I had two write two mock ups as an interview of sorts when I thought I was going to take a paid writing job for a magazine. The people are real, the names and story are not. I wrote it without ever visiting their home.
Driving up a residential, slightly sloped, tree lined street, sprinklers whir behind black fences on immaculate lawns leading to large brick homes. You can picture the inhabitants: petite blonde women compensating with 4″ heels, rushing to get out the door, briefcases under their arm, packed with papers. Their husbands stand over the sink slurping the last dregs of coffee from a mug they got at their last conference with the Wall Steet Journal quartered in their hands. The house is quiet, apart from the clattering the missus makes on her way through the foyer, adjusting her scarf where it is tangled in an earring.
But step inside THIS one, & you’ll find quite a different scenario.
Meet the Millers. Hubert is an investment banker, & he’s sprawled across the polished hardwood in his sock feet playing with his daughter, Hazel. She’s a very proud two & a half. Don’t forget the half. The other little one is Magnolia, who’s busy modeling her brand new LL Bean backpack. It’s monogrammed, not for stature, but so it doesn’t get confused with anyone else’s. She shows it to me, all curls & smiles, cheeks dimpling as she says, “This is for Magnolia Beatrice Miller, but here it says Bean, & that’s what Mommy calls me.” I beam at Georgia, enraptured already by this little charming person. Georgia is their stay-at-home mother, who is cleaning up from breakfast & arranging supplies for paper mache. She’s petite & blonde, just like I figured, but has a wholesome quality about her that lets you know this is exactly what she lives to do.
Hubert & Georgia met fourteen years ago, when they were both employed by Citizens National Bank. Hubert was a financial advisor, & Georgia was climbing the ladder, having started as a teller & was now the loan officer inside Kroger’s store branch in Sevierville. They dated, he proposed at sunset below a dormant volcano in Maui, they wed in the church her family has been members of since the 60’s, & she found out she was pregnant with their first daughter at the UT home opener in 2010. Georgia left the bank to take care of herself & prepare their home to welcome a baby. When the news came of their second daughter, it was time to expand residences. They relocated from her grandmothers quaint house in South Knoxville to an upscale subdivison in Rocky Hill. Hubert recently left the bank where he’d spent twenty two years & started his own firm, Crestpoint Wealth Management. “I wanted my time to be MY time,” he explains. “We are blessed to have friends who are clients that entrust me to handle their futures.” Hubert is enjoying the freedom that is indigenous when you run your own business. It comes with its own set of headaches, but as he reaches over to tickle Hazel’s belly, you are as sure as he is that this was the right move. He holds conferences & lunches monthly & is taking new clients. “I want people to understand money. It can be overwhelming when you need to make a large investment but want to plan for retirement. I get to know all my clients personally, that way I can better advise them.”
We close our appointment on their back porch, watching the girls swing & play with Buster, their Boston terrier, while we sip sweet tea brewed that morning by Georgia & the sun. It’s accented with a sprig of mint. Everything is just right in this moment for the Millers. And they pray for many more days just like this.
Is there a YouTube video for my life? Because I have to refer to them for so many other things (sd card, most recently). How did we make it before?
Oh yeah, instruction manuals.
It doesn’t help that I spend way too much time online, anyway. I logged into etsy last night to check the shipping status of something I ordered & thirty minutes later found myself looking at wind chimes made of spoons etched into fish shapes. ??? Why? I hate wind chimes & have no covered porch to hang them from if I did like them.
“The amazing thing about jellyfish is they eat, poop, & procreate from the same orifice.”
While at Food City…
“Ma’am? Did you buy coffee & Oreos?” I barely refrained from sticking my hand out & saying, “Hi, I’m Amy. We’ve never met.”
Aren’t my tomatoes beautiful? They’ve had a hard life. After selection, they got sqooshed down in my buggy, then repacked on top by the cashier. While I was wheeling my cart across the main thoroughfare in front of Sam’s, they took a plunge off the front end and were scrambling in all directions like escaped convicts from Brushy Mountain.
I just stood there and watched it happen and eventually threw a hand to my forehead, the very picture of Southern Damsel in Distress Mode.
A gentleman in overalls assisted me in the round up of scattered orbs.
Little troublemakers. I’m gonna devour them with much more zeal now.
According to some, I’ve lead a semi-charmed life. And I’m sure compared to others, that’s true.
