I hear songs in my head all the time. I’m sure many of you do. Different circumstances provoke a line or two. If in conversation someone says a familiar phrase, it’s sure to remind me of some song that was popular ten or twenty years ago. For instance, Yankee & I were standing at the counter several weeks ago, & one of our regulars walks up with a part in his hand. We both greet him & reach for it simultaneously. He waffles between us, shuffling from one foot to the other, indecisive. “I guess I’m just gonna dance,” he laughs at himself.
“You can dance if you want to,” Yanked tells him innocently. She’s only 21. Me, on the other hand…I immediately burst into song. “You can leave your friends behind. Cause if your friends don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine,” I sang, hopping around in accompaniment. (Sometimes you get more than you were shopping for at the Co-op. Sometimes you get a song AND dance for FREE).
Anyway, I haven’t worn my wedding rings all week, except for a few hours yesterday, & my ring finger still has a smooth, pinkish colored indention. They’re not too small, they’re just snug enough not to slip off when my hands are wet. I guess it’s just because I’ve worn them for so long now.
But there’s a song for that, too. A snippet of Reba’s “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter”… She sings, “She sees the pale white circle where he wears his ring…” I remember hearing this song as a teenager & wondering how long it would take to noticeably have a mark. I wondered if I would ever be married, or married long enough to be branded this way. Because, since a young woman, I mistakenly viewed marriage as a burden, I didn’t figure it would ever come to me. I figured I wouldn’t want it, if it did come.
Some people aren’t fortunate enough to have rings. I think this is tragic. You can buy gold wedding bands for less than a hundred dollars. But I guess some people don’t have a couple hundred bucks. (“Golden ring -goldn ring- with one tiny little stone…waiting there, for someone to take it home…by itself-by itself- it’s just a cold metallic thing, only love can make a golden wedding ring) I think rings are important. I know women of some social standing, who can now afford to have gigantic flashy diamonds, who still prefer their modest set from when they first wed. I know women who had gorgeous rings to start with, who appreciate their value, but would trade down if they needed the money those rings would bring, hocked. And those are some of the strongest marriages.
I think you need to wear a ring. Johnny is an electrician, & I had heard of the many added dangers they face by wearing a band. But he doesn’t mind. He wears his custom ring without a thought day in & day out. I wear mine if I leave the house, but leave them off if I’m just tooting around here, on the advice of two different jewelers after I lost the diamond once. (Yes, I found it after having the stone replaced, & then had the replacement uninstalled & the original put back in. With a heavier-duty setting). Anyway. I’m just saying, wear your rings. Women will always look at other women’s hands, measuring their own set against them, but women also look at men’s, judging them for how they behave. Some may see it as a challenge, but for the most part I think it keeps them honest. Most men don’t pay attention; they will flirt shamelessly regardless, if given the opportunity. I think when couples get divorced, it would be one of the hardest things to come to terms with. It would stay there, a reminder for an endless time, & you would notice it in the most unexpected instances.
I’m proud of my rings, but I’m proud of my line, too.
Day 11: Your Current Relationship. If Single; Discuss That Too
I check the status box that says Married.
Finally. I mean, 33 isn’t exactly old maid age in the grand scheme of things, but in the South you might as well be dead & buried.
I won’t bore you to tears with “our story” But here’s the high points:
• It was love at first sight for me. He came in to buy dog food & I was smitten
• Our first date he picked up hitchhikers who were hiking the AT & we dropped them off in Gatlinburg Then we went hiking (no makeup, no painful shoes, no fancy clothes= AWESOME) & to Texas Roadhouse, where I told him that if he was expecting me to be the type of girl who orders a salad, he was severely mistaken. I ordered barbeque chicken
• I don’t call him Shug because he’s sweet. It’s a brand of chardonnay.
• When I was losing my mind over all the wedding details, he didn’t understand what the big deal was. His exact words: “Just find you a dress, & get your girls, & we’ll find someplace to get married. It ain’t no big deal.” Which really caused me to go ballistic.
• My family likes him better than they like me. My uncle says if I divorce him, he’s welcome to come live at his house. He can have the whole downstairs. Uncle Dale refers to him as my “Mexican” because he works tirelessly.
