I’m looking forward to when writing is so ingrained in me I just wake up and do it, like brushing my teeth or washing my face. As it stands, I put it off all day and now here I am at 11:00, tapping a little something out that I will be too tired to proofread. All errors are mine. (Who else’s would they be???) But to be honest about it, the main reason I put it off is to have something sensational to report on.

However, I’m generally happy to say it was another mediocre day. One of my board members asked me today if anything exciting had been going on. I was like, “Lorrrrrd no, please don’t let anything exciting happen!” Because when exciting things happen at work, it’s costing somebody a crap ton of money.

No, hold the excitement please.

I know a little dog that had quite the capital day. No, not Chessie Pie. Although he may have, I wasn’t here for it. And he is sleeping quite soundly…..

No, it was Angela’s dog, Yona. (Yona means Bear in Cherokee. And she does look like a very lean, leggy bear). Angela has two dogs, a 100# Bernadoodle named Okra who resembles a very large stuffed animal, and the little mischief maker, Yona the Aussiedoodle. They both had vet appointments this week for their annual checkup. Okra went yesterday, and Yona’s big adventure was today. You might be thinking, “Wouldn’t it be easier and quicker to take them at the same time?” At which time, any dog owner who has owned multiple dogs at the same time would laugh in your face and then pat you on your head like a British schoolboy still in short britches.

Taking two dogs into the vet at the same time is something like a form of primitive torture. Angela did not do this, because Angela is not stupid. (And probably like the rest of us, learned the hard way). So she walks in today, very pleased to find the waiting room empty and still.

It didn’t stay that way for long.

Yona immediately commenced smelling every nook and cranny of the cubicle Angela selected to wait in. In a matter of tenths of a second, she managed to launch herself halfway across the bench divider. Yona, that is, not Angela. Yona is the smaller of two dogs, but that doesn’t mean she’s actually small. She’s about 60# of tightly wound spring. So that was a fun task, removing lots of dog from a head-high divider, while Yona attempted to communicate with a dog on the other side of the plate glass window. She was in full-scale whine and quaking all over from the sheer excitement. Luckily, the staff got them situated in a private room quickly, and the nerves abated once she had sniffed everything and everybody down.

But, oh, the mayhem that had ensued in the waiting room while they were in their capsule.

A mother and son had come in and were waiting with their two bully breeds to be checked in at the front desk. Along with about a dozen other dogs with their families.

And errrrrrrybody in the club was yelling, because the two pits were in a full on barking war, which drove all the other dogs into a frenzy. It was panic at the disco.

Now, let me tell you, this place is chaotic on the best day. They’re very busy, and it’s concrete floors for easy clean up. It just echoes and reverberates and makes your fillings tingle. The dumbest part was, they weren’t separating the dogs that were mad at each other. The second dumbest thing was, the dogs knew each other. They lived together. They’d just had breakfast together, for Pete’s sake. How do I know this? Well, the woman was informing everybody in the lobby of it, instead of tending to her charge.

In the meantime, Yona was quivering and had moved her derrière into Angela’s feet, and giving her a look like, “Get me outta here, mom. These doggies have gone craaaaazzzzzy.” And this is where I thought, ‘I’d like to write Yona’s version of events”. But now it’s too late, because I’ve done told everything. But anyway, everybody got checked in, there was no human or canine blood shed, and Yona is a wimp, because she’d acted all bold when it was just her, but throw in some noise and crazy dogs and she’s all, “Hold me, momma!” I said I would love to know how she recounted the tale to Okra back upon arrival. Okra is the most laid back, chill dog on the planet. She probably told her she dreamed it all, and it was nothing like that when she was there. You know, the tall tales of the youth, and how they get carried away.

At any rate, it was amusing to think about. Poor Yona. To come from such a quiet existence to be thrown into all that mayhem….well, it would be something to write about if you were a dog with a blog…

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I rarely know what I’m gonna write about when I sit down to do it. I don’t generally agonize over it, but sometimes I wish for an incident that would leave a desirable impression on me. I thought for sure something would inspire me from my outing tonight, but it was not meant to be.

