I was taught to lie at a young age.
I also had my butt busted at a young age for lying about the least little thing.
It did not occur to me until this morning, at 38 and a half years old, that I was brought up a liar.
I was frying bacon and eggs for a sandwich. I thought, “Oh, goody! We can use our new Christmas plates since this is just a sandwich and we don’t need big plates.” I then went over to the table and felt their heft as I lifted them. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. I broke my new turtle glass the other day, and I didn’t want to risk these so early in their life. What if I couldn’t replace them? I mean, they’re just Wal-Mart plates but I really like them. No, not the Pioneer Woman ones they’re pushing. These are the Twelve Days of Christmas. I could just see me washing them and their soapy slickness slipping through my grasp and thirteen million pieces as it went everywhere.
So I set the plate back down and thought, “Lets not and say we did.” Which. Is. A. LIE.
But that’s a passable lie, since it was always used in jest. Like when I wanted to do something that nobody else did, like go to the store, or ride horses all day, or eat an entire chocolate cake. It usually made me sigh theatrically and know the battle was lost so I would flounce off, pigtails swinging.
So we didn’t use the Christmas dishes this morning, but I’m gonna say we did.
December Writing Challenge Day 1
Day 31 for me.
Battery operated.
I bought sixteen batteries the other day.
I have two left. I filled a few of the candle light things that I set in windowsills and then two in a remote. Gone. It’s disgusting. And the little candles are already dead because I accidently left them on all night. Two different nights, since I’m in the business of full disclosure. But crap, we go to bed at 9, soooo…
Seems like everything is battery operated anymore. And I’m sure when I was little my parents thought the same thing. I once had a “remote control” racecar. Remote control is in quotations because it had a cord, about ten feet long, that ran from the car to the controller, so that you had to constantly be on the move running behind it.
I had some rechargeable batteries that I used for my Mp3 player but I’ve lost them. The charging port is still here somewhere, though. I saw it the other day. You would think there would be some sort of solar replacement in this day and age for everything that takes Duracells. And by the way, Duracell is the way to go. Don’t waste your time with anything else.
Well. That’s about all I’ve got for this little topic.
November Writing Challenge Day 30
Her couch.
My couch? Well, my couch is dark brown cushy leather with nailhead studs, scattered with red damask pillows and a monogrammed blanket. It will take you hostage on chilly winter days or rainy summer ones. It is slowly beginning to show wear that I like to think gives it a little character. I say this because I can’t afford to buy new stuff for at least five more years. When it was new, if I sat back on it, my feet wouldn’t touch the floor. I’m short, sure, but it made me feel so petite. Now I’ve wallered (wallowed, I suppose is the correct spelling) it down and the cushions have compacted some. I remember picking out the furniture before a bithday dinner one night. It wasn’t my birthday, it was one to be endured because my friend’s family was coming and I couldn’t get my drink on. So I pre-gamed with a different friend. Somehow shopping for living room furniture seemed like the thing to do to fill the little bit of time before supper. I knew what I wanted, so it didn’t take but a quick perusal of the showroom until I happened upon the set. I got a “free” TV with my purchase and my salesman could not understand when I flipped my hand over the choices. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” I told him. He was completely bewildered until Brandi told him that I have no desire to watch TV, that I read books for entertainment. Was he not paying attention when I picked out the chair and ottoman for my library? Meanwhile, I was preoccupied with selecting lamps. Yes, I was at the chain store Rooms to Go. I probably won’t ever darken their doorway again. They employ some of the most aggravating people I have ever encountered. This woman calls me at work to try to sell me an extended warranty. I let her know in no uncertain terms that I was at work to pay for the said furniture in the timely fashion they expected and I did not appreciate the interruption, that I had no children or dogs and that if the furniture fell apart before the regular warranty was up, we would all be on a first name basis and not in a friendly way.
Wells Fargo does lots of 12-month-same-as-cash financing; you should probably look into it for any major purchases. I use them all the time.
Anyway, back to the lamps. It took me three times as long to decide on them as it did my bulky furniture. What is with all the art deco pieces? What happened to the normal shaped lamps that actually resembled lamps? Not a lamp in disguise as a sculpture from the MoMA?
