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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
Have you ever thought about what it would be like if, when you heard a song for the first time, you could see into the future? If you knew, in the blink of an eye what you would be doing and where you’d be the rest of your life when you heard it again? Wouldn’t that be the weirdest thing ever? “Semi Charmed Life” comes to mind. It always takes me straight back to the first week of June, 1997. We were at the beach, in a convertible, riding down the strip on the way to dinner. The air was warm with promises of what was to come, not only in the immediate future but for the rest of our just-being-shaped lives. Yesterday, I went to the movies to watch Dirty Dancing on the big screen. Prior to the showing, the projector ran a series of facts about the film. Jennifer Grey was 27 when she was cast to play the 17 year old Baby! She had the part immediately after the audition. Patrick Swayze didn’t have dancing listed on his resume, and was nearly looked over. Val Kilmer was offered the part of Johnny Castle, but didn’t want to be branded as a “hunk”. I do not understand this reasoning, I am merely stating the facts. The lights dimmed. “That was the summer of 1963, when everybody called me Baby…
Yesterday, I discovered another habit I don’t like in people. This should surprise no one. But not to worry, I’m gonna counteract it with something I do like. I don’t like these people that you’re having a conversation with, and after about ever two sentences or so, they say, “okay?” like you’re not smart enough to be following. It’s super annoying. I knew at his age he probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but I wondered how many other people had been angered by it. Yes, angered. It elicited that strong of an emotion in me. So much so that I stopped listening to him, which probably just enforced his opinion of me being an airhead. But it seemed extra condescending. I just wanted him OUT. He was asking me about taxes. Brother, I don’t even do my own taxes, I’m certainly not qualified to give you advice on yours. How ’bout you ask the accountant that you pay to do them? How ’bout that, okay? I’ve also found this type to pointedly sniff the air when it’s obvious what is cooking. Or if someone is painting their nails or doing a craft. Yeah, we get it. there’s an aroma. Now. On the other hand. Here’s what I like:when I’m gearing up to tell you…
There’s a legend that states Ernest Hemingway once submitted a story to a newspaper that was holding a contest for the saddest six word story. Supposedly it read: “For sale. Baby shoes, never worn.” He won.This has never been proven, and while it is indeed depressing, I know a sadder one. I depend on Chick-fil-a. I know I will never be disappointed in my lunch if I get it there. They are to be depended on for the best chicken, fries, peach milkshakes, chicken tortilla soup….the list goes on and on. I know that I can count on them to not screw up my order. When I desire perfection in fast food, I go to Chick-fil-a. They are so much more than chicken.They are the embodiment of the American Dream. I don’t know how I’m expected to do without them for five whole weeks. I’ll go crazy. I nominate myself to oversee construction and if I notice anybody slackin’, I can crack the whip and yell on my megaphone. I’ll run a tight ship for sure. I can push a wheelbarrow!! I can spackle! I can call for loads of concrete and drag wire. We can get this done in like, four days, tops. I am so SAD…
I got a little emotional the other day. Sometimes you have those moments where you just know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. An epiphany, if you will. About a month ago, my friend Rhonda, the director of the library (don’t tell her I idolize her job just a little bit), called me up in the wee hours of the day. Obviously, she was trying to catch me while my guard was down so I would agree to her little plan. I hadn’t had my coffee. Something about a Seed Swap, that wasn’t on the National Holiday, but it was close enough, and could I say a little something about soil? Why sure because CLEARLY I’m qualified after seven months at a job. But I agreed because namely, it just sounds like a day we’d have snow. January 19th. When I went to write on my old school blotter, I discovered it was a Saturday. That sly wench! Nonetheless, I assembled 27 folders full of valuable literature, soil sample boxes and forms, several posters, and my ever-present blue board. I loaded up Maggie for my presentation. Presentation. Snort. We’ll see about that. I didn’t want to get in over my head, so I just printed some Fun Facts About Dirt off the NRCS website. Fortunately, she had me paired up with my good friend Jim from the City, and he…
