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Category: Another Day in Appalachia
Stories that didn’t fit anywhere else.
I’m sitting at Food City waiting for my first ever swap meeting. I’m a bit skittish. However, I have Annie safely tucked in beside me. I’m sure there are some perverts or sex trafficking conartists who seek out especially girly Craigs List ads to prey upon young women. My social media adept cousin set up this rendezvous for my sunny leggings I had aimed to wear with my UT orange. Turns out the only color that looks worse on me than white is yellow. We’re meeting at the grocery store because, for my part, it’s well lit and busy. I reckon the lady’s son works here and she gave him the cash for the goods. He sounds young, pimply, and harmless. So I backed in out here by the highway by an old red Ford pickup. I’m early. Before long, here comes this stocky teenager loping across the parking lot towards me with purpose. This is it, I think, ready to hop out with my reject lularoe and a winning smile. I bet he embarrasses easily, and it’s probably a pain for him to pick up his momma’s purchases all the time (I could tell she was experienced from the way she made arrangements via text). Maybe he gets a dollar or two to do her bidding. Maybe she upped the ante since it’s Superbowl Sunday. Just…
My black cashmere sock has resurfaced after a good year and a half. You are perhaps wondering what would possess me to hang onto one mismatched sock for so long. Well, the reason is threefold. One, it’s cashmere. It was expensive, as far as socks go. And I knew that if I were to ever buy a replacement pair, I would undoubtedly, at some point, lose one of them. So then I would still have a complete pair. But look at THESE. So cute and affordable. Secondly, things have a way of disappearing and reappearing around here at a somewhat alarming rate (as you may have noticed). I’ve learned to roll with it. Usually they don’t stay missing for long. This particular sock must have been having a really epic adventure. I guess the rich really do have more fun. And no, I have nothing to do with these possessions that come and go like mosquito bites. It’s merely a hazard of living with a scatterbrained writer. And finally, I mean, how much room does one sock take? Hardly any. It cost me nothing to leave it when I organized my sock drawer last weekend (no, really, it’s true. Don’t envy my crazy rockstar lifestyle). So anyway, it magically appeared tonight when I went down to the laundry room and gathered up some odds and ends from the table. I know my darling husband didn’t have…
Here we find ourselves at the tail end of 2016. I’m ending it much the same as I have every other Saturday night of this year: in my pajamas with a book and a glass of wine nearby. Although I have recently debated the merits of hot chocolate over fermented grapes… I am fully dreading taking down the tree tomorrow. Not because it’s enormous and laden with decorations, unlike the trees of years past. I’m dreading it because I’m lazy. That’s really all there is to it. I don’t WANT to. I got around to packing everything else up today: all the candles and knick-knacks…I broke my Pottery Barn reindeer but I have high hopes for the miracle that is superglue…once I eventually find it. That can wait till next November, at least. Until then, I have plenty of things to keep me busy, such as this blog post I’m rushing to finish before midnight (or, more realistically, until I fall asleep, which would have been by ten o’clock if I hadn’t been going back and forth with the good techies at Bluehost). I almost lost my mind there for a minute. You see. Turns out I’ve been logging into the wrong WordPress account. Who knew? When I log into Facebook, I log into Facebook, whether I want to post something on my page…
Our holiday was mild, which is the way I like it. I especially liked the part about being off for four consecutive days. Friday I was run-run-Rudolph, indeed. I had a hair appointment at 8 (what? You think I’m competent enough to keep myself this perfect red? I can barely apply blush). A pleasant surprise was a Krispy Kreme doughnut as I processed. Then a quick elf run to my cousin’s house to drop her off a thank-you-for-helping-with-my-blog/ Christmas gift. Then, as is common for me, I had to come back by the house to pick up Robin’s gift because I’d had plans to meet her for lunch for a solid week. I hurriedly washed dishes while I was here so they would stop mocking me. They’d only been there for fourteen hours…which sounds like a long time when I think about it, considering they typically don’t last more than thirty minutes. I digress. I also collected a helping of éclair cake because the heathens at the Co-op hadn’t thought to save her a morsel of theirs. I had my own personal one delivered to the shop by both the Newmans! I skirted by the dump, then by the Co-op to drop the dessert so it wouldn’t acquire E.coli while I ran my other errands before lunch…
They tell me I need to post pretty regular on here. So here’s the current situation. Last week, I walked over to my uncle’s house to pick up the latest installment from Amazon. Since our two enormous dogs tend to poo wherever the mood strikes them, one has to be cautious of land mines scattered throughout the yard. It was past six, therefore, past dark. I dug out my custom flashlight and, out of habit, checked to make sure the light was working. No dice. Johnny oh-so-helpfully offered the use of his, which is a chancy privilege indeed. He’s picky about his flashlights. And he has like, two dozen of them. Must be a guy thing. So grudgingly, I took it. It was one of his better ones, I knew. It sure was heavy, for no bigger than it was. You could screw the end around to get your desired brightness and beam diameter, or you could hold the button down on the end for immediate use. I elected to hold the button, since I wasn’t going far. Once I got on the other side of the fence, I tucked it into the kangaroo pocket on my sweatshirt with my dead one. I collected my packages after a few minutes of small talk and headed back home. Now, here’s where things get hazy. I placed my (non working) flashlight in my sweetgrass basket on the end table, where…