It’s ok. It’s been a decent day. I got quilt #2 sent back to Amazon. I was supposed to have supper and drinks with a couple of friends in Market Square, but that didn’t work out. What DID work out was I caught Kay in Sevierville and we turned up for early afternoon. It took forever to get to our accustomed time for fellowship, so we ended up hitting some of Sevierville’s new spots. Not new to me, but definitely new to Kay. She’s freaking out over being served lobster in a funeral home. I’ve never met a bigger weenie in my life! She cracks me up. She’s all about reviving downtown, and places that used to be one thing and are now another, but she’s definitely out on eating oysters in a former funeral home. Obviously, I have no such qualms. And I got crème brûlée, so it really wasn’t a bad day at all.

I looked at the crescent moon tonight as I walked up my sidewalk. I pondered what all the moon has observed, and if it thinks we’re all idiots. I think we’re all idiots, and decided if the moon is paying any sort of attention, it probably doesn’t have much hope for us. I can’t blame it. I searched the stars for answers, but stars don’t answer. My dog was no help, either, but he is the best company I could ever ask for. He makes no apologies for nestling in as close as possible to me. He just loves. He needs no excuse. He’s just content and happy and I wish I could be half as accepting. He’s not sorry he’s so big and hairy. He knows there’s nothing to be done about his drool. He rests soundly, assured that the sun will come up tomorrow and there will be a bowl of clean water and another of kibble. Thankfully there’s no separation anxiety, the only personality glitch is he will not eat if I’m not home. I don’t understand the correlation. Maybe he is just rationing. It’s sweet, in a way, but concerning.

I’m going to bed. Long day ahead of me tomorrow. All this sunshine makes me think I need to be productive. I don’t like being productive. I’m geared more towards lounging with a book and coffee.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

Today has been a day of conflicting emotions. It hasn’t been a bad day, just a day where I can’t seem to be on my true path. I know how to fix it, just need to talk to the Man upstairs. I’m afraid I ain’t gonna like what he has to tell me, though. It happens.

I am such a procrastinator. I still haven’t sent in my taxes. I did purge some things this weekend- not as much as I had hoped to. I stay on top of most of my stuff, for the most part. Got rid of several pairs of shoes, though. Is anybody interested in wedding dresses? I have two very beautiful ones. Of course, this is my opinion, but I think you’d be crazy not to agree 🤣 I was hoping to donate them to a good cause, so I first thought about the angel baby gown people. I asked Angela if she knew of any locally, since she’s in the sewing machine circles. She didn’t, but sent me a link for gifting to military brides. I liked that idea a lot, but they only accept gowns less than four years old that have been professionally cleaned.

Ok. I get it. You don’t want these 1980s puffy long sleeved lacy yellowing monstrosities with matching hats. But I’m pretty sure my 2001 couture A-line corset back ball gown is still posh. And my 2012 taffeta cupcake dress is still plenty en vogue. They weren’t accepting right now, anyway. Then I reached out to another friend who sews and has had her own angel baby. Sure enough, she knew of a local branch. They are taking them, and if they’re not, they sell them to make money to cover shipping costs and whatnot. They want clean dresses, too, understandably. They say toss them in the washer on delicate.

Ummmmm. I’m not 100% sure either of my dresses would even FIT in the washer. They both had 4’ trains. They also want $25 per dress to cover one angel gown shipment. I understand, I promise I do. But damn. These dresses total about 5K. Sure, I could eventually sell them on Marketplace or Poshmark but I don’t want to deal with all that. I want to feel good about their future. I don’t want to donate them to Goodwill and some crackhead get them. My dresses deserve a happily ever after, even if I didn’t get it.

