lord. We’d just been to the BOGO sale the day before for our “exercise”, but did that stop us? Noooooo. I elbowed him in the ribs as we walked. Then I told him the story of the man we had just spoke to. He makes a world famous meatloaf for his neighbors.
The secret ingredient is Science Diet dog food.
I shit you not.
In roughly a mile our walk concluded, with plans to meet back at the library for the speaker at 5:30.
I made a call to Ray Ball to check and see what sort of sound equipment he needed for my conference coming up. We chatted a minute, but I hated to hold him up while the sun was a shinin’, I knew he was trying to work.
“I love you,” he said just before we said goodbye. So SWEET. I love Ray Ball.
Most women could be found shaving their legs or washing their hair yesterday evening. I was sitting attentive among a few good friends at the library, waiting for Art Bohanan to start imparting his knowledge of forensics in local murders, both of the solved and unsolved varieties. I didn’t go to gain tips on murder, either, just so you know. Although I certainly picked up a few helpful hints. I put my light up flower in my hair for the event.
Art is very down-to-earth, to be so famous. He’s extremely likable and began his talk by right away bringing up the “Kmart Indians”. Everybody knew exactly where he meant and it set the mood for fun in the face of this gruesome horror. The room was packed and he had everyone’s undivided attention.
The hour and a half chat flew by. We drank coffee and munched on cookies provided by the library. It was a purely delightful time. Especially since the cookies were clearly labeled. I don’t like mystery nut cookies, so my selection made me absurdly happy.
After it was over, I stepped around to hug my friend Malinda that I’ve not seen in a couple of years. “I just love you,” she said when we broke apart.
The emotion I felt in that sentence made tears spring to my eyes immediately. What is it about that sentence? You can tell when somebody really means it.
I got home and bantered back and forth with a Hispanic I used to work with. He told me he was my #1 fan, which made me laugh super extra hard, and that I was good, good people. Which made me smile and shake my head. I’m a mess, is what I am. Not even a hot one. One that does her best, has always done her best, and realized she fell short on many occasions. I’m not a beautiful disaster, I’m just a disaster, trying to do better. I don’t learn from my mistakes (not even about bringing a bag for my book sale haul) but I just keep moving forward. Because I have to. You have to. We all have to.
That’s the thing about Valentine’s Day. I found love in unexpected places all day. It was the best Valentine’s on record.
What’s love got to do with it?
Absolutely nothing, and absolutely everything.
P.s. I made my cupcakes today, a day late. They’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination (I ran out of cupcake liners) but I think they will spark joy. Angela, I’m sorry I didn’t offer you something to drink with them. I’m not a good hostess, obviously. 