The two hoodlums that delivered my furniture hit my gate and I didn’t know it until the next day because HEL-LO I stayed home to lounge on my new couches. I couldn’t figure out how they managed to hit it, anyway. The truck wasn’t THAT big. They didn’t have to back out, they’d made a circle out front. When I called the store to let them know, they said they were sorry if that was the case, but if I couldn’t prove it, too bad so sad. We raised and cocked the hinges to get it working again.
Anyway, once all the pieces were installed per my specifications, of course I preferred the longer couch (or sofa, as they’re known up north). But things change when you get married and your husband needs the room to stretch out. So I have relinquished my favorite piece to curl into the corner of the loveseat. It’s fine. I have the table. It’s my spot. Sheldon would be envious.
It’s funny how people have always tried to tell me what I want and don’t want for one reason or another, and I have always been abundantly happy with my choices. They said I didn’t need a big truck, the fuel would kill me. I’ve always been thankful for Patsy-what she lacks in looks she makes up for in ground clearance. My paint choices- I’m not even going to go into it. My furniture-I shouldn’t get leather, it’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It has to be cleaned. Yes, well, I hope the heating and air conditioning in my home continue to regulate the temperature of my couches. And that’s what snuggly blankets are for. And as far as cleaning, don’t you have to suck the dust off cloth couches? And they show wear in how the fabric gets squooshed flat and worn off. So I’m constantly defending my opinions. I suppose if someone were offering to pay for my furniture, my paint, my truck, and were going to be living here looking at it or sitting on it every day, or sharing custody of Patsy, then their opinions might be taken into consideration. But they’re not. Thank God. I wouldn’t be so defensive but it was every time I turned around until I got married. Like I wasn’t capable of making a decision without a man in my life. Give me a break.
November Writing Challenge Day 29
In the fridge.
My refrigerator is enormous. That’s good, because I cook a lot. I eat a lot, too. Here it is before Thanksgiving.
I took a picture to show Taj, because he was all about me marinating my turkey and I’m like, but where am I going to put it after I marinate it? It’s not like Ziploc makes bags that big. And while he was all sealed up I could pile stuff around him. If he was in a pan, well, that ain’t gonna work.
Yes, that’s a ham and turkey.
No, I don’t feed twenty. Just me and Shug and my friend Brenda this year. I don’t know how to cook “small”, I don’t even know what that means. The best part of staying home for Thanksgiving is the leftovers. (And no bra. And the wine. All the wine.) It’s a long story of why we stay home and why family doesn’t come, so I’ll spare you.
So anyway, today it’s full of leftovers.
I’m so sick of looking at them, eating them, trying to create recipes…ugh. One more meal and I will freeze what I can and the the dogs will feast. Or gorge. Bug acts like he doesn’t know where to start and Sugar acts like there’s no time to waste.
I do love me a turkey cranberry croissant sandwich. With cheese. And sweet tater casserole. I cannot get enough. I was deprived of that stuff until my adult life, and I’m making up for lost time.
But the reserves are dwindling, and for that, I am thankful. I’m making a turkey pot pie tonight. May have to get a little creative. Can you put mashed potatoes in a pot pie?
November Writing Challenge Day 28
I turn the page.
I have not had a book in my hand in dayyyysssss. Days, I tell you. I’ve been too busy decorating, cleaning, cooking, and working. I’ve even done a little shopping. I can’t concentrate long enough to read, because I’m so far behind on blogging. (For instance, it’s the 30th. I just finished the 27th and now here I am on here). Our book club is meeting here tomorrow night and I haven’t even cracked open the first page of this month’s selection. I have been working on the Holly Madison book for over a week. I figured I would have it read in two days, I’ve been looking forward to reading it forever and a day! Not to mention all the others I’ve started and abandoned. I’ll mention them, maybe someone can tell me whether It’s worth pressing on: The Painted Bridge by Wendy Wallace, Eve, by William Paul Young (same guy who wrote The Shack), Dragonfly in Amber (2nd Outlander…they’re just so enormous It’s daunting), Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, and the Accursed by Joyce Carol Oates. It’s shameful! I can only console myself in that I’ve been very busy doing worthwhile or necessary tasks. I’ll catch up in February when I leave Facebook for Lent. Sometimes I wish I could leave it forever.
So that’s the literal turn a page portion. Now for the figurative.