• We’re enough alike in our political beliefs to get along, but Johnny is smarter than me. He keeps up with it. I’m not programmed to remember what candidates believe in what, or what happened when. Johnny is a history buff.
• We both love to read, & most evenings at our house we don’t talk much. Most people, upon entering, would think we were mad at each other.
• He is probably one of the top ten funniest people I’ve ever known
• I don’t know how I got so lucky & blessed.
Married life is not what I expected. I figured, by the way everyone talked, it was pure misery. So I was scared. We do our own thing when we’re home together; thankfully we have enough space to spread out. He helps me with laundry, finances, my mental health, & occasionally dishes. He doesn’t say a word when I order books or some fabulous jewelry (But who would smart off to a built-in biscuit & gravy maker, chicken fryer, & toilet paper stocker?). I won’t tell you that you should get married. I WILL tell you to find someone that you can’t stop thinking about, that makes you cry happy tears, that treats you with respect & tenderness. And now I’ll stop before I make myself cry. My nose is burning.
I used to really like shopping. It didn’t matter what for… shoes, fishing tackle, rugs, groceries, books, shirts, horse tack, whatever. But that all changed a few years ago. I can’t really pinpoint when it was, but now if I can’t get it from Co-op or Sam’s Club, it comes from Amazon. I just don’t do crowds or digging through crap.
But in 2012, when I was shopping for bridesmaid gifts, I wanted to get each of my girls a present that was as individual as they were. No matchy-matchy necklaces for them. This proved to be no small feat.
I was in downtown Sevierville, I think on my way back from the post office, when the cute little boutique in the old white farmhouse caught my eye. I’d been meaning to stop since it was the Common Good but just never got around to it.
I was down to the last few days before the wedding and grasping at straws for a few of my girls. I had nothing to lose.
I whipped in.
I opened the back door hesitantly.
“Welcome to Loralei’s!” A red haired girl behind the counter greeted me warmly.
I returned her smile. Before I could help myself, I was telling her how I’d thought about stopping a hundred times but never had an opportunity. I was gazing at all the shiny baubles that surrounded me, touching everything, breathing in the heavenly aroma of handmade soaps.
She told me she was glad to have me at last, to take my time, and holler if I needed her. She introduced herself as Lorie, proprietor of the shop. I wandered in a daze, picking up jewelry for my mom, one of my girls, and….myself. I still couldn’t find anything for my cousin or my horsey friend. I kept looking at this beautiful print of cows, though.
“Anything special you’re looking for?”
I explained my predicament. She listened carefully. I didn’t want to get my other friends girly gifts, but get Jena a picture of cows. Even though it was perfect.
“You keep going back to it. Just get it, and if you change your mind, or she doesn’t like it, you can trade it.”
Sold.
At that was the beginning of my friendship with Lorie that continues till this day. She has never failed to help me select the perfect gift. Just like today. I always receive a compliment when I wear something I bought from her: sparkly headbands, cute tops, and bracelet after bracelet. She keeps wish lists, so when your {clueless} husband pops in, she’s ready for him. She has lots to choose from for bridal and baby shower gifts, housewarmings, and birthdays. Or just to say “thank you for being a friend”. Plus, she offers monogramming & lots of ways to customize. So, although her store isn’t located as conveniently as it used to be for me, I still drive out to get her expertise. I go to support a local business. I go for that special touch.
If you haven’t shopped Loralei’s, you don’t know what you’re missing. As she says, “Come as a customer, leave as a friend.” I sure did.
We all serve a purpose. For some of us, it’s something dignified, like, you’re the voice of reason in a family crisis. You don’t take sides. Or you’re the one who gives out advice on retirement in your family without having to consult the aloof bank people. Or you’re a healer of sorts, with your special teas and ointments. Whatever it may be.
For ages, people called me when they saw horse loose within a ten mile radius of my house. Everybody knew I had horses because I was forever out front riding them. Those days, for the most part, have passed.
Then came the confusing phone calls from friends who had too much to drink and knew I was home, sober, tight in my bed, because I had a job that required my presence early in the morning. I was the responsible, dependable one for a long time.
Then came the calls that I was paid to take, not really expected, mind you, but the ones with true emergencies: car wrecks, fires, seizures. Lord, at the seizures.