I don’t read emails. I mean, I used to. When they were new and novel. But the past fifteen years, I have been inundated with all manner of “chain” emails, sales, and stupid jokes…so along the way I just stopped reading them. Ask Mike Rucks, he will tell you. He was my Farnam rep while I was at Co-op and it took him a year or two to catch on. But see, here’s the thing. If it was really important, he would come by. So technically, I’m a product of my environment. Well, anyway. Now that I’m a DOMAIN owner, emails evidently have a new level of importance. You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this on here instead of my sparkling new blog, as promised. Well, I’m getting to that. It has to do with reading emails. Or not, if you wanna get technical about it. So I go to login tonight and I can’t. I thought I had inadvertently reset my password so I hit the little “forgot password” located oh-so-conveniently at the top, just there. “Email not found” it spat back. Well, that’s just garbage. WordPress has been nothing but a headache from the get-go. So I moved to step 2. “Check that spelling is correct.” Of course it’s correct. I…
This blog is killing me. KILLING ME. I still haven’t figured out how to link my Amazon affiliate links to my website and posts, even though I have watched no shortage of YouTube videos. They’re all outdated, is the problem. And I thought all my categories had put themselves in the right drop down menu by the magic of elves, but found out tonight that the elves hate me and nothing had happened. Sigh. I did get that worked out. If anybody has any suggestions that don’t include the words “give up” or “get drunk” I will blindly accept them. Take advantage of this while you can…
It feels weird to have a website. I’ve been updating my favorite social media sites with my web address. Now I’m one of those people. Today I’ve done normal things…laundry, made sausage gravy, wrapped Christmas presents, watched Romy and Michelle’s High School reunion-I’d give you the link if it were any count, but it ain’t, so I’m not- {did anybody else just sing Janet Jackson with that? No? Just me then.} and submitted my book review for the library’s blog. Thank God they keep that one updated for me. I was just relieved to finish that book. It’s another’n I’d give you the link to if it was worth reading. But it’s not. Such a shame. I hate it when books and authors disappoint me. My next one is going much better. I DESPISE wrapping Christmas presents. I much prefer the buying aspect. I even like the buying of the paper. And I continue to buy more every single year, even though we have more than enough to see us through the next decade. My wrapping skills are sorely lacking. Johnny has these precise corners…mine are a wadded up, torn, much-taped, hideous disgrace. It truly is shameful. Now that is an example of one of my worst case scenarios. The package was too big for my wrapping paper. What choice…
I suppose that title isn’t exactly fair. But I’m whooped, as we say around here. The litany of problems began as soon as I purchased the theme from WordPress. That was one solid week ago. I volunteered all day Friday from daylight to dark, so what made me think I had the wherewithal to start my blog the very next day, I will never know. I paid fifty bones for a theme (I chose the prettiest one that included the words “simple” and “elegant”), and then I paid another fifty bucks for it to be installed. Now, that’s tricky business. You would think that “installed” would mean you sit back and watch a timebar (is that what those things are called?) slowly build as the program downloads to your host, amiright? Nope. Iamwrong. I don’t know how normal people do it, but I had to go to the live chat and plead for help. Live chat with my domain host, to be clear. They are super helpful. They’re like, “It looks like you do not have it downloaded. Shall I do that for you now?” Sooooo….what did I pay for, exactly? I hope the theme is mine forever, because it’s going to take me at least that long to learn it. Thankfully, of the approximately 5,647 people who have begged me to write a book/ start a…
“Start a blog,” they urged. “It’s easy!!!” they promised. “They” is y’all, and y’all are crazy. It is neither easy nor fun. And you better get to clickin’ when I share it so I can recoup my $300. Yes, I’m serious. I’m a writer, not a web designer, but to have a blog you have to be both, plus a photographer, a marketing executive, & a minor in computer programming is advised. So I’m irritated & frustrated & I start to cry because I’ve accomplished not one thing I’ve set out to do today, & I can’t concentrate on my book that I should have had the review turned in for at the absolute LATEST last Sunday, so I decide to decorate the tree we purchased Monday as the county turned into an inferno. It’s stood naked in the corner all week. Christmas lights. The absolute WORST idea when you’re already mad. So then I’m that much more upset because how ridiculous am I that I’m aggravated about untangling Christmas lights & setting up my blog when people in this county have NOTHING FROM THEIR FORMER LIFE. In some cases, no life at all. So then I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe…