As we grow older, we talk about chapters on our lives. Childhood is our first chapter, with high school next, maybe followed by college. The milestones of your first real job and relationship are another, marriage is one, your first home and mortgage, perhaps children if you’re doing it in “order”. Career changes, divorce, and deaths of loved ones fill out the remainder of our book of life. Sprinkled on the pages are our friends and the little anecdotes of our time here. Our circle of friends changes, some come and go and some stay for chapters. A few people are fortunate and come stay for the whole book. This is a rarity.
In my life, I have been extremely fortunate to have the same friends through the majority of my life. I may turn several pages and have no mention of these friends, but they always pop back up. Never in the strangest places, always exactly where I need them. I turn the page, and there they are.
Love especially to Sharon, Meg, Lisa, John Alan, and Minor, my oldest and steadfast tribe. Y’all are written on so many pages.
November Writing Challenge Day 27
I have plans.
I’m also a liar. I have no plans. It’s something I say in jest, like girls in the 80’s said they had to wash their hair. Whenever someone asks me to go do something outside of my hermit shell, they probably get this stock response.
I mean, I have general plans, like, I’m going to write a blog every day for a year, whether I have pictures to go with it or not, I’m going to read a minimum of 52 books a year (I’m not above cheating. If I knock out a Stephen King, I’m probably gonna read something short and sweet to counterbalance time lost), and I’m going to see my stylist Friday. I’m gonna need a new vehicle within a year or so, so I’m kinda planning on going looking at Nissans soon.
I’m already married, so I don’t have plans on the romantic front unless you count where we’re going to eat Friday night. I’m fairly content in this house, so I don’t have plans to move. I even like my job just fine, so I’m not looking for anything elsewhere.
I haven’t carried a day planner in years. Of course, I don’t have much to plan. Board meeting once a month, book club once a month…and that’s pretty much it. Sad, I know. I frequently have to call doctors offices and say, “I have an appointment with y’all….sometime in the near future…can you tell me when?” and I write it on my hand or the calendar at work and I might put it in my phone if I remember after we hang up and I don’t get distracted doing something else.
It seems that when I make plans, it gives me time to dread it and think of all the reasons I shouldn’t go, so it’s best if you can just get me to commit as close to the spur of the moment as possible. Your chances are much higher that I will show up.
We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, so I always feel the need to say, “Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise,” anytime I promise I’m going to be somewhere or do something. But it’s human nature to make plans, trivial or not. So we do.
I must go. I have plans to go to bed. So I can get up tomorrow and do it again. Very busy. Lots of plans.
November Writing Challenge Day 26
Liar.
I know a whole bunch of ’em, don’t you? One in particular springs to mind that would have cost me my job if Co-op if there hadn’t been so much evidence to the contrary of what he was saying.
You’re supposed to live your life so that if anyone ever said anything bad about you, no one would believe them. Well, this guy did…so it didn’t look so good for the truth tellers (already enemies) when the chips began to fall until the truth came out. “The truth will stand when the world is on fire.” People who had known me for ten years shunned me. For months I was truly an outcast among friends and FAMILY. But I kept my head high and my eyes straight ahead as things got worse. I spoke the truth and I knew it and God knew it and that was all that mattered to me.
I remember going to lunch by myself for weeks because no one would have anything to do with me and I just cried and cried. People thought I cost him his job. No, that was years in the making. A file an inch thick.
I’m sure there are people who still don’t believe what was proven but that’s fine. I threatened to have t-shirts printed once it finally broke but I never did ☺ I guess I have to have standards every now and then. The high road is a mighty boring place. I guess the restitution is finally paid but I haven’t asked. Hopefully the tarnish won’t disappear from his name for a long, long time. Because once a liar and a thief, always a liar and a thief.
These emails that say “get ready for best deal/sale of the century/ deepest discount” etc. make me wonder exactly how I need to prepare. I mean, I’m just reading. Nothing has ever came through the phone/ tablet/ computer/ pages for me. What’s fixing to happen? How do I get ready? Read under a table or desk? Hide in the closet? Bite my nails and take a Xanax? Maybe a gin and tonic? I’m just not sure…but I do like that last idea. It’s almost alarming. BLACK FRIDAY!!! They shout. Support Small Business Saturday! tout Facebook pages. Cyber Monday all day Sunday!! And don’t forget about Giving Tuesday, coming in at the end after you’ve effectively spent all your money, your end of year bonus, your grandfather’s war pension, your childrens’ college funds, and the tax refund you haven’t even applied for yet. Then all the sales are prolonged. It goes on forever.