I had a friend who called me once, freaking out because her baby was coming early. I was at a loss, no checklist chart in front of me, instead, enjoying a sunny summer afternoon tending my flowerbeds. But I got her through it, talked her down as she drove her panicked self to the hospital. Not two years later, that same friend, needing me early one morning while I stood in my kitchen making pancakes. Her daddy had died. I dropped to my knees. Any time she calls me now, my stomach plummets.
These days, I take calls of a different manner. Three in the last year, that I can count without thinking about it.
“Amy? You got a way of gittin’ ahold of John? His cows are out.”
“Amy, will you let Ira know his new Charlois cow is out again? It’s at the neighbors.”
“Amy? That guy that I bush hogged for last year or whenever it was, did he get cattle? Or the feller that bought that property next to him?”
“No, it’s the guy next to him.”
“Well, he’s got cattle out, they’re a-runnin’ up the middle of Mutton Holler. Can you get ahold of him?”
Whether I be standing behind the counter at high noon, selling fertilizer & grass seed, or home at six in the evening making peanut butter cookies, the calls come. I am information central.
And really, it’s pretty comical when you think about it. Moo.
December 7th, 2015
A much different day than December 7th, 1941.
As I type this, I hear the distinct hum of an airplane flying over my house. That’s a bit unnerving.
I’ll admit, growing up, Pearl Harbor Day was just another bit of history, another date I was supposed to remember & give observance to. Like Columbus Day, or Washington’s birthday. But, September 11th, 2001 changed the way I feel about it.
I was 22 years old & hadn’t seen much of life. I certainly hadn’t known fear of flying or traveling in general. I hadn’t been scared to drive home, afraid of what I might see, or what I could run into. I hadn’t ever wanted to stay at work, to simply be in the company of other familiar people before. I hadn’t ever wanted to watch the news to learn of something beyond my line of vision, to prepare myself for the evil that was no longer lurking, but actively seeking to destroy life as we knew it.
1941 was 38 years before I was born. So it’s sometimes hard to understand why we should hold this day in reverence. But then I think of September 11th & remember. And I think to all the people I know, that were alive on that day we were attacked, but how few memories they retain. My primary emotion when thinking back on that day is one of fear. And I would say that the people who remember this day in 1941 share that with me.
We should be proud, we should be brave, we should be proactive that those days should NEVER be repeated. But the further away we get, the fewer people that recall, & it just starts to seem like a bad dream, or a piece of history that has nothing to do with us. I assure you, it has EVERYTHING to do with us. It is how we are shaped, how we believe, & how we move forward. The Japanese no longer hate us, or fear us. We dropped a bomb on them, which is devastating, but made our point: “See it our way or death to your soldiers, your families, your leaders.” You have to show people you mean business, & that massacring OUR people isn’t going to be tolerated. We will fight until the evil is eradicated. Furthermore, it makes me sick to hear the President of this great nation say, “Fellow Americans…” He is neither an American or a fellow of mine. One of the definitions of fellow are as follows: “belonging to the same class or group; UNITED by the same occupation, interests, etc. Being in the same condition.” We share astonishingly little. We are not united, & I assure you he does not have the best interest of Americans at heart.
So please keep Pearl Harbor Day in your minds & prayers today. For our soldiers who still fight. For the leaders who still care. For the Americans that will NEVER FORGET.
Signing off from America, where the stars & stripes and the eagles fly. Good day.
Our big shindig for the Co-op was last night. We’re a pretty mild sort, but we always manage to have a good time.
I really wasn’t sold on going this year, as it was on my day off & I like to hermit up, but J enjoys it more than me. He says we’re “a good crowd”. He doesn’t see everybody daily like I do, so I put our names on the list. Just about everyone always shows up. And we all try to dress up, even if it’s just our best boots, jeans, & a button up or sweater. Last night was no exception.