So I’m dealing with that, something I should have dealt with forever ago, but they’ve just been hanging out in my spare closet in their zippered bags. If anyone has a suggestion, or would like some positively gorgeous material, or maybe want to dye a dress for another occasion, I’m your girl. Just promise me they’ll have another happy day.

In other news, I have a friend who’s selling the family farm.

Do. NOT. START.

Do you wanna pay land taxes on fifty or a hundred acres? Do you even KNOW what land taxes run on that size of place? Do you even mow your own yard? Yeah, the dream is nice: live off the land, watch the cattle graze, grow some tomatoes, have a little farm stand out by the road for excess okra and chicken eggs….{move to the country, eat a lot of peaches 🎶🎵} Here’s the bottom line: you probably couldn’t afford the fuel it would take to bushhog that size place. If it’s wooded, what good is it? Oh, you wanna run cattle on it? Cattle don’t eat pine and cedar trees. Cows eat grass, grain, and hay. And a lot of it. So you gotta grow or buy hay. Well, that’s expensive too. Equipment is outta sight. Plus baler twine, there’s hydraulic fluid, fuel, and oh yeah- rake teeth. That’s all annually. You need a barn, a barn for that high dollar equipment and hay. And how about fences? You priced 6’ t-posts lately? Wood posts? Barbed wire? Electric boxes? Hi-tensile and insulators? What about a chainsaw to cut the trees off the fence when they fall? And they WILL fall. And you’ll lie awake on those stormy, blustery nights wondering if your investments are out in the road. And what if they are? You’ve got a day job in town. You’ve gotta be there. Someone depends on you. The farm depends on you.

You don’t have enough time. You don’t even have enough time when the weather is perfect and cooperative.

Say goodbye to those vacations you so look forward to. You can’t leave, you can’t quit. The cattle are calving now, or it’s time to vaccinate. You’ve gotta have equipment for that, too, to handle them safely. Wanna price that stuff? Check out Priefert or Powder River’s website. Get a load of that. Plus the annual cost of vaccines. You know what it takes for your dog to see the vet, quadruple that per cow. Hmmm, what else? Oh, a little garden? Sure, nice thought. First, find you a spot. Till it. I’ll wait.

Tilled it? Great. How many blisters you got? That was the easy part. The weather is nice, huh? Fantastic. Please be overzealous and plant every variety of vegetable you’ve ever eaten in your life.

Now it’s June. It’s 100 degrees in the shade and the weeds and Junebugs have taken over. The turtles, cutworms, and coons have ransacked what the morning glories didn’t get. You’re having to haul water just to keep some semblance of faith, because of course you’re dependent on God and Mother Nature for sunny days and rain showers.

Don’t talk to me about not selling farms until you’ve been out there in the driving rain pulling a calf, till you’ve been out there in a foot of snow and more coming to fix fence, don’t come at me spouting how we should be ashamed when the only time you set foot on the place is once a year with a professional photographer to take pictures of your kids in the manicured fields or among the corn stalks. Save the farms, yes. That’s my business. That’s my heart. But some people have their own dreams, and to achieve that they have to sell the dream that was never theirs. If it’s your dream, find a way to buy it. But be prepared- those Destin vacations and Lululemon leggings are gonna be a distant memory.

It hurts, it’s bittersweet, but a farm that’s not being utilized is no farm at all. And if somebody hadn’t sold, where would you be living? Where would you get your groceries? Your clothes? You beloved Hobby Lobby and Starbucks?

