My day began with dry rain. That’s a term I’ve made up, but I’ve been told it makes sense. It’s the kind of rain where it feels dry between drops, instead of an all encompassing wetness. I thought today was gonna be a total wash out, but it ended up being pretty spotty. I had a Foundation meeting at 7:30 this morning. I’ve always heard successful people are the ones out stirring before the rest of the world wakes up and I guess it can be believed if you go by this group. It’s basically Sevier County Royalty, if there is such a thing. Excluding me, obviously. I’m just a representative for the library board. My report went like this: “oh, we’re just rockin’ along. No news is good news and I have no updates.” But it was good to see everyone, and to reconnect with a sweet girl I haven’t seen in too long. She has one of the best laughs. It just bubbles out of her, nearly unprompted. I feel like she was a sprite in a previous life. But she’s definitely one of those if she gets tickled, I get tickled, and we’re both getting thrown out of the funeral home. Dangerous for us to be together for long. On to work for a few hours, to send an email saying I never got the email (this has happened twice in the last month— important…

I have had a busy day. Lots of traffic at the office. I like it when my customers come prepared with necessary paperwork. I like it even better when my coworker leaves early. So, Food City tried to rob me today. They wanted $12.99 (or was it $13.99???) for a 24 pack of Mountain Dew. I am not that desperate and I pass Dollar General on the way home, just like everybody else in the south. Granted, it isn’t a shopping experience without hazards, and I do feel the need to bathe in hand sanitizer and get a tetanus booster upon leaving, but you can save quite a bit of money there if you’re in the market for certain products. Well, today, it was Mountain Dew. You could get three twelve packs for $13.98, then download their digital coupon for two more dollars off. So that’s precisely what I did, quite happily. Take that, mega conglomerate. Do better. Here’s a lesson in southern cookin’. If the recipe calls for olive oil, use bacon grease. If it says butter, double it and salt it. If they start talking portion size, assume they’re stingy Commies and you should prolly make a double batch. There is no substitute for lard. You can almost always add some vanilla to any dessert to improve it. I’m just sayin’, is all. Don’t blame me if you’re still hankerin’ for a double cheeseburger after you make…

To catch you up: The dog next door is still wild and free. He’s been relatively quiet today until the sun set. Now it’s nonstop again. I did try to catch him, or at least put him back in his fence, a couple of times today and he wasn’t having it. He’s one of those that will bark while he runs away from you, looking over his shoulder. 🙄 I’m not scared of him, but I don’t want to frighten him worse. I have not contacted the owners because I don’t want to cause undue worry. And I have tried what little I know to do. At least he’s staying out of the road. Yesterday I switched my closet from fall/ winter to spring/ summer. I told myself I would get rid of lots of things. I never knew I was such a liar. I threw two things away, have one put aside for Angela, and six more items destined for thrift. I am unable to part with any more Lularoe, even though it makes me mad to look at it, since each pair of leggings represents, bare minimum, $25. I also cannot bear the thought of throwing out two pairs of grey stretchy pants, even though they both have multiple holes. One pair I am wearing right now. It’s not like I wear them out in public. Why throw them away when they’re clothes for home? I might decide to…

I absolutely, positively, cannot think of a thing to write. My world is filled with barking and howling dogs. And has been since 3:00 this afternoon. The neighbors have evidently, accidentally, left their doodle outside. I say accidentally because this has never happened before. Maybe he let himself out and now he can’t get back, like some sort of wormhole. I don’t know, all I know is he’s been barking since three o’clock. It is now 9:30. That is a LOT of barking. He is tireless. And when he really gets to feeling sorry for himself, he gets to howling. At which time, Chester gets empathetic and pitches in. Several dogs in the neighborhood beyond also accompany them. It’s truly a cacophony and I’m about to pull my eyebrows out, one by one. Yes, I could text my neighbor and make sure everything is ok. But I don’t want to worry them if they can’t get home, or can’t send somebody to check. And I don’t know how to put it nicely, “please come home and shut your dog up, he’s driving us all crazy”. I’m not known for my warm bedside manner. Because I feel certain Chester barks when I’m gone. Surely not nonstop like this, but really, who’s to say? And I don’t have a key, so no, I can’t go put him up myself. Lalalalala…..my aunt just text…