But lemme tell you something. I cry at the drop of a hat. I cry when I’m sad, when I’m angry, when someone else is crying, when I’m happy, when I stump my toe. I’ve cried like no other for the past week. I told Johnny I understand now why depressed people have a hard time. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous I sound, I don’t have problems. I have options. But you get on a crying jag, your eyes swell, it wears you down, you can’t concentrate, your head pounds, & then there you are. The next day, you aim to feel better & more at peace, but you’re still all screwed up from the previous day. It’s a vicious cycle! I’m so glad I didn’t have a lot to cry about because I would have never dug my way out from that black hole.
So today, I wanted to use up my HSA money before I lose it. Don’t judge, you’d do the same thing.
I’ve been meaning to get to the eye doctor, but that’s about as much fun as laying on an anthill while eating a popsicle & letting whatever happens happen. But I forced myself to go. And to be fair, my optometrist is pretty rockin’. She tells me I have a beautiful optic nerve & to drink gin to cure my eye twitch. And my oh-so-trendy Tiffany frames have been beat up for awhile. Off I go.
Turns out the office got brand spanking new equipment last night. So I got to be their first victim. Better me than some little kid or old geezer who can’t hear it thunder, I say.
Of course nothing wants to run smoothly. No big deal, I can be patient. Don’t laugh, it’s true!! So we did the new digital exam, which is not nearly as cool looking as the prehistoric Terminator machine with all the lenses & knobs. Then she goes to look at my spectacular nerve.
“Everything looks great, let me just take a peek at the left eye, look at my ear.” She’s wearing pearls.
“Are you sure I can’t dilate you?”
“Positive.” I answer immediately, again, for the third time. It screws me up BIG TIME. I LOATHE it.
“You’ve got a vessel leaking & I really would feel better if you’d let me check it.” Then she starts grilling me about my blood pressure…which I feel rising.
“Fine, fine! Do it! But I’m holding you responsible for all my actions today!”
She agrees and takes a big hit of her essential oil lavender necklace. She must have been really worried. So they dilate me, & I sit there with these stupid drops mixed with tears running down my face. I hate eyedrops, have I mentioned? Almost as bad as the hiccups. My eyeliner, I am pleased to report, stays intact.
So here we go with the bright light & the pale earrings again.
“Ummmm…could this have been brought on by strain?” I ask.
“Sure, like stress? Or like, you read the Bible in a week?”
“Like, I cried my eyes out for two days last week & it’s been coming intermittently ever since?”
“Sure. I’ve got a pregnant patient & one of hers burst because she threw up so hard.”
Hmm. So she takes a good long look, determines it’s a smaller vessel that’s running on top of a big plump one, & she’s no longer worried. But I have explicit instructions to skedaddle back if I have any problems.
Then she sends me on my way to pick out new frames.
This is always loads of fun. I’m already blind & now I’m dilated, too.
I get the new chick at Lens Crafters, not my preferred lady. This one doesn’t QUITE know what to make of me.
I eventually settle on three pairs & age narrows it down for me, picking almost the exact same ones I already have. Fine by me. I’ve got enough going on with changing my hair & changing jobs. My sunglasses will have to be ordered. Lovely. I go to pay, & have the exact amount screenshot from my phone this morning of my HSA account balance.
“It says do not honor card,” Miss Priss informs me.
I’m astounded.
“I can try it again manually,” she says meekly.
“Yeah, you do that.” I watch. The whole amount is more than what’s in the account.
“Hang on,” I say, & point.
She backs up & punches the numbers from the card in. Decline.
“I’ll call them,” I say through gritted teeth. “I ain’t quit yet.”
I listen patiently to the menu. It confirms what I already know as the money goes. I press five for a representative. I get the perkiest person on the planet. I explain my situation. I confirm my identity.
Then she says, “you’re gonna think this is cray, but the interest hasn’t posted. Try it for two cents less.”
I relay the info. I keep Perky Pants on the line until it miraculously goes through.
And that’s the story of how I didn’t get my two cents worth.
I decide to take my internet purchased shoes back to Dillard’s. However, East Towne no longer has a Dillard’s. So off I go to West Town. I return the shoes, explaining about my odd looking black holes for eyes & while drooling over ten more pairs. Saleslady was sympathetic, but she probably wasn’t buying it & thought I needed drug money. I wind my way through the mall, making a few purchases. I can’t operate the stupid signature pads, I couldn’t see them plainly, & I had no cash. I train wreck, I was. Then I realize it’s past two o’clock & I still haven’t eaten lunch, & that’s not helping matters, so I make my way to the food court.
My phone dings, my glasses are ready. Of course, the one time I’m enjoying myself, they hurry & get them done quick fast & in a hurry. Last time I got there & they didn’t pass inspection so I was stuck for like three hours. Food first.
The usual suspects: Chick-fil-a. Japanese. Taco Bell.
Chipotle.
