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Browsing Tag: #birthday
Some days there is nothing. It stretches out, bland, as I search my mind, shaking out books and folding blankets and fluffing pillows, like I could be searching for lost change. I am looking for the note I wrote to myself hours ago, when I thought, “when you sit down to write tonight, if you don’t have anything else, write about this.” But of course I didn’t write down my idea, that would be ludicrous! Surely I can remember something so simple! It is no use patting my pockets, it is not there. It is not in the pile of receipts on the desk, or stuffed into a compartment of my pocketbook. I did not even whisper it to my dog. The simplicity of my life must come as a surprise to some people, who couldn’t stay home if you pinned them to their couch like a rare butterfly specimen. Speaking of specimens, did y’all see where we will have two broods of locusts at the same time this year? Have the entomologists been looking forward to this for decades? Or did they just recently procure the data to predict it? I remember a major locust emergence as a child. I went to Uncle Dale’s and plucked them off his maple trees, entertained for hours on end. No, I wasn’t scared. Bugs don’t bother me. Snakes do. Typewriters intimidate me. House fires terrify me. But not bugs. So today is my good friend…
I met her at the library, so I knew instantly she was good people. She looked like a mom, but turns out I was wrong about that. She looked like she knew about life, and I was right about that. We have gone on to be cohorts in crime, obsessive texters, and foodies from the get-go. We share book recommendations and pretty much the same taste in music. She does listen to a podcast about small town murders that I haven’t been able to enjoy on the same level. It’s pretty grim, Karen. 😐 We challenge each other to spin more, drink less, and not be assholes. We are known as sloth & honey badger. Baker is gazelle. We tell terrible (politically incorrect and inappropriate) jokes, modify our yoga poses, and share a common interest in dogs, cupcakes, and men. Probably in that order. I’m a problem creator~…well, that’s not precisely true. Problems gravitate to me and I think they’ll go away but they only get worse and then I have to ask Beth for advice and she just calmly untangles the whole mess and folds it up and places it in a Rubbermaid box. With a label. And an expiration date. She’s an accountant. I’m an artist, per se. She’s the closest person I’ve got to a ride or die, because Lisa has kids and lives two hours away…
A lifetime ago, I was the new girl at the Co-op. I was continually dazzled and awed by the celebrities that darkened our doors. I’ve seen Phil Fulmer, Bill Landry, countless local politicians, loads of Partons (my favorite is Bobby), and the mule man from Silver Dollar City. Seems like everybody needs the Co-op at one time or another. But some of the ones I remember the fondest are the ones who aren’t famous at all. There was an old gentleman, always neat, always precise, always cordial, that came in regularly. And to be honest, I was terrified to wait on him. I didn’t want to mess up. He frequently had one or two sons with him, and their presence just added to my nervousness. More witnesses to see me mess up. One afternoon I didn’t have a choice but to wait on him and his five pound bag of bolts. Gary wasn’t there to bail me out and I had to look up every single size in “The Book”. That’s not the good book, but it is the Co-op Bible. Before the internet, it’s what we had for information. It was like a condensed farming encyclopedia with item numbers, descriptions, pictures, and prices because plenty of Co-ops still wrote hand tickets in the early 2000’s. Anyway, there were several pages of tables for pricing bolts. First you…
I’ve learned a few truths in my 38 years on this spinning blue-green rock. When you’re little, you spend your money on toys and candy. In your teens, you spend it to impress the object of your desires, on clothes and other frivolities. In your twenties, you’re driven by alcohol, teetering stilettos, and fast cars. You’ll live in a hovel to have a nice vehicle and clubbing necessities. (Obviously, some of us have a hard time letting the fruity fun drinks go…) The thirties, I’ve found, are for upkeep: home repairs, wrinkle creams, and inspecting what else needs fixing. Massages, hair coloring, and pedicures are vital upkeep to your aging body. In your youth, you are driven by the need for attention. If someone repeatedly rejects you, you learn to survive without them and if they make an appearance later in your life, you resent their presence. You’ve learned to be independent and comfortable in your own skin and need no approval. Be confident. Be assertive. Don’t be scared, be smart. Try to pick a partner who compliments you for more than your beauty, because beauty will fade, guaranteed. If you want the tattoo, go for it. If you’re tired, take a nap. Don’t vacation in the same spot every year. It may feel comfortable, but you’re not learning anything. Spend…
Mothers teach us all sorts of things. From the very beginning, they’re teaching us nonstop. They teach us how to walk, how to feed ourselves, how to treat the dog. As we grow older, the lessons get more complicated from the simple “No!” to how to read, write, & tie our shoes. We recognize danger, thanks to the values instilled at every turn (lots of treacherous stuff out there in the world). Before long, the complicated life decisions over which friends are suitable & what grades are passable are upon us. (Although Sevier County School Systems deem a “C” passable, the school of Jody did NOT). We might have to have several lessons more than once. We learn when to push our luck & when to say I’m sorry. They show us unconditional love. My mother decided to teach me about Indians early on. The only thing that separated our house from the school was our cow pasture & pine thicket. The band practiced relentlessly throughout the summer & when we were outside together, the drums would beat ominously & I would shiver & shake with the resonating thumps. Of course I asked my momma what it was. “The Indians are coming to get you,” she answered solemnly every time. This never failed to send me running back into the house, lest the Indians thunder in on their painted horses & scoop me up & carry me away…
Have you ever seen one of those super cute, trendy boutiques in a fashionable part of town & you were too intimidated to go in? It just oozed “too rich for your blood” or maybe gave the impression it would be filled with snooty falooty types. I once knew of such an establishment, but I still couldn’t resist the urge to go peruse it, out of my budget or not. The boutique I speak of was housed in an old farmhouse on the Parkway in the middle of downtown Sevierville. The front porch had gigantic hanging ferns & two welcoming rocking chairs creaking in the breeze. I never seemed to have time to zip in, & plus, I was a little hesitant about the parking situation. But the week before my wedding, I was at wits end for two of my bridesmaid gifts. I was going to the post office & I had a minute. I maneuvered Patsy around to the gravel lot behind & cautiously stepped in the back door. “Welcome,” came a confident voice behind the counter. I smiled at the redhead who spoke. I’m sure she offered to help me, & before long we were chatting amicably about what brought me in. She helped me pick some pieces of silver jewelry out for my momma, & some earrings for one bridesmaid. But there was this cow picture on the wall that kept calling my name. It seemed strange to…
Day 29: The Night of Your 21st Birthday We-ell…. By most peoples’ standards, it was fairly tame. But hey, I had a blast! I was dating someone at the time who was not a drinker, & he reluctantly released me to a few friends & a night on the town. We started on the Cumberland Strip, like any 21 year old with any sense. I’m not entirely sure who all was there, but I do remember putting salt INTO my tequila shot & staring, mesmerized, as it fizzed. I had obviously had more than one shot prior, with salt where it’s SUPPOSED to go, on your wrist. And I don’t remember what else. But I do remember the tequila. I think we had dinner at Sunspot? Then I remember wanting to go foam dancing & being gently coaxed from that decision with promise of another bar. I’m thinking O’Charleys? It used to be a happenin’ little joint. I can only partially blame my memory loss on alcohol, this was many moons ago. I *think* that was as much bar hopping as we did, & headed back to a house in Sequoyah Hills, where one of my friends was house sitting. There was a hot tub, which I briefly visited with a..wine cooler?? Bottle of wine?? Not sure. Then I remembered I hate hot tubs, probably due to my high blood pressure. I think…
