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Browsing Tag: #Prayers
It’s been said there are two varieties of people that tell the truth: drunk people and little kids. While that’s true, I know someone else who tells the truth, and she ain’t drunk and she ain’t little. It’s Barb. Some of you know Barb. She spent more years at the Co-op than I did, and it’s only people with Very Thick Skin that can endure a decade + in that place. I don’t even know where to start. I guess I should introduce you since you might not know her. She’s tall, with skinny little kildee bird legs (you can thank Gary Hicks for that particular detail). She’s got a grin a mile wide and dancing eyes behind gold rimmed glasses. We never ran out of things to talk about (sometimes it was a contest who could talk the most), because we were forever recommending books to one another. And chattering about places to eat. We shared a similar attitude about road trips: open the door and you’ll find us parked in the front seat. We love the beach, especially Charleston, and we constantly reminded each other of how much time before our next trip. Barb doesn’t sneeze once or twice-she sneezes five or six times in a row. It’s remarkable. I’ve never met anybody that customarily did that. But Barb does. Once…
I didn’t stop for a doughnut this morning. I didn’t go out for lunch. I won’t be picking up barbeque for supper. No, I’m not on a literal fast today (talk about making me HANGRY) but I’m not buying anything. Zip. Zilch. Nada. No nothin’. I’m out of eyeliner. Too bad. Should have popped by Belk yesterday. I would sure like a slice of cookie cake. Oh well. Good thing I don’t need gas, ’cause I guess I’d be begging y’all for a ride to and fro. No using Uber. No books from the online retailer I use with frequency. No new socks or body wash or any number of vital items. Granted, I’m only fasting for one day, so it’s no big deal, but it does make one conscious of all the things we buy. Maybe that will be my thing next year: limited amount of groceries, no excess anything, including gas. Who picked this for me? Somebody that knows me well- myself. I’ve been in prayer for Christy, my friend of nearly twenty years, the Christy who does my hair. She couldn’t think of anything and told me to pick something that I would benefit from. I chose this sacrifice, because Christy is frugal and thinks through every single purchase she makes. Unlike me. I need to be more like…
I once had a job where it seemed nothing I did was right. Even if it had been right that morning, by afternoon it was wrong. And it wasn’t just me that was wrong, it was all of us. But it wasn’t our fault. Our boss was under a lot of pressure and it affected his reasoning ability. We loved him anyway, because he had one of our best interests at heart- a job to depend on. But that was a little hard to remember on occasion when you’re racking your brain wondering what you could have done differently. It was during this time I met someone whom I came to depend on for my own sanity. She was easy to talk to, she understood seemingly all aspects of my life. She constantly told me it wasn’t my fault, just to roll on. Rock steady. So I would. This gal had experienced her share of being misunderstood. For her part, she’s nearly covered in tattoos, head to foot. People judge. So when she opened her mouth to reprimand her son in the store instead of just letting him run rampant, it gave people pause 🙂 She’s the sweetest soul you can imagine; she has a soft spot for creatures. Especially her old pug Herman. She has a gorgeous, elegant, long-haired, grey-tipped cat named Shakespeare. She has a weakness for beer and tacos, and to counteract that, she…
You ever had something happen and maybe it was so earth shattering you didn’t fully comprehend it until days or weeks later? Maybe even months or years? Like, someone dying and you just kinda coasted along for awhile because things still had to get done, details had to be taken care of, people who were distraught needed to be comforted? Part of my prayer today will be for someone going through this, the loss of a mother and a divorce. Neither of these circumstances happened recently, but delayed trauma is real. Maybe it’s the brain’s way of coping. Maybe you can only grieve when you have time. Maybe I don’t know and I’m just typing my what-ifs out because it seems like I’m forever crying about something, whether it happened five minutes or five years ago. My sacrifice today was candy. That’s not a huge sacrifice for me, as I’m only tempted by potato candy, peanut M&Ms, and Rolos, and none of those were in my immediate proximity today. And breathing sugar all day has a way of turning you against it. Did I tell y’all I had purple boogers last week? PURPLE. Job hazard, I reckon. Do you think we meet people by accident? Or do you think we’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be at all times? I don’t know…
Not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, thank God. Some people you meet there and you get the privilege of staying their friend forever and ever. And you can’t understand how it’s possible to have so much in common with someone you’d never met and that you primarily communicate with via text and Facebook. Jill and I both have curly hair and penchant for citing Steel Magnolias at every opportunity. We know our Co-op stuff (aaaalllll the stuff) forward and back, even though neither of us are employed by them any longer. We have an unhealthy obsession for M&Ms, and a wanderlust attitude. If you are all of these things, you can join our club after a thorough vetting process. Jill has tasked me with thinking no negative thoughts. It’s been on my mind since I woke up. So I’ve spent the day with my (typically hidden) optimistic attitude. Good thing I didn’t have my checkbook and receipts here, I would be breaking Lent for sure! I’ve been avoiding Facebook for the most part, as well. It’s hard for me not to criticize. I worked in the yard a little bit but was better off in the kitchen, where I have a better chance of living up to my standards. I’ve set a low goal of pulling staples from the hardwood floor of the back bedroom closet…