“He was one of them guys.” He looked at me to see if I understood. I did, and I willed him with my eyes to continue. “…one of them guys…you know, one of them guys you can’t get away from and you don’t want to.” There was more, but he didn’t say, because he knew I knew. But probably also because I said, “keep talkin’, you’re soundin’ like a blog post.” We all know “them guys”. They worked a job that required skill of their hands and strength of their back. They wear plaid shirts with snaps and the left pocket carries a small spiral notebook, a Bic pen, and a pack of Marlboro reds. Their dark denim jeans show a little wear in a spot or two, maybe a frayed hole from battery acid, maybe some stubborn grease streaks. The pockets bulge with keys, five dollars in change, a lighter, and a yeller three blade Case pocketknife. These men have arms that are tanned and sinewy, scratched and scarred from countless battles with brush, machinery, barbed wire, and their oldest son, who went through a biting phase. They wear a gimme cap from the feed and seed or tractor dealership without fail, not to cover up the grey but because they always had. They were naked without it. And their boots. No fancy doins there, either. Scuffed, muddy, worn, heavy, and brown. A low heel. No pointed toe. Boots that have…

It is the first day of spring. I hope you found a way to enjoy it outside in the breezy brightness, with the budding trees and the thickening grass. I was running around the picturesque East Tennessee countryside for most of the day, admiring fields of fescue coming in strong from recent rains and 70 degree temperatures, and daffodils in ditches, and cows making the most of it, picking with gusto. But no early spring day is complete without noting the invasion of my enemy tree, the Bradford Pear. But we’re going to overlook that in favor of the productive day spent in the company of a dear friend, a longtime friend, a good friend who needed a good day. And he got it. Do you all sometimes pause and realize that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be in that moment? That maybe, just maybe, we aren’t just floating along, happenstance, and a billion moments have connected and aligned to put us right where we are? Last night when I was up half a dozen times, I tried very hard not to come all the way awake. But I remember praying almost every time that today wouldn’t have any hiccups, that things would move smoothly along, that our plan be His will, as well. And best I can tell, it was. It wasn’t without hiccups, but it was close enough, and it’s kinda like people will tell you on your wedding day…

The Pollening has begun. And it’s all the Bradford Pears fault. I feel itchy and gross. I was told today that people relate to my writing and like it because it’s real. I’m not trying to make it seem like my life is unicorns and sparkles all the time. I’m not gonna just write about the highlights and lead you to believe I’m having this perfect experience in life. No, that’s not my style. I’m tripping, I’m slipping, I’m falling, I’m spilling, I’m making a mess and causing a hazard everywhere I go. And right now I feel like I might have a touch of food poisoning to go along with my allergies. I sure hope not, lots of things to do tomorrow and I need to be in tip-top supportive mode and able to make sound decisions. So speaking of fake, and I may have written about this before, but these books that everybody claims to have read…I’m reading 1984 right now and it’s slow going for me because it’s a mass market paperback edition so the print is small and it’s not very comfortable to hold. I never thought I’d be on the e-reader bandwagon but these things are great for indoor reading when you have low light. I also like the built in dictionary. Very handy. But I haven’t found a way to avoid the glare when…

I don’t know Kim Rogers, but I hate her. Her clothing line for Belk evidently runs small, because I find my “normal” size is a bit snug if it carries her label. So I have to size up, and this perturbs me. Life ain’t fair, I’ve known this all along, but clothing should be! I dated myself today. One of my friends purchased her daughter a car for her birthday and posted a picture on Facebook. It looked like a dern nice one, much better than what my friends and I drove at sixteen. I commented, “Sharp!” After posting I thought, “Nobody says that anymore. Not even Boomers. That’s it. I will never be cool again.” Not there was ever much hope. I love it when people say they like my house. It’s nothing special, but I’m proud of it. I think I’ve succeeded in making it a home. Almost all my possessions are objects I’ve collected around on my travels. Of course the books make it cozy. There’s usually something cooking or maybe a cake under the glass dome. I’m trying to cut back on those, though. I try to keep it tidy, but there is always errant dog hairs here and there. And Amy hairs. But I feel like if you like my house, you like me, because my home is a direct reflection of me. And, it would stand to reason, you probably wouldn’t be welcome…