Home is a relative term. If you’re in your hometown and someone asks where you live, you will perhaps give them specific directions. Say I see you at Food City in Seymour, I would tell you I live behind the high school. If I’m in Knoxville, home is Seymour. If I’m in Atlanta, home is Knoxville. If I’m in Asheville, or Savannah, or Charleston, I might care to explain I’m from a small town near Dollywood. People from away are always fascinated that I’m from the same county as Dolly Parton. If I’m on the West Coast, home is simply “Tennessee”.
If I were to travel to Ireland, “home” would be the United States. I’m arrogant, but not so much that I would expect them to point out the South on a map of the world. And if aliens abduct me, planet Earth would be close enough for me.
So if you move away from where you’re born, but leave behind your family to cleave to your beloved, of perhaps to just a new life, then you hopefully have two homes. Hence the phrase, “Going home for Christmas,” the same as going home after a long day at the office. Home is where the heart is. For years, home was where my horse was, because my heart was my horse. I’ve been home with Johnny before and he has lost me and texted or called, asking where I am. I’ll answer “the bottom garden” or “the laundry room” or “the mailbox”. To pinpoint where exactly in our small corner of the world.
Whenever home is to you, I hope this Sunday finds you well and rested. We are home, with our books, football on TV & biscuits on the stove. My heart is snoring on the couch.
Reading All the Light We Cannot See has got me feeling melancholy.
So there’s this family I know, & they’re not normal.
Allow me to explain.
I’m scrolling through all the pictures of smiling faces & homemade cookies & well wishes on Christmas Day. Being as that I have no children to clean up after, I had a fairly relaxing day & could spend it mindlessly trolling the internet, looking at y’alls madness & mayhem.
I got to a picture of a home I know, a home I’ve visited, a home that belongs to a family I love.
In the picture was a modest tree, decorated with traditional colored lights & homemade ornaments, nothing flashy or showy about it. The tree sat on warm hardwood floors, polished to a shine. Nearby, perched on a low table, was a glass of milk & a plate of cookies. Other pictures revealed stockings hung on the chimney (with care, I imagine). The pictures themselves weren’t perfect, either, kinda blurry. Nothing was staged. But it was perfect in my eyes.
I looked closer. And I saw something there. Or rather, a lack of something.
Underneath the tree were just a few presents. Maybe six. Maybe there were a few more that didn’t make it in the frame. I was puzzled. Houses with children are usually overrun with presents. Even here, Johnny & I are terrible & have all of ours under the big tree in the living room & the rest belonging to other people are scattered under the other trees. Piles of gifts. But not there. Not in that house with two little boys.
I watched for Christmas morning pictures. There were several shots of them in their new matching pajamas on Christmas Eve, holding their bags of popcorn. They looked happy & excited, as expected. There were pictures of the family lounging, the boys posing with their nerf guns, & of the oldest son playing the guitar. There was talk of dinner being prepared.
Today, me being me, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I messaged my friend of almost twenty years.
“I’ve been meaning to commend you on Christmas. Looks like you didn’t go overboard on presents & everything looked so nice in the pictures.”
Her response was immediate: “Thanks. They each get three presents, because that’s how many Jesus received from the wise men. We want them to remember the real reason we celebrate & learn it’s not about the presents.” She went on to explain that her older child only got one big present, a guitar, & the other two were hand-me-downs for free.
Make no mistake, this is not a family that can’t afford to get what their children want. This is a family that refuses to have ungrateful boys. Not to say they’re rolling in it, but that they know what’s important.
Jena was raised by parents that taught her the value of hard work. It’s one of the things I always admired in her. We met in college, & it wasn’t long before we were hanging out together a few times a week. I met her family pretty quickly, as her house was more spacious than mine. And so inviting. Her mom is truly the hostess with the mostest. Her food was always delectable, the bedding so soft & warm, the conversation never stilted. They were generous with everything they had. As I got to know them better, I came to learn that they hadn’t always been the house of plenty. For many years after they married, it was lean. So Brenda penny pinched & made clothes & took in ironing & was just thrifty overall. They were living in a rented apartment in Florida while Al worked as a technical architect, gaining respect & experience over many long nights stretched across his drawing table. Brenda learned to cook from an Italian woman who lived downstairs & that gave her some sage advice: “you can never add too much cheese”. They were so poor, Al once told me, that if at the end of the month, there was any money left at all after bills, if they could buy a coke & some popcorn to split, that was their party.
