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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
I spend a lot of time exclaiming, “People are so stupid!!! I don’t know how they manage to get home!!!” If you’ve spent any amount of time around me, or heck, reading my posts, you know this is true. I was provided a near-constant parade of examples in my years behind the counter at Co-op, but really it’s on permanent display wherever I roam. So I don’t go out much. I prefer my hermit lifestyle. This weekend found me making treats for Johnny’s guys and the crews at my work. I made an 8×13 of millionaire bars, two runs of peanut butter cookies (that yields about six cookie sheets worth, to give you an idea), and three batches of chocolate no bakes. I was at it all day yesterday, and went through 10 pounds of sugar, eight sticks of butter, a giant jar of peanut butter, and a dozen eggs. Yeah. I wanted to send a big canister of cookies to my friend the retired air force colonel because he’s been having a rough go of it and peanut butter cookies are one of his very most favorite things in the whole world. I was up at five this morning finishing baking and got his all packaged up in about a quart size tin featuring pine cones. I took the little treat bags in a giant Cracker Barrel…
My oldest friend turned 91 this past July. This is a picture from his 90th birthday. Joe Woods was super intimidating when I went to work for the Co-op in 2001. He seemed gruff, no-nonsense, and had the demeanor of the remarkably smart. For someone as wet behind the ears as I was, the best I could hope for was to stay out of the way. But as you all know, Joe is none of the above, other than the exceptionally smart part. He loves nothing better than a good joke-as long as it’s not on him. He helped me approximately 14,788,923 times during my years there. He probably repeated everything he told me at least twice. I still can’t tell you how to kill duckweed in your pond without killing your fish. I do know that you better put the lime to your garden and water in the morning if you don’t want your tomatoes to get “the rot”. I also learned to never, ever, ever ride with him, even if it’s just to Frank Allen’s. I depended on Joe daily, and I never thought twice about calling his cell phone if he was gone to the post office or “checking on some corn” out in Wears Valley. That’s why he gave it to me. And I was his IT person. This meant I showed him how…
I was taught to lie at a young age. I also had my butt busted at a young age for lying about the least little thing. It did not occur to me until this morning, at 38 and a half years old, that I was brought up a liar. I was frying bacon and eggs for a sandwich. I thought, “Oh, goody! We can use our new Christmas plates since this is just a sandwich and we don’t need big plates.” I then went over to the table and felt their heft as I lifted them. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. I broke my new turtle glass the other day, and I didn’t want to risk these so early in their life. What if I couldn’t replace them? I mean, they’re just Wal-Mart plates but I really like them. No, not the Pioneer Woman ones they’re pushing. These are the Twelve Days of Christmas. I could just see me washing them and their soapy slickness slipping through my grasp and thirteen million pieces as it went everywhere. So I set the plate back down and thought, “Lets not and say we did.” Which. Is. A. LIE. But that’s a passable lie, since it was always used in jest. Like when I wanted to do something that nobody else did, like go to the store, or…
These emails that say “get ready for best deal/sale of the century/ deepest discount” etc. make me wonder exactly how I need to prepare. I mean, I’m just reading. Nothing has ever came through the phone/ tablet/ computer/ pages for me. What’s fixing to happen? How do I get ready? Read under a table or desk? Hide in the closet? Bite my nails and take a Xanax? Maybe a gin and tonic? I’m just not sure…but I do like that last idea. It’s almost alarming. BLACK FRIDAY!!! They shout. Support Small Business Saturday! tout Facebook pages. Cyber Monday all day Sunday!! And don’t forget about Giving Tuesday, coming in at the end after you’ve effectively spent all your money, your end of year bonus, your grandfather’s war pension, your childrens’ college funds, and the tax refund you haven’t even applied for yet. Then all the sales are prolonged. It goes on forever. Well, I must go brace myself before opening my emails. Ta-ta for now. …
November Writing Challenge Day 16 Just another day. What’s “just” another day? Today? None are exactly the same…the all have a general theme of aggravation and reminding myself I’ve actually got it pretty good. But my day? My typical day starts between 5 and 5:38, depending on whether I get up at J’s alarm or mine. Today it was his. First things first, a quick shuffle to the water closet. I mean, this is full disclosure, right? If I remember, I take my vitamin, my allergy pill, and my blood pressure pill. I generally forget. And although some people think I’m lying, I make the bed. Ask Shug. With all 300 throw pillows (that he says he despises but secretly loves). If it’s chilly, I pull on socks and my robe and stumble my way to the coffeepot. If it’s summer, I just yawn and make my way to the couch. I scroll a little Facebook, maybe glance through emails while I try to wake up. I check the weather to see what to wear and if we can go forward with staining jobs or what have you. I think about how good Chick-fil-a would be for breakfast…or a doughnut. But maybe I should concentrate on the present and grab a Snapple and some Nabs (tip of the hat to you, Southwest Virginia readers. To the rest of the…