Well, I must go brace myself before opening my emails. Ta-ta for now.
November Writing Challenge Day 25
Smoke.
Not an easy one to write about, as we’re nearing the one year mark for the Chimney Tops Fire, but I’ll do my best.
Last year on this day there was smoke in the valley. There was smoke on the hills and hollers, both. There was smoke everywhere.
It’s a year later and nobody can believe it. Friends from out of town ask how things are…and I don’t remember until I’m reminded. Life has gone on, pretty much as scheduled, since summer and green once again took over the hillsides. For me, anyway. But I’m not in Gatlinburg every day. I’m not in Gatlinburg at all.
I don’t see the devastation or the rebuilding in person. I’m not depending on the generosity of others to help me face another day as I struggle to have half as much as I used to. I was talking to one of my friends who works for dispatch the other day, and she brought up a new kind of post traumatic stress disorder that hadn’t even occurred to me. People who were right there in the smoke and the fire and the mayhem are having trouble being around it again. As you would. So here we are at the anniversary, and everybody’s memories are being jarred again and again by news agencies as they recount that horrible night that no one was prepared for. Even though it’s been wet and dreary much of this month, the law stays in effect about not burning without a permit. But people can easily call and obtain one. And so this man had, and it was controlled in his backyard, and his neighbor was losing her mind. She had been a victim. She had lost everything. And so it was understandable. And the fire marshall had to go speak with her and talk her down.
These people need help on a psychological level, as well as a monetary level at this point. As you would.
It still makes the front page of the paper almost daily, some something related to the wildfires, whether it be a change in leadership, or a new development, or Dolly has helped in some way again.
So we put our Christmas tree up today and I keep remembering how last year’s sat here for over a week before I had the heart to decorate it. And when I did, I cried.
This year I’m just lazy, and whining because my back aches.
I’m glad the chair lift reopened, and I hope it’s never overshadowed by the next big attraction known as Anakeesta. I’m glad the Aquarium was saved, as well as the Candy Kitchen. The “distilleries” are a dime a dozen, but it’s probably a good thing they didn’t catch fire, too, for obvious reasons. And Lord knows Best Italian could never be replaced.
I wonder if Charles the Pig is still living it up. I hear he got a book deal. I wonder if that smartass from Chalet Village is content with his five minutes of fame or if he’s still stirring the pot. I wonder how Michael Reed is coping. I wonder when and if the park service will reopen access to the Pinnacles. I wonder if Fish will choose to meet those people he prayed with and fought for in the elevator. I wonder if those young men who started the fires (this is not up for debate) can sleep at night again, or if they ever could.
I wonder if Sevier County will ever again have a dividing moment, or if we will always say, “before the fires, it was like this, not like this.” Hopefully if there’s ever a next time, people have learned that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And you better run like the devil’s on your tail.
‘Cause he is.
November Writing Challenge Day 24
Something was off.
It’s understandable. Everything had been so on for so long it was a relief, actually.
It was the TV. Thank God. It seemed as if I had watched every sporting even for the past ten years. It could have been worse, it could have been hunting shows. The only thing more boring than watching men sit in blinds all day was watching men hit little bitty white balls all over gently rolling green hills. And golf I could sleep through, so really, it wasn’t that bad.
So the TV was off, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then I realized something else was off…the house had a very distinct abandoned feeling.
I crept down the hall. There was dust on the floor. How long had I been asleep? Not just the TV, but everything was off. No whirring of the fridge, no air unit thermostat clicking. Then I noticed the windows were open. No, that wasn’t right, they had been blasted out. Glass shards lay everywhere, like they had just exploded from…what, exactly?
And then I remembered.
Oak Ridge had been bombed.
But…I had survived? How was that even possible? I had counted myself lucky since I was little that if something happened at the Lab, I wouldn’t know it. Life is but a vapor, indeed. I was secure and comforted by this knowledge. But obviously, I had been misinformed.
I knew instantly that I needed to write about this as soon as possible. I grabbed my pen and jotted down “something was off.”