Stars are nice tonight, go look.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I feel the need to spring clean. Not the Pine-sol variation, but the “I hate all my possessions and all I’m going to keep is my favorite sweetgrass basket, 100 books, my coffeepot, and my dog” kind of cleaning. But you all recognize that for the lie it is, because I’m a fourth generation packrat. That’s just the packrats that I’ve known personally. I’d bet great-great Mamaw Octavia was one, too. It’s hard to let go of stuff. So when the urge hits, I try to embrace it.
I’ve already thrown one thing away today. Well, to be technical about it, two things. Because it was a pair of shoes. Now, even I wouldn’t keep just one shoe. I will keep one sock, though, if it’s a style of sock I have multiple pairs of. Like white ankle socks. Because they never all get holes at the same time. They get holes individually. So I can prolong the lives of sock pairs. It ain’t like they’re penguins and mate for life, anyway. So these shoes, I’m sure you’ve seen me in them because I wear them all the time, are some very nice Josef Seibel black leather cork sole wedge sandals. They were the perfect height– the lift was just enough to be considered dressy if I needed it or cute enough to be casual. I LOVED them. They went with nearly anything.
Three years ago the cork started going to the wayside. I started shopping for a replacement pair. Obviously, I sought out the exact same shoe. I have since found two pairs on Poshmark, but there’s just something icky about wearing preowned shoes. I can’t do it.

When I couldn’t find the exact same shoe, thus began my search for a cobbler to save me. There have been three: the place in Sevierville that’s open two hours twice a week, the place on Broadway that was established when Knoxville became chartered, and finally Pendergrass on Bearden Hill. The answer was the same at every establishment, delivered with varying degrees of sympathy: No, no, no.

I’m no quitter, and I hate being told no. So I kept the shoes in the trunk of my car, hoping to happen across a new shoe repair in my travels. In the meantime, I searched and sought and finally managed to find another pair or two that could suffice. I ordered both and promptly sent the other pair back. Here is a picture of the ones I kept.

Then, another pair of cork soled sandals began to deteriorate. I was not nearly as attached to them. The wedge on them was much higher, and I had the bright idea that they may be salvaged and “parted out”, as we say in the farm machinery junk business. I painstakingly cut the cork away from the shoe. I thought it might actually work. Lord knows I’ve glued enough of Lisa’s shoes back together. And my Lucchese’s, y’all remember that? But it was not meant to be. I didn’t have enough cork, still. And you could tell where I patched it. And the beloved sandals had a thin cloth covering under where the cork was and I couldn’t get the new cork to adhere well enough. I had a mess, is all I had. I know that surprises you all. So back to the trunk of hopefulness they went, including the pilfered cork pieces.

My replacement sandals have already begun to unravel, so this just won’t do. I am continually on the hunt for more perfect wedges.

Three years have now passed since the beginning of my cork sandal trouble. I went to Clark’s today to buy replacement flip flops. Yes, their flip flops DO eventually wear out, but it takes some doing. I decided to peruse their shoes while I was there. And I found these. Hmmm. Not too bad. They may not be as a airish as the other ones (that means breezy, you Yankees) but I think they’ll be passable in dressy and casual clothes. Translation: I can wear them to the funeral home or the bar.

Reader, I bought them.

And I came back to the office, and I opened the trunk, and I pulled out my beloved Josef Seibel black cork soled wedge sandals that I have loved for many moons, and I pulled out the pieces of cork from the donor sandals, and I walked to my trash can and I threw them all in.
And I have not, will not, cry. Because all good things must come to an end.
I don’t hate spending money. But I do hate having to replace things that I love with items I don’t love as much. These Clarks have big shoes to fill. And I write that without a shred of cynicism.

So that’s why I’m a packrat. Blame genetics, blame the Depression, blame plain ol’ frugalness. But it takes some doing for me to expel possessions. Maybe the rest of my things will go easier. I’ll keep you posted. That’s this weekend’s activity. I may not get any further than my closet. I cleaned out some kitchen cabinets a month or two ago. That went okay, I’m not as attached to bakeware and serveware, evidently. I was rather ruthless.

In other shopping news, I have bought and am currently returning two quilts to Amazon. The last one was ugly, and this one now is just too cheap. And it’s a little ugly. I’ve decided bedding is one of those things that needs to be bought in person. There’s a quilt at Cracker Barrel I like but it’s out of my price range. I’ll find something eventually. If any of y’all run up on something in sage green, lemme know. I think my problem with this is, the good Lord knows I don’t need a new comforter, I just want one and He’s trying to save me money.