I don’t have much of a heart. Most of y’all know this to be true. It’s not that I don’t have a heart, exactly, it’s that I’m stingy about who I feel compassion and empathy towards. A lot of people out there aren’t truly grief stricken, or sick, or poverty level, they are simply desiring attention. I have no patience for these people. I also strongly dislike the ones who take advantage of the system. Able-bodied individuals who seek out funding through good-hearted folks or the government. I see it regularly, people looking for handouts in parking lots, gas stations, walking into random businesses, begging at churches. And these GoFundMe pages are panhandling via internet, plain and simple. NOT that I’m saying there aren’t plenty of deserving citizens out there-but the ones who are taking advantage make it that much harder for the truly deserving crowd to get the help they need. My office is situated directly across from a low-income clinic. I’m not precisely sure how it works, but I know its purpose is to serve the needy and uninsured. All day long, I watch as a parade of young people in souped up cars jounce in and out. They seem to get around just fine. Not sure what they go there seeking, as it is not a pain clinic, but whatever. I tell you…
“Not everyone is as lucky as you are,” is a phrase I’ve heard my whole life. I would just roll my eyes and march off, thinking of all the ways I didn’t have it made, all the little disappointments and injustices. My hair was unmanageable, I always had some pimples, my legs were never what you would call shapely. I was rarely permitted to stay overnight with friends and forget about going anywhere on a weeknight. I wasn’t what anyone would deem “cool” due to my penchant for riding horses and to make matters worse, I wore glasses. Going all the way through school in the town you were born in presents its own problems. Guys don’t ask out girls that have thrown up on their shoes. Guys don’t ask out girls who write their English papers for them. Guys don’t ask out girls who don’t smoke weed, pretend to be dumb, and don’t wear flashy jewelry and experiment with makeup. High school guys don’t, anyway. I had friends, though. They were all cooler than me. There was the cheerleader, there was the wild girl, there was the math whiz. I was none of those. I wore my cowboy boots and listened to the Beatles. I just wanted to be included on the weekend activities and have somewhere to go when I didn’t want to go…
I’m sure you sniggered a little reading those words from me. ‘Cause of COURSE I know it. I know everything. That’s why y’all love me. But no. I’m asking you, how do YOU know? “How do I know what?” you ask. Are you confused yet? Or just tired of me? I’ve not written in awhile and I feel like driving you just a little crazy before I get down to it. I’m not serving up meat and potatoes right off the bat! You gotta endure cocktail hour. Which, as we all know, is the best part. Ok I’ll stop. I get tired of hearing myself ramble, believe it or not. And I gotta go to bed eventually. How do you know it’s Christmas? Obviously not from the stores, who start placing their wares in June. (Looking at you, Hobby Lobby. But wait! I’m not complaining. I love Christmas. Drag out all the sparkles and glitter for as long as possible, I love it. Truly.) Do you know it by the weather getting that frosty edge of the morning? Or by the Christmas carols on the radio? Do you know it from all the tasty treats that start to become commonplace in the office? Maybe from well wishes coming to your mailbox? I’ll tell you how I know. How I’ve always known, apart from looking at…
I remember being in awe of the ladies who rode the elephants at the circus when I was little. They were sooooo glamorous, with their feather hats and sparkly costumes and beautiful smiles. They looked so elegant, perched upon those majestic beast’s necks, waving with one hand while holding to the sequined harness with the other. I so dearly wanted to be them, gracious and gentle and gorgeous. Some girls want to be Disney princesses, some of us want to be elephant riders. *shrug* Well, I didn’t get to run off and join the circus, but I still dream about it. Here’s a print I like, but I need a great big huge one. So it’s no big surprise that I never miss the fair when it’s in town. There are no elephants, but the excitement is there. And it’s by no stretch of the imagination the greatest show on Earth, but it is certainly every bit as entertaining. And I get PAID to go. Why would I miss it? It’s worth it, just for the food. It only comes once a year, for Pete’s sake. GO. Well, it’s too late now for my fair, but there might still be one happening near you. And if not, remember my words for next year. I always have a good time. Even the year Johnny and I rode the double Ferris wheel and I…
I don’t have much on my social calendar. Granted, I have more on it than I did five years ago, but I’m still not what you would call swamped. And I prefer it that way. I need time to recharge, time with my books. However, at the last board meeting, I cemented a whole whirlwind month’s worth of activities with my gal pals. We’re going to read and eat and watch the royal wedding. Friday, I finally convinced Shug to try Aubrey’s. Of course he loved it, as I knew he would. What’s not to like? Saturday was my mega-busy day for me: baby shower, hiking, dinner and drinks with two of my three lovelies. But then the rain. But maybe it wouldn’t affect the festivities. It didn’t matter to me. I could be just as happy at home, curled into a corner with my book. Unlike most people, I embrace the rain. Plus I’m too lazy to water my flowers, so it’s always welcome. The best thing about baby showers is the food. The worst thing is the children. Luckily, there were no children in attendance, so the worst part to endure was the oohing and aahing over tiny socks. Once that was over (alas, there were no games where you couldn’t say baby or win a prize for having the most abnormal crap in your…