I‘m a hopeless optimist. Ask anyone who knows me well. I stay to the bitter end, hoping against hope things will get better: my jobs, relationships, food. You name it. Don’t fault me for wearing orange. I have no more say in the matter than I do over my skin or eye color. It’s game day Saturday? Bet your best watch Amy’s wearing orange. It’s almost indeliberate and automatic. If we’re not in attendance, we’re watching from wherever we are (including the Walking Horse Celebration and a bar in Florida) and looking for the checkerboard with every play. Sure, I’ve lost hope several times this season. It’s depressing. I’ve said for a long time-it’s hard work to be a true fan. Anybody can root for a winning team. But to support a program when they’re down and out takes a special kind of loyalty. Some may call it stupidity. But Rocky Top does something to me. And orange is never wrong. Additionally, you can always cheer on whoever is playing Alabama or Florida. Lots of ways to keep occupied as a Vol fan. If nothing else, I can be proud of our band. Pride of the Southland never makes a false step. They’re the majority of the pageantry: the Power T that the team runs through, the…
Here are a conglomeration of Facebook Birthdays to my reliable pickup I bought on Friday the 13th, 2000. That’s right, almost twenty years ago. She has been my everyday vehicle for the duration. She’s only had one set of brakes in her lifetime. She’s seen me through two wedding dresses (but only one wedding, think on that), three speeding tickets (all THP), and I don’t know how many French fries and fishing trips. When the finance manager at the dealership asked how long I intended to keep her, I answered firmly, “Until the wheels fall off.” I bet he would be surprised to learn that I’m still behind the wheel. 2014: Happy Birthday to Patsy, my beloved Chevrolet. She was bought 14 years ago today. It was Friday the 13th. That has proved to be exactly the opposite of a bad omen. She has been an excellent vehicle. I had $2500 in the bib pocket of my overalls for a down payment that night. My salesman was like, “you would bring cash…” Like it was a bad thing. She has hauled hay, saddles (there’s one in the seat right now), wedding dresses, bookshelves, & @$$!!! I’ve got the speeding tickets to prove it. But truly, everyone said I couldn’t afford it, I would hate being in something so big, I would go broke on the gas mileage. Gas was…
I like fountain cokes and mountain dews in cans, I like sweet tea that crunches and Snapple because of the satisfying plop sound it makes when I open it. I’d recognize that sound in the furthest galaxy. I like cold milk with any dessert and I drink lemonade when I think of it. I like coffee flavored sugar milk when it’s below 50°. I like ice cold water first thing of the morning. I like bats and swallows, because they dine on mosquitoes. I used to like okra. I like bumper stickers (saw one yesterday that said “do you follow Jesus this close?”) I like people who drive fast but talk slow, and barbeque with cole slaw on the side. I like standing at the tide line and feeling the sand getting sucked from under my feet. I like sea turtles and sea otters and sleek seals. Simply put, I like the sea. I like trucks that aren’t afraid to get muddy. I like my tattoos, and don’t care if you do. I like eating crab legs and oysters outside on a wooden deck with never ending bottles of beer. I like fishing. I like slobbery, happy, goofy dogs who make no apologies for being glad I’m home. I like it when the tv is off. I think everybody needs a fence 🙂 I like witty church signs that make you think the congregation has a sense of humor…
I spent one of the final days of summer on my porch. My porch is nothing fancy. I know this shocks some of you to your very core, seeing as how I’m such a fancy cat myself. But it’s utilitarian, concrete, with no handrail, no screening, and no paint. However, it does boast a rocking chair and two slobbery companions. The view is alright, far enough from the road to be apart from the action with a wide expanse of grass in between. I sat there and took note of an irregular breeze that caused a few leaves to rustle and spiral downward. I watched a few birds come and peck out sunflower seeds. I started a new book, and put it down to pick back up one I’ve been trying to read for a few weeks now. But neither one held my attention. At least the neighbors were nowhere to be seen, nor their constantly barking dogs. I relished the quiet. I watched Lightning repeatedly invade Sugar’s space. She didn’t act like she noticed. I think she’s past caring. I’ve cooked everything this weekend. I feel like I spent all my time at the sink or in front of the stove. I made bacon wrapped pickles, crab dip, and stuffed mushrooms for the game yesterday. Johnny declared it “weird” and barely touched it. By 8:00 I felt sorry for him, since all…
I decided the other day I was tired of sunshiny, waxing nostalgic posts about the South. My beloved, mosquito-infested, sun-tea South. I wanted death and mayhem. It was a Stephen King kind of day. But instead of reading one of his tomes, I thought I’d try my hand at my own. There’s a little hotel in Seymour, my hometown, that’s been around since before me. Seymour isn’t a destination; it’s a place you pass through to get somewhere better. We have no attractions, unless you count McMahan’s Nursery. Generally, if you come to Seymour, you’re visiting relatives, and if they’re not crazy, you’re staying with them. If space is tight, or they don’t have a pool, you’ll stay in Sevierville. Preferably close to the Cracker Barrel. I digress. The name of aforementioned hotel is The Wayoma Hotel. I don’t know what it means, I’ve never really thought much about it. It used to have a teeny tiny pool out front, surrounded by a utilitarian chain link fence, but when I started doing my Google-based research I saw that it has been filled in and now serves as a “playground”. Read: patch of browning fescue where you might walk your dog. I’ve had it fixed in my head forever that this was a no-tell ho-tell, you…