Slow ride….take it easy. No, it isn’t another must obey the speed limit challenge, I just had vague instructions to enjoy the scenery and stay out of the fast lane. Easy enough, as there isn’t much of a fast lane on my commute these days. But I decided to take the back-est back roads on my way home. Comin’ in…well, that isn’t much of an option, as I’m runnin’ like a scalded dog to get there on time. Today, I’m praying for the one I affectionately dubbed “Number Three” years ago, because it was determined she was one of my three favorite people. I haven’t seen her in a few years, but she’s still right up there. She’s a fellow Co-op person, and we share the same snarky attitude and sick sense of humor. We used to joke that we needed a morning show…except we really weren’t joking. It’s a shame we never got to see what would happen if I let a mousetrap snap on my finger. If anybody has performed this particular dare, please enlighten me. I’m still curious. I can’t decide what my favorite memory is of us, but I like to remember all of our wicked dreams of exacting revenge. But I suppose we’ve grown up since then…
Sigh. Sigh. I’m doing that a lot lately. Then I remember my breathing yoga-esque exercises and try to relax my shoulders and ground myself and think happy thoughts. Which ties into my Lent fast today. I am to give up hate. Now, this is a tricky thing. Those of you who know me are like, “Amy hates??? She seems so happy and carefree!!” and the ones of you who really know me are laughing hysterically. Because, in general, no, I’m not much of a hater. I LIKE stuff. I LOVE stuff. I attempt to look for the beauty and happiness in life. But then….people. I like to say I’m an equal opportunity racist. I hate all people equally. I don’t even hate my hate! I like to be angry sometimes. I think our rage protects us to a point. Like, if I didn’t get mad, my feelings would be hurt, and Lord knows my feelings are right there at the edge anyway. I’m the biggest crybaby there ever was. And some people don’t appreciate that, it’s seen as a weakness in the workplace, especially. So it’s better to be angry. I hate getting sunburned but I like peeling the dead skin off. It feels so nice when fresh air hits it. It’s so satisfying to get a big long piece. I hate peeling oranges but…
My friends are cruel. I’m not even gonna keep you in suspense on this one. No jewelry. Do you KNOW how much I love my jewelry? It hangs from every doorknob in my bedroom, two drawers crammed full, two jewelry trees, and a jewelry box. The bigger and flashier, the better. And not one piece will adorn me today. No eye-catching necklace, no jingling bracelets, no sparkly rings, not even my tiny glittering studs are in my ears. I feel exposed. But. The reason is solid, and so I dressed in such a way I wouldn’t have worn much, anyway. I feel so drab. I feel like a BOY. But I suppose it came on an okay-enough day. I didn’t have to go anywhere today, besides work and spin, and at work I’m not exactly flocked with strangers most days. As for spin, I take almost all my jewelry off, and I don’t think I can look any worse than when I’m exercising, so it’s fine. Who gave me this little piece of hell, you want to know? My good friend, Jena. That’s right, she knows exactly where to go for blood. Dirty, dirty. I would never mistreat her that way. Y’all should know I just spent an eternity hunting for a certain picture of her on my flash drives. I didn’t find it but here’s…
A long time ago, I lived on Sugarloaf Mountain. On Sugarloaf Mountain, I had many things: time on my hands, a Saanan goat named Daisy whom I led around like a dog on a purple leash printed with daisies, a very long driveway, and a pair of Watusi cattle named Gus and Clara. I also had excellent neighbors across the ridge named Donnie and Alene. Alene was a fellow bookworm and we would trade paperbacks as frequently as we traded recipes. She started me some flowers and we would take them eggs. She was like another mother to me, so warm and inviting. They had a pond and many summer afternoons you could find me there feeding their catfish…or catching them. I walked with Alene around her yard as she pointed out various flowers and where they had come from. She had beautiful, thick, clematis vines climbing up her carport. It was a quiet life for a 26 year old. I felt like a homesteader, working in my lettuce bed and scattering corn for the wild turkeys. Flash forward twelve years. I had worked with Alene in the 911 building until she retired, and I moved off the mountain, back home. I ran into Donnie and Alene at the funeral home (that’s where I see everybody!) and I learned that they, too, had moved. It was so good to see them and catch up! I hugged their necks off. The next time I saw Donnie he…
And now I’m gonna tell you about Mike’s wife, Cat. You talk about fun. She’s a NUT. She has frosted hair and an honest-to-God beauty mark. She’s high energy and all giggles and she’s the pickest eater I’ve ever met. She loves Rod Stewart. That’s where I learned to love him. I think you become an adult and end up listening to whatever kind of music you grew up with for the rest of your life. Nothing will ever beat Michael Jackson for me. I digress. Cathy was always petting me and saying I was the daughter she never had. Of course, I ate up all attention like a mule in a corn crib, so that was just fine with me. She tells me that even now, every time I see her. I have never doubted Cathy’s love for me. And I hope she’s never doubted my love for her. As I mentioned before, she had a son that I spent a lot of time with in my youth. While the adults were inside watching Cheers, we were out exploring the creek and fighting off Indians. We had a great time. But long before we became teenagers, we drifted apart. When you don’t go to the same school it’s hard to stay in touch. And this was long before the days of Facebook and MySpace and…