Hmm. Chipotle. I’ve never eaten there, but people talk about it like it’s all the rage. Why not? So I did. They give you lots of choices! And it was pretty good. So √
In the meantime, I had received a second text that my glasses were done. Hold your horses! I get back to the mall. My good friend Nancy text me to move my car somewhere under cover because Sevierville was fixing to get hammered. I shoot her back that it’s cute she thinks I should protect 16 year old Patsy from something so insignificant as frozen rain. 😀 Like a rock, the ads used to claim.
It took chick NINE TRIES to get me adjusted. My eyelashes kept hitting on the left lens. I think she was fixing to tell me my head was lopsided. I’m picky about crap I wear all day long, every day. Oh, & good news, my sunglasses were in, they didn’t have to be ordered.
I go to Sam’s. Like to have NEVER located the massive bag of bacon bits.
Now I’m home, relaxing. I think my eyes are back to normal, but please excuse any & all mistakes. Or blame my doctor.
or if you want to buy me the ultra swanky signed, leatherbound edition, find it here: https://www.eastonpress.com/prod/AC6/3247/NEIL-GAIMAN–The-Ocean-at-the-End-of-the-Lane–Signed-Edition
About halfway through making stuffed shells, I remember why I rarely make stuffed shells.
The massive pile of dirty dishes.
It starts with chopping an onion & garlic. This is where Johnny is lured by the captivating smell & has to investigate what dish is underway. He leans around me & inspects the proceedings.
“Got yourself a smelly little pile there, dontcha?” Meaning the onion & garlic skins. I’m more worried about draining all this spinach & note that some has managed to stick to my forearm, giving me the appearance of Sprout, the Jolly Green Giant’s sidekick.
Toss onions into the oil, which spatters because I’m in a hurry & have the electric skillet up too high. The stockpot water is boiling away, so I try to add three jumbo shells at a time, as per package instructions, but quickly lose patience & dump the whole box in. Need to dig out the colander before I forget & then I’ve got a pot of noodles al dente with no place to go.
Become distracted by grating cheese. Remember to add basil. Check basil plant. It’s been eaten by an unseen pest. Drag dining room chair over to cabinet to peer into the depths for dried variety. Looks a little old…oh well, better than nothing. Mix spinach, cheeses, egg, bread crumbs, & spices in mixer. Retrieve 9×13 pan. Warily eye mess as it builds. Remember pasta! Where’s the colander? Never dug it out! Crapcrapcrap! Things are moving now & husband decides this is the moment he needs to use the sink. Still have not fried meat. Drain shells, fry meat. Mix meat with spinach cheese mixture to save time but the effect is kind of disgusting looking. Oh well. Why can’t I mix tomatoes with this instead of dumping them on top? I’m going to! This recipe doesn’t know me. It’ll taste the same. Start scooping. After the top layer of shells has been used, they become progressively hotter as I get them out of the colander. Suck on finger to help burn. Good thing I’m not making this dish for anybody besides me & Johnny, it now includes my slobber.
I hear Survivor come on. Must. Hurry. Cram remaining unstuffed shells among stuffed ones, wrap with foil, throw in oven.
Survey mess. Emit loud sigh. Start washing now, because it will probably take to the thirty minute mark to get them cleaned, at which time I will need to pull shells & add mozzarella.
Try to keep one ear on Survivor, but now Shug is listening on his phone at twice the volume of the TV. Hope is lost.
Get garlic bread out. Pour glass of wine. Remember I have yet to pay my credit card, which is due today. Continue washing dishes & drinking wine. I watch five minutes of Survivor, which takes me to the vote, when I must return to the kitchen for final cheese. By the time I get back, somebody’s off the island, & I’m halfway between sleepy & starved.
At nine, we dine.
“I know this was a lot of trouble, baby, but it sure is good,” Shug says, as he heads back to the kitchen for seconds. I smile. I guess that makes it worth it.
It’s the last day of Carnival season. One million people are celebrating, eating beignets & king cake & dancing in the street to the music that fills the air from every corner. There’s an ache in my soul because my heart is in New Orleans but my body is at the Co-op.
New Orleans (pronounced Nu Orluhns, by the way, NOT New Or-leens or Nawlins, heaven forbid) has no rivals; there are no substitutes. There’s no such thing as “too much” on Fat Tuesday. I’m not sure New Orleans even knows the meaning of excess. It makes no apologies. Anything goes. New Orleans is far too busy living life & having fun to worry about what everybody else thinks. Be like New Orleans.
Happy Mardi Gras, y’all!