As the years went by, they were blessed with two children. They were doing better. Jena was able to take riding lessons. Al began to work from home, visiting the office infrequently. They moved to North Carolina & built their own barn & paddocks & riding arena. After a few years, they felt the pull to move to the hills of Tennessee & they bought a log home in Gatlinburg. Al would mail or FedEx his plans to his office in Florida for skyscrapers to be built all over the world. He worked late into the night & rose early in the day to pad downstairs to his office, measuring precise dimensions for all sorts of structures. Once every few months, they’d load up the “bus” {a gargantuan RV} & take off for a few weeks to the plains, or Florida, or wherever Brenda pointed them. They took their golden labradors, Sadie & Sammie, along.
Brenda & Al didn’t have a fancy wedding when they got married, so for their 25th anniversary Brenda sewed herself a beautiful sparkly gown & ordered a cake & had the wedding she’d dreamed of all those years before.
Jena never acted better than anybody, & she didn’t necessarily have the best of everything. But she did have a daddy that wanted her to have the stars as long as she would help reach for them. Now he’s one of those stars & we all wish we could stretch on our tiptoes & pluck him from the sky every now & then. But I know he would be thrilled with the way she’s raising her boys, & proud of her family on their little farm in Jefferson county. The Jeffcoats are love defined.
I hear a lot of people dreading Christmas, hating Christmas, saying the gift giving isn’t what it’s about. And while that’s true, I hope these people realize that getting back to the true meaning of Christmas starts within yourself. I hope that they pick a child off the Angel Tree, or volunteer with a Food Pantry, or some other selfless act. It WILL change your heart.
Last week at work, this couple came up to the counter, inquiring about a discount if they bought several pairs of boots. They said six pairs.
So we offered them the same discount we had on Black Friday, including 50% off our closeouts, which are already marked down.
They bought fourteen pairs.
They were at the counter for awhile, as you can imagine, as we were checking sizes & whatnot. They explained what they were doing. They were from North Carolina & it all started four years ago. A few members in their church are teachers & brought up the subject of a few of the underprivledged children in the community. These teachers had an inkling that some students weren’t getting anything to eat over the weekend. They thought the only food these children received was at school. So it came about that the church was making up sack lunches for these kids to take home over the weekend. It wasn’t much, like a can of soup or a sandwich, some chips, an apple, & a few bottles of water, but it would be enough to sustain them.
They packed six lunches a week that first year.
Four years later, they are packing 135 every week.
So that’s who the boots were for. And they came back the next day & bought four more pairs.
The need is growing as the drug problem grows. The parents get a food stamps card to help with groceries, but most of them turn around & sell it to someone for half the amount to have cash for drugs.
This happens HERE, people. The need is HERE. You don’t have to go to Kentucky, or Mexico, or Africa to make a difference. Go to your local church, or school, library, or food bank. Any of these places can provide you with a list of the needy, I have no doubt.
I could tell you the story of a little boy who didn’t have any underwear or socks to wear to school, & when presented with them, he was so excited, he went to put them on right that minute. I could tell you about the kids who know their parents will take their clothes back to the store to get money, so they request the tags to be cut off so that can’t happen. I could tell you about a boy that ate six bananas at the library because he never got fruit at his house. I could tell you about another little boy who was so scared for his family starving that he was sneaking food out of the piles & putting it in his pants.
While I’ve been writing this, I’ve had one customer tell me he hated Christmas. I told him what I wrote at the beginning, to go volunteer somewhere. He says he lives in the woods by his lonesome. I asked him what that had to do with it, he was down here at least twice a week, he could help out somewhere & change someone’s life. He said his wife was working at the VA hospital. I told him to go there & volunteer, or meet her for lunch. Another customer was telling me I better get to church & learn the real reason for the season (I have NO IDEA what provoked this, I think he was just feeling righteous) & I told him you didn’t have to go to church for it, He lives in our hearts. So then he quotes scripture at me, so I got to quote back the verse “Where two or more are gathered, I am there among them.”
Guess what?
No, I didn’t hit the lottery. Y’all goobers really think I’d post it like this? No. You’d see a picture of me with my toes in the sand & a drink my hand.
Guess what?
Guess who your newest blogger for Sevier County Public Library System is? ME!!!! *picture me holding my arms out, head tilted towards the sun that is shining directly on me, much like a spotlight, eyes squinched shut, spinning*
Miss Rhonda pitched a reading challenge at me last week & it was 40 books. Combined with our one a month for book club, that makes 52, which is perfect because my goal is one a week. So she said since I basically write a review on Goodreads anyway, would I care if they shared it on the library’s media sites?
Well, heck no!!!
So, that’s the gist of it. The way I understood it, anyway. Follow me! Follow me! I’ll be harping along as usual.
P.s. Coming home tonight, I stopped for supper to bring home. Most women my age have children, & when traveling, if they have to slam on the brakes, they instinctively reach an arm across their kid’s chest. You know, like a backup seatbelt. Me, I sling an arm across my bag of food to prevent it from hitting the floor. Priorities.
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.
