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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
When I was five years old, I was eating lunch at my desk in Kindergarten. I clutched a pack of mayonnaise that my five year old hand could not manage to rip open. I didn’t want to use my teeth, and I wasn’t about to ask my partner, Kenny Harvey, to open it, because obviously he had cooties and would infect both me and my mayonnaise. So, I did what anyone would do. I squeezed it. Nothing happened. I squeezed harder, bringing it closer to my body for leverage. Naturally, a packet of mayonnaise can only withstand so much pressure, and it promptly shot out and straight up my nose with a measurable force. I had mayonnaise not only in my nose, but in my eyes, in my hair, on my shirt, my pants as it dripped. I was, by all accounts, a mess. I was sent home for a bath and change of clothes. I don’t remember any more events of this nature until 5th grade, when I was sitting next to Brandon Gallespie this time, who was trying to use his modern glue pen. You remember: they were the size of the jumbo magic markers, filled with clear glue, and had a round spongy end for blotting the exact amount you needed onto your construction paper. Neat, and helped regulate drips and excess application. It was the start of the school year, and all our supplies were brand new and sparkling. Brand…
I’ve had a semi-eventful weekend, as far as things go in my hermit life. Friday morning, as usual, found me at IHOP. I love their crepes, what can I say? When I opened the first set of doors, I was greeted by a buggy full of grocery bags stuffed with…well, stuff, I guess. Possessions. Clearly the style favored by the homeless. Seated on the bench, facing the bright sunshine coming in over the tops of the trees, was an old black woman. “Good morning,” I chirped brightly to her. Then I realized she must be the owner of the buggy and bags, and probably had some mental health issues and would not understand me. “Good morning,” she returned clearly. Huh. How bout that? Before I had time to puzzle on her much more, I was led to my table. The thought did cross my mind that if I were a better person I would offer for her to dine with me, but I’m not that brave. When I looked back for her, she and her buggy were gone. The poor waitress was the server for the entire dining room, and looked like I felt most days. She was making laps with drinks, straws, and food. Another girl finally showed up to help and she relaxed a little. I’ve discovered it’s pretty much impossible for me not to eavesdrop at IHOP. I’m by myself…
I hear sirens. I’ve heard sirens all day. I thought I’d long become accustomed to them, growing up on this old curvy road with the ambulance station right across the hill, and then working in a store situated on a main thoroughfare. I hardly notice them anymore. But I did this time, because there were so many of them. And they were so close. And they kept on and on and on. Plus, Shug was gone on a 250 errand. Those seem to be becoming more frequent, as he finds more upgrades he wants to do to his weekend transportation. I sent him a quick text to make sure the sirens weren’t for him. He answered me mercifully quick that he was at his destination, and he had sure enough seen all the fire trucks headed down the highway. For most people, that would be the end of it. They would perhaps utter a prayer for the unfortunate souls requiring the emergency response, but they would get back to their sunshine-y Saturday. But I paused a minute longer, as more sirens joined the cacophony. They were now approaching from all directions. As soon as they arrived onscene, the noise would shut off, only to be replaced with a distant-for-now siren. For a few minutes, there was peace, and then, one by one, the high wail of the ambulance shrieked and tore away. Transporting emergency traffic, I thought. Must be bad. I…
I’ll be the first to admit I don’t get out much (I hear Tracy and Rhonda muttering amen). But there’s a good reason for that. One, the majority of people annoy me. I had my fair share of the multitudes during my fifteen years of retail. Two, I’m happy at home. It’s cozy, it’s comfy, and I have everything I need. Namely books. Three, I have given myself a nearly unattainable goal of reading 75 books this year. I’m currently ahead of schedule by six, but I think that’s mainly due to being off Facebook for Lent. I have no doubt that I will be sucked right back into its addictiveness come April 2nd. Really, I’m dreading it. Just like everybody else, I’m friends with people I don’t follow. These people are the ones who will no doubt message me, wondering why I haven’t been sucked into their latest drama. Right now I can claim that I didn’t see it “because I’m not on Facebook” but that excuse won’t fly in two weeks time. And people don’t want to hear that I really just don’t care. It is rude, I recognize that. But I can’t help it. The truth’s the truth. There ARE things I can’t wait to…
The irony was, I was running late because I was reading. Late to a Literary Festival because I had my nose buried in a book. Not even an approved good book. Just some mindless blip. I finished The Stand Friday. That’s right. I read it in less than two weeks, with another book knocked out in two days for book club. I would like my medal now. Please make the ribbon red for victory. If you can find me a riser and podium I’ll be glad to make a speech of encouragement to the rest of you lackadaisical commoners. I might need a crown, too. My current one isn’t quite ostentatious enough. But I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. The Sevierville Chamber of Commerce puts on a Literary Festival once a year called Rose Glen. I’m not qualified to tell you about the history, but I found these two videos enlightening. They’re each about ten minutes long. Rose Glen Videos <—-If you think they’re not worth your time, or you’re just lazy (hey, I’m not here to judge, I have a hard time committing to anything over 30 seconds), let me just tell you so you’ll know-Rose Glen is that old house next to the Walter State Campus in Sevierville. You know, I always thought it was part of Johnny King’s…
