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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
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…
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…
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…
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…
I would like to poll all the retail people working tonight. I wonder what percentage of them don’t mind being there as opposed to ones who would rather have the day off. Plenty of people work holidays. Surgeons, nurses, policemen, paramedics, firemen, soldiers. Dispatchers. These people actually make a difference. They are the ones who are there for the “big deals” in life, not the “big deals” in possessions. So when they sign on the dotted line, they know that they are making a commitment to be there for someone else. Even though their family would like to have them safe & sound at home, someone else NEEDS them. So they go. They leave what’s important to them & go to work & maybe save a life. I would also like to poll the shoppers tonight. I would ask if they have ever been forced to work on Thanksgiving. I’m just curious. Because it seems like if you’ve ever had to work one– or someone close to you–, you wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. And you wouldn’t support it. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t understand how important it is to get your child a game that’s selling for $50 bucks off tonight only. A game that your child will undoubtedly tire of by February. And maybe that child would have a monumental memory…
I bought this apothecary jar a few days ago to replace the one I broke a month ago to use for this exact purpose: a home for our seashells from the seashore. It had to be super huge because we found some really nice intact shells this go-round. It’s about 12″ across. I have lots of these jars/ vases in smaller sizes around the house. Anyway, so Shug sees it sitting on the table the other night, empty. “You know what would look good in that glass jar thing?” “Ummm, sand & shells?” “No. A whoooooole bunch of peanut M&M’s.” And that, ladies & gentlemen, defines why straight men aren’t interior designers…
My social life is limited. I choose it to be so. It consists of Co-op, where I am the uncontested Social Butterfly Queen, Shug, short bursts of conversation with my bestie who lives in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee, & the occasional text message. I might have lunch with Ashley once a quarter. And then there’s book club, which has been minimal, just me & Rhonda. Which is fine, ’cause like I told her this afternoon, we’re the best ones. Last month we had a quirky twenty year old materialize, & this month, although I invited SIX OF YOU, it was just us. And then a lady Miss Rhonda invited showed up, & then this other lady waltzed in towards the end. She contributed a lot to the conversation, surprisingly. I learned a WHOLE NEW REDNECK WORD. “Pillbilly”. She used to be a pharmacy assistant, & turns out, that’s common lingo in pharmaceutical circles. You just never know. So. Now, page two…
Fire in the sky this morning. Thankfully, it was just from the sun (or Son) & not from missile strikes. Did I ever tell you about the first time I went to Nebraska? It was for an animal health trip, way back when in like, February of 2002, I think. Anyway, we were on our way back to the airport, riding along in the van before daylight, across all these cornfields & wheat fields. The sky began to lighten & I blinked like a rat coming out of hibernation. It looked like it was going to be something truly spectacular, with these streaks of pink threading through the darkness. I’d had a pretty late night the evening before, but I struggled awake, thinking “I don’t want to miss this.” So I battled fatigue & kept my eyes open & watched as more light blue filtered its way into the sky. I thought the outlines of the irrigation systems would be a stunning contrast against the brightening horizon. And then, suddenly, everything was drenched in white light & it was over. No magnificent blazing sky. Not much of nothing, really. It looked like the middle of the day. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. But at least East Tennessee knows how to do it right…
I hate it when you’re driving down the road, all happy to be off work, sun shining, windows down… And a bug flies into your cheek. And you don’t know what kind it was so you debate pulling over in case it’s a venomous type, but you overcome your fear until ten minutes later you feel it crawling up your arm & it’s a red wasper so then you do flip out & try not to crash as you squash it with one of the 78 napkins from various fast food joints lying on the seat. Then, once you do squash it, you’re afraid it’s gonna come back to life & crawl out of the napkin & sting you for spite but you don’t wanna be a litterbug & throw it out the window even though it would eventually disintegrate. So you save it till you’re sweating from anxiety & wait till no cars around & DO IT then come home & confess your litterbugging sinful self among your peers on Facebook. Side note: I think tomorrow I’m putting my Fitbit on Lightning Bug (the more hyperactive of the dogs). I want to see what happens…
Chick-fil-A is really something. I went by the one on Chapman this morning & the girl at the window went to fold down the top of my bag & it was barely torn so it wouldn’t make a nice crease. She frowned. “Oh, let me get you another bag, this one’s ripped.” As soon as I got my eyeballs back in my head that she was actually SERIOUS I waved my arm. “No, it’s alright! Really!” “Are you sure?” her brow was all furrowed, not understanding why I would accept an inferior bag. “Absolutely.” I accepted my barely damaged bag with glee. I just wanted its contents…
