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.
I My bestie was looking for an epic shout out on my Facebook for her birthday. I’m not feeling especially epic today, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Lisa is a Yankee. Like, dyed-in-the-wool of Cincinnati, Ohio. She once called to tell me that Kroger’s had bagels on sale. “Lisa, for the last time. I am from the SOUTH. I don’t eat bagels & cream cheese, I eat biscuits & butter.” I mean, this was just a few years ago. She’s been here since 1994. My first impression of her was not good. She looked like this other girl that had moved here the year previous & turned out to be a total…you know. But Megan’s goal in life was to make friends with every new person who darkened the door of Seymour Middle School, so by association, I was obligated to make nice as well. Turns out, Lisa was just as big a nerd as I was (am). So we’d hang out for days on end during the summer, playing card games, riding horses, & “cooking” (cooking consisted of what Lisa dubbed “drooling sandwiches” due to the content of mayonnaise & mustard). We also dared each other to eat stuff, like expired chocolates from Valentine’s Day with hot sauce on them. We also fancied ourselves quite the photographers. If it wasn’t equally embarrassing to me I would totally post a few.
It was much different at Lisa’s house than it was at mine. For starters, she lived in a subdivision, which was intriguing to me. We would take walks around her neighborhood for entertainment. One day, I happened to look down & saw this old glove that had been run over a few hundred times. Believe it or not, it had been squashed into a bird sign. As in, the other fingers were folded down, but the middle one was straight up. We knew no one would believe us if we just told them, so we went back to her house for the camera. That was way back when cameras took film & the bare minimum time you had to wait for it to be developed was an hour. So we begged & pleaded with her dad to take us to Walmart to get the whole roll developed for that one picture. And people STILL didn’t believe us when we showed it around.
The other thing was while I was used to staying alone at my house & it was usually fairly quiet & calm. I lived with my Grandmother, & she worked second shift, so when I got home from school I had the place to myself (it was okay, I was responsible as a result). Lisa’s home, on the other hand, was a different story. First of all, she lived with her parents & her granny. They all had plenty to talk about, & I was new to them, so they had plenty to tell me.
At the same time. So they got louder & louder to be heard over each other. One day, we’re sitting in her bedroom & she’s like, “I’m thirsty. You want a coke?”
“Sure,” I said, getting up.
To my surprise, she starts screaming. “Mom!” No response.
“MOM!”
Nothing.
“What are you DOING?!” I hissed.
The door comes open. “What, Lisa?”
“Bring us some cokes.”
I am MORTIFIED. I know my face was ten shades of red. But Lisa’s mother acted like it was no big deal & a minute later is back with two fizzy glasses of coke. I couldn’t believe it. Her momma continues to be as good as gold to me, passing along books & barbeque on a regular basis. I called her the first time I ever mopped a floor to make sure I was doing it right.
So, although Lisa was raised in the north, & we couldn’t be more different, we are just enough alike to get along famously. She was my saving grace during the wedding proceedings. She stayed with me the night before to help get everything done & we were up at one at the morning decorating the arbor under which we would be standing. She threw me a fabulous shower & a bachelorette party in downtown Nashville. She’s been by my side during every major life event I’ve had. We know each others secrets & passwords.
She’s the only sister I’ve ever had. And I hope she has a wonderful birthday & doesn’t feel a day older than she does the day she stepped into life in the south 21 years ago.
I missed my writing challenge yesterday.
Day 26: Things You’d Say to an Ex
Well, y’all know me, I don’t let no grass grow…to one I’ve said pretty much everything I care to say. Including the infamous note ending with, “p.s. I took the cookie dough, you b@$~*9”
To another I would say, “Did it ever cross your mind that you should pay me back?”
But to ALL I would say, “Look how happy I am. Maybe if you took some lessons from Shug you could find happiness, too.” I’m not bitter, & I’m not sorry for the experiences I’ve had, but I do feel that I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Day27: What You Wore Today
I’m pretty dull looking. I wanted to be easily recognizable as a Co-op employee (I would have worn overalls if I had any that fit) so I’m in khaki pants, a navy Co-op collared shirt, & grey (I only spell it gray when I’m describing the sky or inanimate objects. I don’t know why.) tennis shoes. I have on my “perfectly imperfect” bracelet, my crown ring, & hoop earrings from Shug. My hair’s up in a twist, which sounds fancy but it’s not. And, as usual, my heart’s on my sleeve. More on that later.