I promised y’all a better article today and I’m afraid I didn’t deliver. One of these days I hope to shock and awe you with my writing prowess. Alas, today is not the day.

Love and painstaking goodbyes from Appalachia,

~Amy

Don’t go lookin’ for the poem, it ain’t here. I’ve barely even thought about it today.

I hit the ground running this morning at work. Loads of emails, phone messages, tidying my desk from the disarray the boys left for me. They pulled the ol’ Amy and Lisa shenanigans, placing items backwards and upside down. Cute. But they also left me a 4-leaf clover, so I know they missed me ❤️ It’s so nice to have likable coworkers again. It’d also be nice to have a dog that doesn’t shed, but you can’t have it all.

Y’all will be pleased to know that I went out in public tonight with the size sticker still stuck to the length of leg. On the back, of course. And I thought my jacket/ kimono/ whatever it is was long enough to cover it, but when I checked the mirror to see how big of a doofus I was, it was determined I was a complete doofus. At least it was a slow night at the Aubrey’s so maybe not very many people noticed. And here I’d been quietly giggling about these three older ladies who had gotten pretty tipsy and were discussing waxing…procedures. Don’t throw rocks, I do most of my stupid shit stone cold sober.

I didn’t hug any complete strangers at Convention this week, so at least there’s that. I did talk to one lady like she was a part of our group, but she wasn’t. Oh well. It could have been worse. We were in the elevator with a woman that was one of us, and a guy who was not. He was on his phone via an earbud device.

“Did you have a nice lunch?” He asked the person he was speaking to. Evidently they didn’t hear him and he repeated it.

“Oh yes,” the lady standing next to me said. “We had chicken, and broccoli…”

He continued his conversation and she looks at him, a bit puzzled why he interrupted her if he was so intent on knowing, then works it out and starts laughing. I giggled with her, and told her not to worry, I do stuff like that all the time. He was kinda grinning, too. Those corporate types make me a little edgy. They’re so on GO all the time. I just don’t identify and probably never will. I do like to see people who are very driven just take a break and relax like everybody else now and then. Something as simple as just stretching out on the couch. Just being still and not thinking about what needs doing next. Going inert is highly undervalued, most of all from the people who need it most.

I’m fixing to go comatose, myself. I didn’t get in bed till after midnight last night. Something has not set well with my stomach this evening (hard to say, I’ve had several things, but I’m keen to blame the catfish). I’m just ready to put this day under the file “completed” in my brain. I’m super glad tomorrow is Friday, and I’m even more glad the only chewing I will hear is my own.

I wish I had some important message for y’all, but it was just a solid working day for me. They can’t all be 5 star. Just to get up and go and not get run over doing it is worth something. I witnessed one today that can’t say that.

Also, did you know such an item existed? https://www.amazon.com/Toilet-Decorative-Ceramic-Bathroom-installation/dp/B0C5MPB5V7/ref=sr_1_4?crid=33LXTJ7KC977E&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9._HBLodaJu_cHuaKz4AfQk9nLYBj2QgfJWCYsOwbeZ8uVmAs1FXtZXiLYf-BXfkt_QRJoMRV0Qtf0HztBTbqUI0eIx9oAS_PJ4OhWY_h7HgeUTIm4s5rU9sFMEYgstiPjEjmXEnBqQ_RVA30WDIoXStAKrrtGwvekwi9-5AIotpVbtpuMJKeE1slAooeCniCZGg2eVGgAE46xv28vMAIaMzrLWu1R-5Aw_-cqgMrf39M1o82-zQUQ4FvdMtFvmN149D0Q7Ppf-B2dPr58I1Fl6E7X79wXDGP3i4Pfhqt6yUY.TAdyd9EjYgVJGMWBGei-wCIcIl6JffG0HV0Ti5pLuZw&dib_tag=se&keywords=toilet%2Bbolt%2Bcovers%2Bdecorative&qid=1709903637&sprefix=toilet%2Bbolt%2B%2Caps%2C115&sr=8-4&th=1 we are such a nation of excess. …..but I kinda want them. It’s stupid.

