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Browsing Tag: #friends
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…
You ever feel like enough is enough? As Gus says, “That. Is. E-NOUGH.” I can’t take one more quarantine post. Not one more. Whether it’s funny, political, informational, factual, or pure made up CRAP, I’m DONE. So. Here is my reprieve. And yours too, if you want it. Day One (too bad I’m not starting this on the first, but that’s just like me, a day late (or six, but who’s counting?) and a dollar short). Someone you are grateful for. Well, I’m grateful to a lot of people but in the spirit of keeping this light, I’m gonna be grateful to the writing team on the Greatest Sitcom Of All Time: FRIENDS. Bright/Kauffman/Crane. I mean, they’ve kept me going all these years, through good times and bad. You could always depend on them for a laugh a minute. Still, to this day, I will laugh out loud watching that show. And I’ve seen every episode at least three dozen times. It wasn’t always squeaky clean jokes, but it wasn’t nearly as raunchy as what’s on now and passes for comedy at prime time. Chandler, Rachel, Monica, Joey, Phoebe, and Ross keep me in stitches no matter what they were doing. And they did A LOT in ten years. They played endless games of foozball, got married, got divorced…
I start these blogs and I never really know where I’m going. Or I do know where I’m going, but not how I’m going to get there. Did you know that Gone With the Wind was written backwards? True story. Mrs. Mitchell knew how she wanted it to end, but not how she was going to develop the plot to that outcome. So, like Margaret Mitchell, I don’t know how long this blog is going to be. I expect it to be one of my rare short ones, but you never know. As I type, I’m thinking about typing on the typewriter yesterday. I have to fill out 1099’s at my job. The government does not accept PDF fillable forms. I can mail this type to the producers, but I have to have one red copy to send to the IRS. And if I’m gonna do that, they’re attached to carbon copies, so why would I bother making separate ones on the computer? What I’m getting at is typing on a computer is far removed from the days of the typewriter. I will liken it to the days of film, versus the digital cameras we have today. You got one shot- don’t mess it up. You have to be perfect the first time, as soon as you mash the button. It’s permanent. You had to be sure. There…
Namaste. I’ve had this eye twitch for some time now. It’s really an aggravation. Everybody asks what I’m stressed about, and while I could give you one big reason, it’s not really a reason at all. Time marches on. And as Dolly says, you’ll soon realize it’s marching right across your face. About a year ago, I attended a book signing at my favorite library. Well, that’s a bit of a lie. My favorite library is my personal library here at home, followed by Biltmore’s library. So, my third favorite library. But don’t tell Rhonda!!! I picked my seat next to a friendly looking stranger. I pegged her as a mom, stealing a few hours away from her kids. She seemed intelligent and normal enough. Turns out, I chose wisely, even if I didn’t read her life right. Today, I count her among my three closest friends. It’s amazing how you can bond with people when they’re open and honest and quite literally THERE for you. She is zero drama, 100% no judgment, and so funny I almost pee my pants every time we go out. She looks at me over those red rimmed glasses with her hair back in a knot, like, “Are you shittin’ me, Smalls?” I can quite clearly read her expression through text messages. I know by her pauses…
“Not everyone is as lucky as you are,” is a phrase I’ve heard my whole life. I would just roll my eyes and march off, thinking of all the ways I didn’t have it made, all the little disappointments and injustices. My hair was unmanageable, I always had some pimples, my legs were never what you would call shapely. I was rarely permitted to stay overnight with friends and forget about going anywhere on a weeknight. I wasn’t what anyone would deem “cool” due to my penchant for riding horses and to make matters worse, I wore glasses. Going all the way through school in the town you were born in presents its own problems. Guys don’t ask out girls that have thrown up on their shoes. Guys don’t ask out girls who write their English papers for them. Guys don’t ask out girls who don’t smoke weed, pretend to be dumb, and don’t wear flashy jewelry and experiment with makeup. High school guys don’t, anyway. I had friends, though. They were all cooler than me. There was the cheerleader, there was the wild girl, there was the math whiz. I was none of those. I wore my cowboy boots and listened to the Beatles. I just wanted to be included on the weekend activities and have somewhere to go when I didn’t want to go…
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…
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…
Like most people (maybe I’m presuming a bit here), my Facebook feed is filled with memes & links & billboards. Lots of bad news, politics, & sometimes a history lesson. Occasionally it’s interspersed with an antidote or joke. I scroll through lots of hysterical cat videos. There are recipes & makeup reviews. Here & there people check in at restaurants or cool places. Families smiling & laughing & barbecuing. There are plenty of prayer requests & praise reports & pictures of babies. I see tributes to our armed forces. Shared pictures of beautiful landscapes. I read about Vols statistics & what Peyton’s up to. Not just in the fall, but year round.But here my news feed may begin to differ. Mine also consists of eggs for sale by young 4-H’ers. Trophy bucks & ducks. Sausage, freshly ground & ready for your freezer, from hogs I just saw on the hoof a mere week or two ago. I see cows & four-wheel drives & tractors. It’s also sprinkled with book recommendations.I see children & crops grow.And Lord at the horses. Thousands of horses.And Sunday night, I saw my good friend TammyLynn holding a great big crappie.TammyLynn is my newest good friend. Like all the best people, she has two first names. I met her, like I have the majority of y’all, at the Co-op. She bought bookoos of birdseed twice a…
So there’s this family I know, & they’re not normal. Allow me to explain. I’m scrolling through all the pictures of smiling faces & homemade cookies & well wishes on Christmas Day. Being as that I have no children to clean up after, I had a fairly relaxing day & could spend it mindlessly trolling the internet, looking at y’alls madness & mayhem. I got to a picture of a home I know, a home I’ve visited, a home that belongs to a family I love. In the picture was a modest tree, decorated with traditional colored lights & homemade ornaments, nothing flashy or showy about it. The tree sat on warm hardwood floors, polished to a shine. Nearby, perched on a low table, was a glass of milk & a plate of cookies. Other pictures revealed stockings hung on the chimney (with care, I imagine). The pictures themselves weren’t perfect, either, kinda blurry. Nothing was staged. But it was perfect in my eyes. I looked closer. And I saw something there. Or rather, a lack of something. Underneath the tree were just a few presents. Maybe six. Maybe there were a few more that didn’t make it in the frame. I was puzzled. Houses with children are usually overrun with presents. Even here, Johnny & I are terrible & have all of ours under the big tree in the living…