IThe Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
Book #4: A Young Adult Bestseller
I’m not above reading YA. I believe that sometimes people disregard YA novels because they are too juvenile. You could not make a bigger mistake. Generally speaking, YA isn’t full of fancy language. It’s just easy reading & generally captivating. Since I had bought Hunger Games sometime back on the recommendation of pretty much everyone in the world, and I feel like I’m the last person left in the universe to read it, I figured I’d better hop to it. That, and because I’d broken the cardinal rule of all readers everywhere, & watched the movie a couple of years ago. That’s right, before I ever cracked the spine on the book. One of the guys at work, who never reads anything at all, even commented that it was the only book he’d ever read cover to cover for pleasure (not assigned school reading). So it HAD to be good.
I found it spellbinding from the get go. I was thankful for the explanation early in the novel of how Panem, their country, came to be because I never understood that from the movie. Furthermore, Katniss’s homeland, District 12, is the Appalachians. So she’s even more near & dear to my heart. “To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12…they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.” Because they don’t have freedom of speech. America as we know it was dissolved eons ago. Katniss, flying in a hovercraft to her destination thinks, “This is what the birds see. Only they’re free & safe. The very opposite of me.” Birds are used throughout for parallelism, symbolizing several different people to Katniss, serving as a messenger, & a source of luck, almost.
While most of the book is grim, there are several heart lifting lines. Early on, you see Katniss’s softer side. She lets her sister keep a bedraggled tomcat, even though he’s just another mouth to feed. Buttercup becomes a protector of sorts to Prim. “I’m so glad I didn’t drown him,” Katniss admits. She’s riddled with guilt throughout the entire novel about this, that, & the other. However, she is nothing if not sensible. “I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons & rainbows in terms of usefulness. At least a rainbow gives you a tip about the weather.” Katniss has definite ideas for sure. She says if upon winning the Games, the winner “will be given a lot of useless plaques & everyone will have to pretend they love us.” Sounds a bit familiar, hmmm?
The storyline kinda puts you in the mind of Lord of the Flies, especially early in the arena when the career tributes are traveling as a pack. Then it’s like Survivor as everyone hunts & gathers & just tries to make it out alive. Luckily, our protagonist has skills (earned from breaking the law repeatedly just scavenging for food to survive) & is a hunter in the truest sense of the word. In her last conversation with her hunting partner, he says that the arena will not be much different from hunting outside District 12’s fence, & Katniss thinks to herself, “The awful thing is that if I can forget they’re people, it will be no different at all.” Can you imagine hunting alone in unfamiliar woods? At night? For PEOPLE?? “Everything has an unfamiliar slant to it. As if the daytime trees & flowers & stones had gone to bed & sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places.”
I’m not sure if everyone does this, but I find myself trying to seek out things in common with the characters. With Haymitch there were some obvious traits I could relate to. Peeta says, “I don’t think people in general are his sort of thing.” As far as Katniss goes…well, pickin’s were slim, I’m no warrior. I didn’t find much besides our mutual dislike for coffee: “it tastes bitter & thin to me”. I laughed out loud when she describes how she feels about her makeover people: “They’re such idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they’re sincerely trying to help me.” You can sympathize, all this grandeur & waste she’s amid now, after she’s scraped & struggled for everything she’s ever had at home. Haymitch, when not plastered, is quite beneficial. He cuts straight to the truth: “‘You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.’”
Katniss knows she’s no beauty queen & has about as much chance faking it as a fox in a henhouse. “This day belongs to Cinna. He’s my last hope. Maybe he can make me look so wonderful, no one will care what comes out of my mouth.” And he does; he works magic. Katniss becomes known as The Girl on Fire, a stunning description of her in the breathtaking dress she wears in the Capitol. Cinna also coaches her for her interview. “I can see that he’s been talking to Haymich. That he knows how dreadful I am.” But she sails through with flying colors. “I’m giggling, which I think I’ve done maybe never in my lifetime.” So Katniss becomes likable to Panem. And I think, in this way, being truthful, she becomes likable to us as well. “And there I am, blushing & confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, & by all accounts, unforgettable.”
Honestly, I couldn’t help it; my favorite character was Effie Trinkett. Anyone with pink hair is ok by me 
And, she delivers the best line in the book: “‘See, like this. I’m smiling at you even though you’re aggravating me.’” Pretty sure she is descended from the southern belles of cotton plantations.
If you’re cautious about what your children read, know that this one is clean. Even though there is violence & a lot of kissin’ goin’ on, it never alludes to anything more serious. I don’t have a problem recommending it to anyone, young OR adult. There’s many good things to be said about this book, & it deserves its bestselling status.
Amy Johnson, Guest Blogger in Residence 2016 Book #4 of 52