In the past, we’ve had our picture taken (by yours truly) in front of the Christmas tree wherever we were, played a game, sang a song, or just had general merriment & fellowship. We have had our annual get together in several locations over the years, from the back room at Golden Corral, to Cowboys on the lake, to the Legion building, to River Plantation’s meeting hall, to right here at the Co-op. We’ve been so poor some years that the Christmas dinner has been a potluck. And that’s ok. The food isn’t what’s important. The catching up with your coworkers about non-related Co-op stuff is what counts. And to see their families growing. I remember the year of our renovation; we didn’t really even have a Christmas party. We ate food provided upstairs on our lunch break. It was pretty sorry, especially after all we’d gone through that year. We seem to be settled on the Civic Center now, though, & that’s perfect. We have room to spread out (usually there’s almost two hundred of us, including a bunch of kids), it’s close to work, & we don’t have to worry about making a mess.
So I didn’t necessarily go to pick up my bonus, or get a store-supplied gift, or eat the pork tenderloin & smoked chicken. I went to show solidarity with one of my coworkers, for one, but also to show appreciation to our boss for throwing us a proper Christmas party. So many companies don’t do squat for their employees, let alone their employee’s family. Clint makes sure to speak to each & every one of us, shake whoever’s hand. I didn’t catch him kissin’ any babies last night, but he’s got his own to kiss. I always smile all the way home, laughing about something that happened, typically someone being teased mercilessly. We aggravate the pee outta one another, but most of us have worked together so long it’s the only way we know how to act. People come & people go, but there is a core group that remains. Last night, Mark was gracious enough to read us the true story of Christmas, & it was wonderful. I hope that all of you have as good a time at your gatherings as we do at ours. And I hope you have as special a work family as I do.
The big tree is standing proud at the Johnson Plantation. So far, it has only been bedecked with 1,000 lights. I’m thinking it looks pretty good & that might be all that happens to it.
Kidding!
Sort of.
Here’s how it happens every year:
Me: “Are we doing a live tree or a fake one this year?”
J: “I like the live ones. Don’t you?”
Me: “Yes. Can we go cut one down at Hal’s?”
J: “Why can’t we just get one from the store?”
Me: “Because it will be fun to go cut one down.”
Silence.
He wears me down over the next few days & I start scrutinizing the ones at the store, & he comes by to pick up my selection. I always have eyeballed the biggest, tallest, fluffiest one that’s still under 12′.
“That’s huge!”
“No, it’s not! It’s perfect.”
Then he calls me Clark & tries to steer me toward the piddly 5-footers.
Eventually we compromise & get a very full 7′ one.
And I come home & it’s all set up & ready to decorate. And I put on It’s a Wonderful Life or Home Alone or National Lampoon’s & get to it.
A new white F250 pulls up to the front doors. I get excited like a puppy.
“Is that Shannon? Do you think he brought me food?”
Shannon is a horse customer of mine who hails from New Orleans. He is an amazing cook of all things Cajun & occasionally brings me treats.
“No, he’s wearing a cowboy hat, it’s not Shannon.”
Another one of my regulars comes through the door. “I like your brush guard,” I tell him, then realize how ridiculous this would sound at any other job/ store.
So I had to share. You can giggle, ‘s alright.
Day 29: The Night of Your 21st Birthday
We-ell….
By most peoples’ standards, it was fairly tame. But hey, I had a blast!
I was dating someone at the time who was not a drinker, & he reluctantly released me to a few friends & a night on the town.
We started on the Cumberland Strip, like any 21 year old with any sense. I’m not entirely sure who all was there, but I do remember putting salt INTO my tequila shot & staring, mesmerized, as it fizzed. I had obviously had more than one shot prior, with salt where it’s SUPPOSED to go, on your wrist. And I don’t remember what else. But I do remember the tequila. I think we had dinner at Sunspot? Then I remember wanting to go foam dancing & being gently coaxed from that decision with promise of another bar. I’m thinking O’Charleys? It used to be a happenin’ little joint. I can only partially blame my memory loss on alcohol, this was many moons ago. I *think* that was as much bar hopping as we did, & headed back to a house in Sequoyah Hills, where one of my friends was house sitting. There was a hot tub, which I briefly visited with a..wine cooler?? Bottle of wine?? Not sure. Then I remembered I hate hot tubs, probably due to my high blood pressure. I think they made me take a cold shower before I went to bed…I don’t think I ever got sick. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. But I do know I had a great time!
I am purposely not naming names here, because they are some of the finest moms I know these days & no way would I tarnish their reputation! And no, not a one was Lisa, she was living in Missouri.