Love from Appalachia and a promise to do better tomorrow,

~Amy

I will say, after missing two days in a row, it’s easy to want to miss the third. I would compare it to church. The more you miss, the easier it is to lay out. Really, it goes for anything that takes discipline- a diet, trying to make any sort of lifestyle change. I didn’t participate in Lent this year and I find myself missing it keenly. When I get a pang, I feel led to pray about whatever’s on my mind that day. I have sent out six sympathy cards in the last week, so there’s no shortage of people or things to pray for and about.

It’s funny, sometimes you anticipate something for so long, say Christmas, and then it’s there and gone and you’re not sure you actually savored every moment. I try not to let anything go unappreciated and I try not to wish my life away. We’d all be better off if we could live like dogs- just in this moment, not pining for yesterday or desiring what’s to come. There’s always something coming down the pike to be excited about, and conversely, something to dread. Better just to be excited to be alive in this moment, on this day, and see what happens.

I’m at the Tennessee Association of Conservation Districts Convention in Murfreesboro. I have seen many familiar faces but I don’t know that this group will ever mean to me what my Co-op family did. There are only a few I would consider friends, and only a handful reach out to extend invitations to me for lunches and dinners. I know very little of their personal lives. I guess this is how it goes when you come to a new career when you’re middle-aged. I was fresh-faced and bright-eyed when I went to work at Co-op and I grew into my position with so many people my own age. It’s hard when you’re older and all the cliques and friendships are already established. They can tout about being a family and blah blah blah but I have found myself feeling like a third wheel almost every moment of every workshop and Convention the last five years.
Yes, it’s been five years. I got the certificate to prove it today. It’s on nice thick paper. I kinda smirked when I strutted up to get it because I felt some eyes bore into me. I know many thought I’d never make it. It wouldn’t be an easy role for just anyone looking for an office position, as the high turnover in other offices is proving as the older secretaries retire. But I’ve always felt like a little round peg in a little round hole when dealing with my job locally. The thirteen years at the Co-op are certainly to thank for my confidence and networking alliances.
I’m sitting here in my room, fighting with my laptop that refuses to charge, struggling to write, and wondering if I should bother changing clothes before the banquet. I’m happy to wear what I’ve got on, it’s plenty nice enough, but I think I might be needing a little sparkle. It’s been a rainy day here, and I find that sparkles always help, especially on rainy days.
This is not to say it’s been a bad day. No, not at all! Tried a new place for lunch- BJ’s, and it was okay, but it was an accident that we ate there. I was hunting Miller’s Ale House and missed the road because there was supposed to be an IHOP at the turn. Heaven forbid I bother reading road signs. Anyway, got the bacon guacamole burger, and I will say they do not scrimp on the guac, which pleases me.
I miss Chester, but luckily Auntie Angela got back today and is looking after him until I get back tomorrow.

I guess I’m just melancholy for what I feel like I must be missing. I don’t even know if I know what that is. I know I miss having tons of ideas for blogs. I feel that I’ve already written about everything and very little new material is transpiring. I don’t think I’m blocked because I can turn most of those writing prompts into something, even if they don’t feel deep, they are genuine. I’m just kind of grey right now. Nothing is wrong, I’m just not teeming with brilliance. It just all feels like rot.

I owe y’all a poem for yesterday’s post but….I’m having trouble pulling something together, if you can believe that. Wanted to get this knocked out, in the very least, so if I don’t write any more tonight I’m still only one behind.

I’m gonna wear the sparkles. I don’t think I can go wrong.

Love from Appalachia~ er, rather, the bowl of the state,

~Amy