I always do the best I can. It doesn’t always live up to my momma’s standards, or my boss’s, or heaven forbid, society’s, but I AM doing my best. My hair is a perfect example. Believe it or not, I color it, I use expensive shampoo and product, and have even had a keratin treatment. But most days it still looks like a mockingbird nest after a tornado. My best is not good enough. I use an expensive skincare regimen daily, but my skin is still far from perfect. I still get acne, and there’s nothing to be done about these forehead wrinkles. Let’s call them laugh lines. I buy the expensive makeup and apply it carefully. More likely than not, I’m going to look like a raccoon because I have yet to conquer the smoky eye. And I’ll probably forget my lipstick. And although I spend $50 a month on pedicures, my nails are still an uneven, raggety mess. I have accepted the fact that I will never be thin, partly because I’m lazy, and the rest is because I like food better than exercise. I won’t lie and tell you I don’t have time, because I could make time. But I’d rather read and pin recipes for fattening, delicious food. And make lists of places I would like to eat and what I will…
Every time I said “Happy Valentine’s!” to someone today, Joey would grunt, “Pea Plantin’ Day.” Now, I worked at the Co-op a long time, and I don’t remember this particular day in February being marked as that designated time to plant legimes, but it sounds about right. Although I doubt anybody was planting peas or anything else in this flood of biblical proportions. So, in honor of Joey’s- and evidently Southwest Virginia’s-pea planting roots, we’re having sugar snap peas with pork chops, taters, and onions tonight. I’m using a paste that I bought off our computer guru who still plays Grand Theft Auto with his other grown men friends. That’s right, computers and cooking condiments. He calls himself a nerd so the rest of us don’t have to. The lovely Tracy baked some cookies to perfection and delivered them in their little baggie tied with a wee bit of string to my place of employment this morning. Were they picture worthy? You betcha. Did I pause long enough to take a picture before gobbling them down? Not hardly. In my defense, I did share, though. There was a BOGO sale at the library today (speaking of nerds, right?) so naturally I stopped by. And found this lying in the parking lot. It kinda broke my heart. I could clearly picture some…
Let me begin by saying I detest the cable company with every cell of my being. And now I will tell you why. If this was a power point demonstration, rest assured my laser would be blazing. First and foremost, as you AAALLLL know, I don’t watch TV. Any shows or movies worth seeing are bought and reside, commercial free, in the TV cabinet and neighboring bookcase. So I was loathe to have it installed here at the Plantation. However, when I thought I wanted to write for that magazine, it required me to submit articles via Microsoft Word and not Google documents. Therefore, I had to have a WiFi signal and laptop. Since my husband is a sports junkie and all things TV fan, and he had been deprived during the last five years with me, he coerced me into adding cable. At that time, their big promotion was the “bundle” and $29.99 per service with a free DVR for 12 months. What happened at the end of twelve months was anybody’s guess, but I had a pretty good idea. So I gave him plenty of warning: “This is your job. I do not deal with the cable company. I will pay the bill, with money you provide, but I am not dealing with the hassle of those people.” Those people, of course, being low-life, fast talking, cretins whose every intent is to confuse and upset me with their…
It’s rained at the Plantation all day. I don’t mind. As I’ve said before, it gives me justification for staying home and doing nothing. Not that I’ve done nothing. I fixed breakfast (the biscuits were of the frozen variety, but the from-scratch ones are time consuming and we never can eat them all), washed a load of laundry, fixed hot dogs on white bread (how can I remember to buy cole slaw, macaroni salad, and chili but not buns?!), finished one book and started another (The Nightingale & The Winter People, if you’re interested), and updated my Goodreads. Six books so far this year. Goal is 75. Staying off social media helps, and I’ve discovered I’m not hardly missing a thing. I baked sugar cookies and iced them then added hot pink crystal sprinkles, because sprinkles help everything. I’ve certainly needed my allocation of sprinkles lately. Johnny put together my step stool yesterday. It’s pretty cool, very retro, and also very red. I’m short, and since we don’t have chairs in the dining room anymore, just those benches for the table; I had to have something. I had been using a cube of Mountain Dew, but as much as I weigh I decided that wasn’t a sound idea. Plus it looks cute at the counter. My great grandmother had one just like it…
I think I’m a few summers too numerous to call myself “basic”…and girl is probably a stretch at this age, too. But I don’t think I’m a ma’am most days and I certainly don’t feel like a lady…it’s my mouth, mainly. I’m not really basic in the ways of an American young woman is defined, anyway. I’m basic in that I like simple things that everybody else in their right mind likes too: chocolate, yoga pants, puppies, candles. I’m TRULY basic in that I like coffee from the coffee pot here at the Plantation and not from the overpriced hurriedly attended wildly popular chain cafe. I’m basic in that I wear sweatshirts and if I remember to wear earrings, I’m accessorized. I’m basic in that I don’t play games and if I don’t like you, you probably knew it right off the bat. But yet here I am with my unruly hair and smart mouth and birthday from the end of the seventies writing on my blog. ANYWAY, it feels a little snotty to be complaining about my blog but I really hate it. I constantly feel pressured to write one, and I want to write more but I really don’t have time and since changing jobs I have found that…
